Rivers

Grand Rapids, MN--Showered and clean and feeling about as better as could be expected. Motel smells funny--clean but not sterile, but still off somehow, in keeping with the furnishings, which defy all logic and laws of physics by remaining upright. Even up here, where the river is small enough that towns haven't leveed it and turned it out and over and away, our statement of purpose is usually received with ever-so-slightly (this is Minnesota Nice we're talking about) quizzical expressions, polite but just not understanding why or what could be so special about this river. (In the stuff we've been reading about other, similar trips, the same experience is related.) It's especially jarring for myself, I think, having worked on a river in a place where the water still matters, not just in an economic or even mythological way but in a very real, immediate and even visceral way. In Damariscotta the river is real and palpable, rarely at the front of your mind but never far away; in Grand Rapids it requires reminders. Several possible explanations, in descending order of simplicity and therefore probable truthfulness (hopefully-obvious caveat: of course I'd be surprised if someone was taking a month to kayak the Damariscotta--it's like 19 miles long):

1) that the Damariscotta is tidal and therefore changes every time you see it, while the Mississippi is relatively static (although I've yet to see what kind of difference water levels make--ours have been universally low)--plus it's more in tune with the earth and the tides;

2) that in Damariscotta you know someone who works on the river; here, no one works on the river;

All of a sudden this whole idea feels very silly; I've only been at this for eleven days, what do I know? Where's that blasted editor? (Ed.: blasted? Are you your mildly autistic 13-year-old self going through your arcanisms phase again? Bloody Christ!)

But I suppose that's what a blog is for, right? You have tons of people who can all comment and give you editorial advice and direction! (Right? If I'm deluding myself here--which is exceedingly likely, actually00and no one is reading who doesn't have an obligation to, I might just start crying myself to sleep at night. Again. Guys, I've made so much progress recently...)

Editor's Note: Guys, that last ellipse was mine. I don't want to let this turn into a self-indulgent postmodern clusterfuck, as he seems to. He's just failing to understand that even in a journal-cum-blog, certain editorial imperatives must be respected. So I'm cutting him off for the night. If he wants to cry himself to sleep, there's a liquor store right across the road and its clerks would I'm sure be quite happy to assist, but I'm already annoyed at myself for letting him go on too long in previous entries (I'm sure you can all think of several examples) and I'm putting a stop to it. Objections will be heard but, to a one, cursorily dismissed.

Fuck off. I have things to say and I'll say 'em, dammit. What kind of deep malaise is signaled by a complete inability to even finish a simple line of thinking before going off on a, well, a “self-indulgent postmodern you-know-what”? I really need to know! Guys, please!

Post-Script--I've set up an email account, to handle what I'm sure will be a voluminous heap of complaints, suggestions, and other correspondences, at macsriverblog@gmail.com.

Post-Script The Second--The more astute of you will no doubt have already gathered that the above email address is a complete fabrication, and any correspondence sent in that direction will never reach anyone associated with this blog. Toodles.