Rivers...
Today we had a trip out to Richmond in the car, the weather was lovely and mild and (occasionally) sunny too; we had two of Beckys' sisters with us, and poorly noni of course (she's just cutting her back teeth AND she's full of cold). For me it was just great to get away from the PC, from work, from everything. Sitting above the little waterfall below Richmond, as the river Swale spreads out in front of you and seems to be all around you, you get to understand and wish for that peace the Bible promises to the righteous, it being "just like a river". Maybe it's the white noise effect, the one that sends people to sleep in front of the static on their TV (although there's not much of that these days- a symptom of our 24 hour culture). I think there's more to it though. I think believers in Creation and believers in evolution would at least agree on this point: surrounding ourselves in nature is surrounding ourselves in our original element, the cradle of our ancestors, and it feels like "home" whether that home be Eden or some African plain.
I found out where that river flows into the sea when I got home. It has such an interesting journey. I hope this journey is interesting to you if you live somewhere near me, or even if you don't.
The River Swale has its source in the Yorkshire Dales, the North part of. It flows out through Richmond and meets the River Ure just East of Harrogate, which the Ure flows through, having also journeyed from the Dales- its source is only 6 Miles South of the Swales'! So when these two rivers meet (at their confluence), as far as I can tell, they're renamed the Ouse. Anyway this happens fairly soon after they meet- it may be down to local council boundaries or something (I never realized rivers changed their names so much, I suppose you may as well give two big rivers that join a new name!) and the river flows onwards, through York, first of all slowing to pick up the river Nidd, which has also journeyed from just East of the Dales (Angram resevoir in fact). It travels straight South from York, and four Miles out joins with the smaller Wharfe, yet takes the Wharfe's direction- East and seawards! Whence came the Wharfe? Again, from the Yorkshire Dales, and it was born only 6 Miles South of the Ure! And yet another to meet from there....but first, out of Selby it meets the Derwent, which harks from different climes- from the North Yorks Moors, just North West of Scarborough...(this being the nearest of the rivers to me-as an aside, the Esk river also flows from the NYM but flows straight out at Whitby, a little journey indeed!) the Ouse oozes on and about 7 Miles further on joins with the River Aire and at THAT point becomes the (to be) mighty Humber, which takes (most importantly) these two and the Calder and the Don from the Peak district. Whence the Aire? Yes, the Dales, Malham actually, a favourite tourist spot (Malham cove). The Ayre seems to flirt with canals, or man has certainly flirted with the Aire- just West of Skipton (on the edge of the Dales at the beginning of its journey) it is made to join, via the Leeds-Liverpool canal, the rivers Alder and Ribble- both of which head Westwards ho, to the Irish sea- so I suppose one could travel (by canoe?) from sea to sea! That's another story. The Humber of course flows into the North Sea South and East of Hull. Wow, what a journey! Only 110 Miles as the crow flies for my beautiful Swale to the sea, and yet rivers don't go as crows, they twist and wind and take their time. How long I wonder, does a drop of water take to travel those miles? I'd love to walk beside the Swale from source to sea, from its fast bubbling birth to its slow, graceful death.
How often do we examine the beginnings and the ends of things? I was present when Joni was born, yet I've never been present at a death. I would like to be. Of course, we are all flowing there, but we have the chance to flow with others, and to look whence we came at witnessing births-and to where we are headed, by witnessing deaths. Of course, these are closer together than we would think: we are returning whence we came, to the vast regions of non-existence. Yet why do we not like to witness death? Because it is not usually the slow and graceful death of a river. Let me tell you, I couldn't get the thought of my great uncle Mikey out of my head yesterday: I didn't see him die, but I was with him hours before. This was a dead man, a tube leaked a mix of blood and urine from (whence?) his liver, into a bag beside him, for all to see. Where's the dignity and grace in that little journey, indeed in that little death? Do not expect it yourself.
Here's a nice photo of Joni anyway, taken today. Joni began nearly two years ago, she flowed from me and Becky, and flows onto death; yet she will meet many and become someone different to what she is now, before she arrives there.
I found out where that river flows into the sea when I got home. It has such an interesting journey. I hope this journey is interesting to you if you live somewhere near me, or even if you don't.
The River Swale has its source in the Yorkshire Dales, the North part of. It flows out through Richmond and meets the River Ure just East of Harrogate, which the Ure flows through, having also journeyed from the Dales- its source is only 6 Miles South of the Swales'! So when these two rivers meet (at their confluence), as far as I can tell, they're renamed the Ouse. Anyway this happens fairly soon after they meet- it may be down to local council boundaries or something (I never realized rivers changed their names so much, I suppose you may as well give two big rivers that join a new name!) and the river flows onwards, through York, first of all slowing to pick up the river Nidd, which has also journeyed from just East of the Dales (Angram resevoir in fact). It travels straight South from York, and four Miles out joins with the smaller Wharfe, yet takes the Wharfe's direction- East and seawards! Whence came the Wharfe? Again, from the Yorkshire Dales, and it was born only 6 Miles South of the Ure! And yet another to meet from there....but first, out of Selby it meets the Derwent, which harks from different climes- from the North Yorks Moors, just North West of Scarborough...(this being the nearest of the rivers to me-as an aside, the Esk river also flows from the NYM but flows straight out at Whitby, a little journey indeed!) the Ouse oozes on and about 7 Miles further on joins with the River Aire and at THAT point becomes the (to be) mighty Humber, which takes (most importantly) these two and the Calder and the Don from the Peak district. Whence the Aire? Yes, the Dales, Malham actually, a favourite tourist spot (Malham cove). The Ayre seems to flirt with canals, or man has certainly flirted with the Aire- just West of Skipton (on the edge of the Dales at the beginning of its journey) it is made to join, via the Leeds-Liverpool canal, the rivers Alder and Ribble- both of which head Westwards ho, to the Irish sea- so I suppose one could travel (by canoe?) from sea to sea! That's another story. The Humber of course flows into the North Sea South and East of Hull. Wow, what a journey! Only 110 Miles as the crow flies for my beautiful Swale to the sea, and yet rivers don't go as crows, they twist and wind and take their time. How long I wonder, does a drop of water take to travel those miles? I'd love to walk beside the Swale from source to sea, from its fast bubbling birth to its slow, graceful death.
How often do we examine the beginnings and the ends of things? I was present when Joni was born, yet I've never been present at a death. I would like to be. Of course, we are all flowing there, but we have the chance to flow with others, and to look whence we came at witnessing births-and to where we are headed, by witnessing deaths. Of course, these are closer together than we would think: we are returning whence we came, to the vast regions of non-existence. Yet why do we not like to witness death? Because it is not usually the slow and graceful death of a river. Let me tell you, I couldn't get the thought of my great uncle Mikey out of my head yesterday: I didn't see him die, but I was with him hours before. This was a dead man, a tube leaked a mix of blood and urine from (whence?) his liver, into a bag beside him, for all to see. Where's the dignity and grace in that little journey, indeed in that little death? Do not expect it yourself.
Here's a nice photo of Joni anyway, taken today. Joni began nearly two years ago, she flowed from me and Becky, and flows onto death; yet she will meet many and become someone different to what she is now, before she arrives there.
posted by John Doran-Armstrong at 7:04 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home