My Riverside

The Great Riverside Adventure

Copyright � 2001 Lorilee Scharfenberg.

 
Glorious Summertime on the Morris River  

It was a blistering hot day snack-dab in the middle of our summer holidays. My friend and I were young, wide-eyed, innocent and ready for adventure. My mom had just purchased an enormous gold and blue, squeaky, shiny new rubber dinghy. It included two large silver and black paddles that were awkward for a twelve and eleven year old to maneuver. She and I grabbed the dinghy, limp as could be and dragged it, the two paddles and a bicycle tire pump down to our bridge.

Our bridge was wonderful. It was an all-wooden bridge that was supported by many thick, wooden beams that continually smelled of black tar. For as many summers as I can recall, the bridge was the home to dozens of swallows who would swoop and dive every time a truck or car would rattle over its creaky frame. The roar from a distance could easily be mistaken for a roll of thunder.

Our bridge was a meeting place. In the shadow that it cast on the width of the river and its banks I played and fished and whistled and explored. On the left side (from my place) of the bridge was the pasture for Bartel's dairy cows and across from that was a hill that gently rose to touch the home of the Dave L. Friesen's. On the right side was an open field, usually home to a crop of wheat. Immediately across the river, to the south, I could see the rooftop of my sister Anne's two-story house.

The Morris River meandered about the Riverside area fairly harmlessly when the school buses ended their journeys for the summer. It only threatened us with swelling impatience when the ice of the river and the melting snow of the surrounding area would unite and overflow its banks in early spring. Red River Valley clay lined the riverbed and the warm summer waters that ventured along that path were secretive and cloudy because of it.

It was to this, our bridge, to which we hastened to begin our Great Adventure. We had been warned, despite the lack of current, to stay within and not without the securities of the ship with which we'd sail. So we added just the right amount of air to cushion us from dampness and to keep our young bodies afloat. And we pushed off in merriment and laughter. To our dismay our raft, the craft that was to take us down the stream and back again moved oh so slow. We paddled and pulled and pushed and swished the water to and fro and found that the progress we made was limited. So we began to circle round and round about, singing "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream..." at the top of our lungs making very little progress down the river, but having a wild and crazy time in spite of it all. We were very careful though not to lean too far over the side lest we should fall into the muddy, mysterious river. And then came the inevitable...the dare... I Dare You to...Jump into the water. As all good twelve year old's would - I rose to the challenge my friend had thrust before me. I scrambled to my knees, hesitated briefly thinking of my mother's warning to be careful, said a quick prayer, dramatically took a breath, held my nose, tucked in my toes and took the plunge into that vast expanse of murky water. I knew there was a life-jacket on board if I should have some trouble emerging from the depths of the mighty Morris River.

To my amazement a few seconds later I felt my toes and knees touching something soft and slimy, yet firm. I struggled for air and as I tried to reach the surface I realized, to my embarrassment and my friend's fiendish delight that I could stand up with the water gently lapping at my kneecaps! The anticipation and elation at the thought of doing the daring deed gave way to disgust and humiliation and then gradually as it dawned on me, as it already had to my friend, I too was laughing in that almost tear-jerking, sidesplitting way that leaves you doubled up with an ache that feels great!

Yes - the memories run deeper than the river. Just by closing my eyes I can go back to a time that is beautiful because of its simplicity. Memories of Riverside and the innocent friendships of youth. I praise the Lord for such a childhood.

Thanks Melody � the memories we share are great! You were an encouragement to me often. Our little river is a constant reminder of our friendship. Even in your busy urban existence don�t forget to find joy in the country life you left behind. Love ya lots. Lori

 
Canoeing on the Morris River  

Last Updated on Sep 15, 2003 email Lori at l o e w e n r a n g e r @ h o t m a i l . c o m