Down to the River

I have no travel blogs for you this summer.  Ok, I should have them, because there have been a lot of places I’ve been and things I experienced in those places that happened long past which I haven’t sat down and caught up on…and yet I still haven’t, so I don’t.  I don’t know how to describe my mental state this summer other than altered.  It’s been a weird one, to say the least.  Other than Minneapolis, where I sit typing this on the couch in my new apartment, my travels only took me down to “the farm,” to lay my father to rest.

My dad was from a tiny southern Missouri town called Rocky Comfort.  He didn’t want a funeral or a memorial service, but he purchased burial plots in the cemetery where my grandparents and great-grandparents are buried, so we planned to bring his ashes home this summer.  My mom let his extended family know what we were doing, and even though he probably didn’t want us to make a fuss or waste money on it, I think he would have been touched to see that so many people gathered to say goodbye.  And afterwards, we gathered at my grandmother’s church and had a meal of some of his favorite foods.

Roaring River hatchery, as seen from above

So that was the first day.  However, one of the things that my dad always did when we visited his parents was to go fishing at a state park called Roaring River.  It’s fed by a spring that wells from a huge cave under the park, so the water is actually cold enough for trout, which are raised and released for all the eager anglers to catch.  He’d get up before dawn and drive through the dark to the park, buy a fishing permit at the shop in the lodge, and wait for the siren, when he’d start casting his line, with a shiny silver rooster tail, into the river.  This was the fish I grew up eating, rainbow trout caught by my dad.

So that’s how we remembered him.  My brother, nephews, brother-in-law, cousin, and uncle went fishing.  And I went to do the same weird shit I always did while my dad went fishing - feeding fish at the hatchery, admiring the spring, hiking the trail, and chatting with whoever had gotten bored of fishing.  It’s a pretty nice way to spend a morning.  I got to catch up with my aunt for a while, sketched fish and the cave entrance, walked probably more than I should, considering how inactive I’d been the preceding month.

The spring has always fascinated me.  It’s hella deep - even using diving equipment with rebreathing techniques, they still haven’t managed to get to the bottom of it.  The water is a brilliant blue, and the fish grow fat up here, where fishing is forbidden.  I don’t know the lifespan of a trout, but I’m pretty sure some of these guys were here when I was a kid.  It’s beautiful in a way I’d never seen anywhere else during my formative years, and also scared me more than a little.  Like if I fell in, I’d be lost forever - and yet I was still drawn to it.  

Now that the niblings have started playing DnD, I might have to use it in a dungeon…

Near the spring is Deer Leap Trail.  This trail basically goes straight up, skirts the edge of the cliff above the spring, and then comes straight back down behind the lodge.  Even though it’s steep as hell and I am in the roundest shape of my life, I wanted to hike it to remember my great-uncle.  When I was old enough to come down to the farm on my own, I remember having dinner with him in the park restaurant, and having him tell me about how he hiked Deer Leap every 10 years on his birthday.  He wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it on his 80th, both because of his fitness for it as well as because all of his brothers had died in order before their 80th birthdays, but he actually lived to see 90.  After we buried my dad’s ashes, JD’s last wish was also finally fulfilled, as his ashes were sprinkled on his wife’s grave.

Which brings me back to the river.  After the fish were caught and everyone was gathered, we drove to a little fishing hole a little further downstream.  My dad used to take us there from time to time, away from all the hustle and bustle of the other fishermen.  There was a deeper pool, and lots of rocks for skipping, and I remember splashing around in it with Shaggy, when the other kids were too young to enjoy it.  I couldn’t have told you exactly where this spot was, but he knew, and he led us there.  Once everyone had gotten out of their cars, we spread the last of his ashes into the water, to rest in this place he loved.  It’s been hard to let him go, but if I had to imagine what heaven would look like for him, it would be to spend eternity fishing, surrounded by his family.