In A River Runs Through It and Other Stories, author Norman Maclean writes:
“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time.”
Standing by the Mad River on Bridge Street on Sunday throughout the day, surrounded by like-minded people drawn to the river because it was full of mischief, piss and vinegar and an unpredictable tableau of physics, hydraulics and hydrology, was compelling. It was sunny and warm, and people were out in droves just checking it out while drinking coffee and eating pastries -texting pics for social media and for those not present.
There were folks there who remembered the Flood of 1998 and Tropical Storm Irene om 2011, which inundated Bridge Street businesses as well as homes and businesses throughout our community and Vermont. And there were folks who did not remember those floods. There were folks for whom the river rising does not invoke a sense of dread.
The Mad River Valley is home to Sugarbush and Mad River Glen and our schools and shops, boundless recreational and stewardship opportunities. It’s a place populated by people who care about each other and how we live and who actively engage in living here. A river runs through it.
That river runs through our towns from south to north and although we are assuredly defined by many things, we are absolutely defined by our river, and it is in many ways our heartbeat.
Look what happens on a sunny weekend morning when it acts up. People show up. They heard the heartbeat of the river or caught a glimpse or got a text and they came to check it out.
It was worth the visit. It was powerful and it was a powerful reminder that the river connects us literally but also connects us to each other when we stand in awe (and sometimes in fear) before it and along its banks.
Sunday was a great reminder that rivers are free thinkers. They always take the course of least resistance and flow downhill, through fields, through parking lots, through our lives and our yards, houses and fields.
Ice jams be damned, the river ran through them.
