« * * Virginia Tech engineering students build an electric racing bike | Main | * * Mike Burnop has the job we all want »
Friday
Sep142012

* * To the New River with Dad

Somehow it seemed to me that the scene playing out should have had the theme song to the Andy Griffith Show whistling in the background, except I’m older than Opie was and Dad isn’t a sheriff. Oh, and we weren’t going fishing.

What we were doing was going to the New River together. We unloaded his jon-boat, two deep-cycle batteries, and a small electric motor into the flowing waters from a launch site in Belspring on the west shore of the River in Pulaski County. A thick fog blanketed everything, giving the scene a cool, Maine North Woods feel.

Dad is a river rat. His love of nature was nurtured early in life, surprisingly perhaps in that his Dad had other interests and his home was on New York’s Long Island, hardly the place we now think of as a hotbed of natural activity. In his day, Long Island was substantially less populous and developed. Dad grew up riding his bicycle to nearby woods and bays, searching for wildlife.

Dad moved to the New River Valley 60 years ago, and his relationship with the River has evolved. His first love was fishing. In mid-life, he took up scuba diving and began a passion for photography that transitioned from underwater to above-ground. He’s become an exceptional wildlife photographer, with wading birds and ducks his specialty.

We paddled into the main current from behind a small island and then let the electric motor take over. An osprey flew overhead, squawking at us, carrying a fish in his talons.

I’d neglected to bring the one item I most needed: my binoculars. But while Dad was purposeful in the day’s excursion in his quest for more bird shots, I was content to drift aimlessly, literally and figuratively, in the quiet and company of nature and Dad.

The fog began to lift, revealing a warming sun and a scene of timeless beauty. The New is one of the world’s oldest rivers, cutting through the nearby ridges like a stationary knife as they rose upwards to block it. Majestic sycamore trees with their thirsty roots overhung the River. Railroad tracks bracket the River on both sides, a decidedly mixed blessing. On the positive side, the railroad’s ownership of the right of way has perhaps impeded commercial or residential development. On the negative, trains rumble noisily along from time to time, annihilating the silence but not bothering the wildlife at all.

Dad is oblivious to physical pain. He’s three days out of the hospital with an intestinal blockage which apparently hasn’t been fully resolved. When he feels good enough to be on the river, then he goes to the river. When not, then not. It’s that simple. He still lives his life with a child-like exuberance and enthusiasm and a lasting zeal for travel, adventure, family, and friends. He has four kids (I’m #2.) and seven grand-kids, the oldest of which is my daughter who is 21. Many of his friends have passed away, including Mildred and George Gerberich, with whom he and mom were inseparable. But he’s continued to cultivate new ones and finds visceral pleasure in the gifts of kindness and sincerity they offer him.

Under a crystalline sky, he grabbed his digital camera from its plastic case, shooting anything that moved as we trolled along near the east shore. Digital imaging has revolutionized his photography, as now he can take hundreds of photos and discard 98% of them without expense. He shot cedar waxwings, tree swallows, cormorants, a little green heron, kingfishers (“They never let me get very close.”), and great blue herons (“I have a million pictures of them!”). He has done several photographic presentations and is always eager to do more. He stays surprised that more people aren’t interested in the abundant nature that is so close to us. “The New River is a real treasure.” He has photos in his files of muskrats, mink, raccoons, otters, and countless species of birds. Our best find of the day was an immature peregrine falcon, a stunning, majestic bird that only a few decades ago almost reached extinction.

We motored across the placid, shallow river to the other shore, occasionally stopping to pull grasses from the tiny propeller. Dad arched around, straining the muscles in his thin, leathery legs, scarred from countless scratches. He’s 84 now and while his body shows the signs of age, he keeps doing the things he’s done for decades, albeit more slowly.

We talked about family, my siblings and his. He and I have gotten along well for most of my life, except for the two years we worked together in the business he created.

“I don’t have too many years left,” he admitted ruefully. “Time is more precious than ever before. I don’t want to waste any of it. A day on the river is never wasted.”

 

References (3)

References allow you to track sources for this article, as well as articles that were written in response to this article.
  • Response
    Response: Hollister
  • Response
    Response: longchamp
    For this article. I think the authors write very well. Content lively and interesting. Details are as follows:longchamp
  • Response
    Response: Hollister France
    Michael Abraham, author - Weekly Journal - * * To the New River with Dad,તમે અહીં માહિતી જોઈ શકે સંબંધિત લેખો જોવા માંગો છો તો આ લેખ જોકે ચોક્કસ લખેલા à:Hollister France,http://hollister-france1.weebly.com/1/category/hollister/1.html

Reader Comments

There are no comments for this journal entry. To create a new comment, use the form below.

PostPost a New Comment

Enter your information below to add a new comment.

My response is on my own website »
Author Email (optional):
Author URL (optional):
Post:
 
Some HTML allowed: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <code> <em> <i> <strike> <strong>