Water On a Mission

I participated in a canoe trip on the headwaters of the James River this past weekend, and learned something about my home. A brief overview: For those who love and are refreshed by nature, but occasionally loath hiking and its discomforts, I recommend a canoe trip. Canoes are indeed the boat reduced to its leanest and most capable form; fine lines, shallow draft, astonishing payload to displacement ratio. An elegant solution to humanities aquatic needs. Rivers are at their inceptions pristine, quiet and lively places. The trip carried me over forty eight miles of sometimes pristine, but mostly just rural river land. There were small mouth bass and muskie. There were also cranes and cows grazing and drinking at the waters edge. The weekdays were devoid of people. The weekend days were full of floaters. Here is what fascinated me: Even on the most placid sections of the river, I could obviously see that the river was dropping in elevation; going down hill. Subject to the lay of the land and gravity, massive amounts of water were cascading in what seemed like slow motion to the sea. Now, this seems obvious. Anyone that can read a map can see this on paper. However, not only am I a flat lander, I'm a coastal dweller. The water I live with is as level as--well-- sea level. Sure there are hydrological phenomenon at play in my coastal region that allude to the dynamic tendencies of water. Sure there are storms and storm surges, wind events, etc. But on most days this is reality: All rivers flow to the sea, and where I live so is the sea, and all of our water is, ultimately at sea level. Stasis. Now here's the leap. I think that is what makes this area special. It is explicit. You have reached the end of the line. Without some serious hardware, you cannot go on. So sit. Look out, be inspired by the space, the expanse. But sit, because you are on the margin. The thin line where the rivers meet the sea. The point of stasis--the point of equilibrium. The only appropriate thing to do is relax completely. Modern humans have found refreshment for the soul in nature essentially since we've abandoned a natural life. But replenishment comes from the mountain at the price of physical exertion--or fossil fuels in some cases. Replenishment in the meadow is found in the seeing of its true nature--active observation of flora and fauna. At the sea's edge, while there are ancillary pass-times for the uninitiated, true aficionados simply observe. Or perhaps absorb would be the better word. At the point where the river meets the sea, where the earth levels out, in a since, we can level out. Perhaps that is the appeal, you can surf, fish, throw a frisbie. But you can also snowboard, hunt, or document bird sightings. I am having trouble conceiving in my mind anywhere else that it is not only acceptable, but expected that we will just sit, relax, exist, and get exactly what we need out of just being.