The Barn and the River

You can tell by the title that I had a hard time choosing.  So why not both?

Early yesterday evening, I drove up Rt. 97, which follows the Delaware River through New York State.  I was on my way to my friend Matthew's house.  Matthew is seven miles from Bethel Woods (site of the Woodstock Festival in 1969) where we were to see John Fogerty.  Fogerty had not been back in 45 years!

I've written about Hawks Nest before, the area where Rt. 97 curves incessantly along the river; it's one of my favorite drives.  North of Hawks Nest, one just follows the river, catching glimpses of it when there is a break in the trees.  Those glimpses always astound me, as it is easy to forget that there is a river alongside me when I am paying attention to the road and trying to avoid hitting a deer.  (I knicked one this morning!  No damage done . . . to the deer or to my car.  Whew.)

Not all the accessible views of the river are as impressive.  But most of them are just peaceful.  There is something calming and reflective about following a river on one's journey.  In From a Window Seat, a song by Dawes, Taylor Goldsmith writes about the conversation between the rivers and the freeways and acknowledges that, as much as he resists it, he knows it's always there.  I pondered those lines on my drive home this morning.  What is the conversation about?  I suppose, in its simplest interpretation, it's a conversation about the duality of living in nature and the modern world.  I'm driving my turbo-charged VW convertible on a paved road while the river meanders lazily (for 419 miles) to its conclusion in southern New Jersey.  Consider the contrast.

I pulled over a couple of times on my drive home this morning.  The sky was clear, the air pure, the day beginning in a glorious fashion.  I was in love with it and I wanted to take it all in.

At one point on the drive, Jorma Kaukonen sang to me:

Well what are they doing in heaven today,
Where sin and sorrow are all washed away?
Peace . . . it flows like a river, they say.
What are they doing there now?

So peace.  Yes.  And that's where the Barn (in the title) comes in.  Matthew's barn on his property is one of the most peaceful places I know.  I can't articulate it.  It's just something you know when you're there.  Today, I am in love with the river and the barn, both of which give me a sense of peace that I would like to bottle.

 

Are you feeling it, too?