Mattaponi

So, last weekend, we took a mini roadtrip to Richmond, VA, where I ran in my first 10k race ever, the Ukrops Monument Avenue 10k. The race included 37,000 runners, people cheering the entire length of the run through downtown Richmond, and a band set up playing every couple of blocks. It was fantastic and fun...and I finished in 59 min 39 sec, to boot. Not bad for a non-runner. While I was doing that, Owen was playing with Jackie, daughter of one of my closest friends, an old martial arts buddy, Chris Falls. The Falls family is AWESOME, so that was the big motivator in going to Richmond. The race just pushed me to do it and set a date for the visit. From Richmond, we decided to make the one hour drive to Gloucester, Virginia to visit another old martial arts buddy, Warren. Gloucester is a beautiful little town, quaint and full of wonderful historic buildings. And Warren is a gourmet chef; so needless to say, lunch in Gloucester was fabulous. Good company, sunshine, good food, flowers,...life is good. To get to Gloucester, we crossed the Mattaponi and Pamunkey Rivers. These rivers flow through the 2 oldest Indian Reservations in the country; established through treaty with the King of England. And I have spent quite a bit of time at Mattaponi, so that is what this post is really about.

As we crossed the bridge over the Mattaponi River, it was a flood of memories. Rivers amaze me that way. What is the retention time of a drop of water in a river? Short. Yet the rivers hold memories and feelings forever. I thought of time spent repairing a beautiful old canoe with wooden gunnels, eventually painted a bright turquoise; Sun Eagle and Gentle Wind's happiness at the finished canoe, their feeling of freedom spread; fighting the currents and tides of the brackish river to cross; walks along the river, learning about The Old Ways from Gentle Wind; the beauty of all her paintings, all of them inspired there, on its banks; fishing in the quiet places on the other side of the river; the shad hatchery; missing old friends and loved ones and a sense of longing mixed in with the flooded feelings of happiness and beauty. I love that river. It is home. It is the home to generations. It is life.

Some estimates suggest that every drop of water existing on this earth is over 2 million years old. Maybe this is how the stories and memories are held.