My recent trip back in time to my boyhood haunts along the Ashuelot River in Keene, New Hampshire reminded me how lucky I was to grow up on a river. A river can teach a boy a lot about both nature and himself.
I learned how to identify skunk cabbage, cattails, pond lilies and much more along the river. I built a raft and set out for the Atlantic, but never even made it to the town line. (That was how I learned to recognize a foolish idea.) I learned how to read the tracks of muskrat, raccoon and deer, and how to be as still as a stone when they came to the river’s edge.
Earth and sky, woods and fields, lakes and rivers, the mountain and the sea, are excellent schoolmasters, and teach some of us more than we can ever learn from books. ~ John Lubbock
My first kiss came to me on the river’s banks and somewhere, the date is recorded on the trunk of a maple. My grandmother explained puppy love to me then, but her time would have been better spent explaining why the first broken heart is so much more painful than all of those that follow.
One day I walked south down river-farther than I had explored before-and found that an old oak had fallen and made a natural bridge out to a small, shaded island covered with soft mosses and ferns. One end was pointed like a boat, so the island became an imaginary ship that would take me anywhere I wanted to go. I never told my friends about the island; it became the place I went when I needed some alone time.
“Brooding” was what my grandmother said I did during the times I spent alone, but she mistook my occasional need of solitude and silence, when the low hum of a dragonfly’s wings could be heard from 10 yards off, for unhappiness. They were actually some of the happiest times I had known until one very wet spring when the high water washed away the oak tree bridge. I don’t think I have ever again experienced such a complete absence of humanity as I did on that island, and rare since has been the peace I found within that absence. Later on I learned that Henry David Thoreau once said “I have never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude.” He, I thought, was a man who understood.
Who hears the rippling of rivers will not utterly despair of anything. ~Henry David Thoreau
The old Boston and Maine Railroad crossed the river many times on its way south and long before my time these crossings were popular hangouts for men who liked to drink. My grandmother called them hobos, but people were drinking under those train trestles before the word hobo even came into being. I know that because they used to throw their bottles in the river-and then I came along a hundred or so years later and found them.
Digging antique bottles along a river bank is hard and sometimes dangerous work, but it can pay well. Since the river taught me that hard work earns money, off I went to earn more. Of course, work is habit forming-or at least the paycheck is-so there was no longer any time for lolling on its banks. The river and I grew apart.
But not entirely; though time has flowed past much like the water of the river, my recent return visit showed me that little had really changed-with either the river or myself. As I followed the trails along its banks I found that I still had the curiosity that used to spur me on to always want to see what was around the next bend. Before I realized it I had walked for miles. As I mentioned to fellow blogger Grampy at Goat Sass Farm, maybe the curiosity that rivers instill in us is what keeps us young even as we age. 
As a side note, I wrote this in part because of an inspiring comment that Grampy made about boyhood on my “A Walk in The Park Part 1” post. I intended to thank him for inspiring me that day but meanwhile he was writing a post about his boyhood days and thanking me for inspiring him! It’s funny how these things work sometimes, and where and how we find inspiration. So to Grampy goes a belated thank you.
Be like a rock in the middle of a river, let all of the water flow around and past you.~ Zen Saying
The photos of the train trestle and covered bridge are from the Cheshire County Historical Society.
The photo of Tree Bridge is by the U.S. National Park Service.
The photographer and date of the boy on a raft are unknown.
New Hampshire Garden Solutions 
[…] “Time Flowed Past Like The Water Of The River” ~ Allen Norcross (New Hampshire Garden Solutions) […]
Inspiration finds the solitary man. It seems fitting that you write of a grandmother. I had a grandmother that supported a boys freedom to wander and discover. She was the one person that would give of her time to listen to the stories of discovery I had to tell. Responding with her own stories of childhood trapping along streams with her older brother. The only time I recall walking a crick together with my grandmom was our last time spent together. I found a box turtles back shell. She smiled and around the next bend she dug up a fern to place in the shell. Now you have a gift to take back to your wife she said. Water is and will always be the rivers of life. Giving us the earths most valuable commodity. On Walden Pond Thoreau found a way to pass it on to generations to come. He, inspired by living alone on a waters edge.I think it funny in a way that Henry David’s writing inspires. A person in many ways living on an island of his choice at Walden Pond. Alone we develop our curiosity as you say. Thankful am I that we have a venue to share that curiosity. It is delightful to find a few folks to support our meandering. The written word a river in itself. Sentences like currents flowing ever closer to the ocean of the world wide web where we join together in harmony. Your welcome my unknown friend. I cast a line with grandmothers as bait. With hopes of reeling in a whopper from your grandmothers past.
My mother died before I was 2 years old, so my grandmother played a large part in raising me. Just like yours, she understood my need to wander and be alone at times. She was quite a lady, and told stories of driving through the hurricane of ’38, stumbling into an opium den in Boston by mistake, and an old orange cat named Furry Balls. I think she understood the strong part the river would play in building me into who I am, and left it and me alone so that nature could take its course.
You’re right-it is great that people with a like mind can find each other and form a sort of community. I think of all the housebound people who have a more meaningful life because of it, and know it is a good thing. I’m grateful to have made some new friends because of it, and happy to count you among those.
I loved reading this. Since childhood, rivers have always been very important to me too. Some of my earliest memories were on a fishing stream with my Dad.
I’m glad you enjoyed it and hope it broght back some pleasant memories. I’m surprised to find that most boys apparently, had a river or stream in their childhood. Or at least, those who visit this kind of blog did. That must be part of what led us to our great love of nature.
That was a good bit of writing. Thanks for sharing it. You probably figured out that your earlier posts on the river are what got me to thinking about my own experiences on my boyhood river. Thanks for the inspiration.
Now I have to confess that I’ve never read Thoreau, though I’ve read thousands of his quotes. I’ll have to address that soon.
I’m glad you liked it. It was an idea that took on a life of its own and wrote itself. I did realize that your boyhood river tales were connected and I’m sorry I didn’t mention them in the post.
Thoreau’s Walden had an early infuence on me and got me to broaden my self study to include all of nature rather than just vegetables and ornamentals. There is more coming up about him in a future post. I think you’d really enjoy Walden, especially. His essays are very easy to read.
Great story, rivers always had an appeal for me and growing up along one must be the perfect setting.
Thank you. I can’t think of any place I’d rather have grown up, Francis. Thank you for stopping by.
That was beautiful! You’re not a trout fisherman by any chance, are you? I may have to add the quotes you used to my page of quotes, they went so well with your story!
A little out of the ordinary but I’m glad you liked it. I am a trout fisherman, along with any other fish, but I’ve never fished with a fly rod. My father used to fly fish but I wasn’t interested in learning how back in those days. Feel free to use anything you like.