Tuesday, January 10, 2012

River Gifts

As I knelt on the riverbank, rinsing the bowl in the icy, amber water, there flashed before me an image of other women who had performed this same ritual over the millennia of human existence. How simple an act to rinse a bowl. How little that matters truly changes. In that flash of insight, I connected with women past, present, and future. In a moment, all the hurly burly of present life was reduced to essentials.

I saw my friend tamping out the remaining coals of the campfire when I returned from the river, the last few wisps of fragrant smoke disappearing among the cypress and pine trees. Golden sunlight, the crisp, clean light of early morning, streamed through the leafless winter forest. One task remained in breaking camp--packing our belongings in the canoe for the trip home.

I am wistful that our trip along the Black River of South Carolina is winding toward its close. A last lazy pull of seven miles is all that separates us from the primordial and reconnects us to the twenty-first century. Scenery changes quickly on the river as we paddle from one topography to another. Not ten minutes into our excursion the close, solemn bluffs of the swamp transform to steep cliffs of exposed white marl layered against orange clay. Cypress trees by the water's edge and tall oaks and hickory trees along the upper cliffs yield a forest fragrance mixed with damp, brown leaves and green moss covering tree branches and rocks.

We paddle closer to examine the marl and see scallop shells and an ancient oyster bed preserved in the limestone. The river has eroded parts of the exposed marl, creating shelves that clearly indicate climatic conditions affecting the earth's layers. Once again, I sense the antiquity of our planet and my life seems a mere speck in its history.

Horizons

It was a fitting irony that the only student I met when I dropped off my room key and ID badge at the main office of the school was Denardo. He was the student who had the most difficulty staying in school, getting along with teachers and peers, and, as such, became my favorite. As usual, he arrived five minutes after the first bell had rung and was late for homeroom.

"You take care of yourself. You get through this," I said to him as I shoved my emotions to the background and walked toward the exit.

"Wait! Where you goin'?" he asked.

"I've left the school." I replied.

"You mean you quit? Why?"

"It didn't work out for me. But you make it work for you, okay?"

"Okay. I will."

He looked at me with disbelief written across his face. In truth, it mirrored what I felt in my heart. The fact that I had walked out of my classroom two days ago raging, "I quit," still hasn't registered in reality for me. All my life I'd wanted to teach, loved my work, and identified myself as Teacher.

Closing the car door, I took a deep breath and turned the ignition. I drove away knowing that I was leaving a huge part of my life behind and was facing the frightening task of redefining my life and who I am.