"River, carry me, down to the sea ..."

Dear Ones,

This weekend finds me out at the Nooksack River, where I’ve been celebrating the rites of Lammas / Lughnasadh with my local community. We’ve been gathering at this sweet spot on private land for the last twenty years. Before that, the same site hosted an herbal faire for about ten years. So the rhythm of high summer heat, dry grasses, flowing river, sunset and moonrise over the mountains, drumming and bonfires and community meals — it’s all embedded in my experience of August, the beginning of the bittersweet season of Summer-Turning-to-Fall.

There’s something I can’t quite name that is so poignant about returning to the same place at the same time of year with many of the same people. Once I came here at the peak of midlife; I danced for hours and lustily swam downstream. Now I’m an elder and I need my walking sticks on uneven ground. Younger folks have arrived in recent years, bringing fresh energy and new perspectives to all that we have rooted here. It’s a pleasure to see their little ones running around the campground like wild creatures. There’s an auntie or uncle at every campsite.

On the trail down to the river, I greet the tangled blackberry vines and fading St. John’s Wort like old friends. I throw open my arms to embrace the river waters, remembering children (now grown) splashing in the shallows, one momentous night when a full moon illuminated the water, and the time tubers floating down the river gaped at the “hippies” covered in designs painted with mud.

Memories pile upon memories, like the layers of an antique painting. Older layers show through transparent, newer ones.

Our ghosts are here, too. We can hear Nora’s laughter, Bud’s drumming, Charlotte’s admonition to just try her beets!, Steph’s wisecracks and big smile. They’re all ancestors now, gathering close, joining the circle from the shadows, riding the meteor showers in the hours before dawn.

The river is a physical, earthy presence and a potent metaphor:

River is flowing, flowing and growing
River is flowing down to the sea
Mother, carry me
Your child I will always be.
Mother carry me, down to the sea.

Mother, carry me, down to the sea.