A gentle rain dimples the surface of the river as I slither
down the steep bank, bag of supplies in hand. The path, nearly overgrown with
poison ivy, has not yet been soaked, so the dirt and loose stones shift under
my feet. The leaves of oak, maple and ash trees gather the raindrops together before
letting them sheet off; the rhythm of the rain under the canopy differs from
what I see on the open water. Larger, more sporadic splashes land on my head
and shoulders. Somehow this secondhand rain feels colder than the just-more-than-drizzle
that falls on the river.
Every other week, June to September, I join a bevy of water
testers to take samples on the Souhegan, Nashua and Merrimack Rivers. It’s a
discreet bevy; each of us treks to a separate site, draws a few ounces of
water, and delivers them to our assigned test lab. We’re lay scientists, if you
will, volunteers in the ongoing study of pollution and nutrients in the
environment. Our samples are pixels in the long-term image of the watershed,
and we’ve had some success: the three rivers are much cleaner, and wild salmon
are returning.
I undertake this minor inconvenience for the sake of the river,
of course. It shouldn’t and doesn’t have to be our septic system. And I do it
for selfish, human reasons. Better ways exist to handle all our wastes than
mindlessly dumping them in the water we then drink. Water treatment costs have
come down since the sampling and cleanup began; fewer swimmers get sick; more
boaters, fishermen and hikers enjoy the river. Osprey, bald eagles, otters and other
critters visit more often, delighting wildlife watchers.
But the real reason I get up early one morning every two
weeks is for the brief, precious moments of communing with the river. The
actual sampling takes only a couple of minutes, the routine observations of the
area very little more. Nonetheless, I often spend half an hour or more at my
site, noting things that don’t go into my report—the fall of sunlight on the
leaves, the pattern of the ripples, the singing of the water over the rocks. I
watch the progression of leaf to flower to fruit, sweet flag to meadowsweet to
goldenrod. Sometimes raccoons, otters, or weasels leave their tracks.
On this rainy day I don’t linger. The rain is mild but soon
seeps through my t-shirt; the river feels warmer than the air. I peer
downstream toward the bridge, unseen in the rising mist. Shivering now, I climb
back to my car and deliver my samples to the lab.
But when I get home, my clothes and my hair smell of the
river. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll visit again.
