19 river miles to St John’s Boat Ramp (River Mile 106)

I thought the theme of today was going to be muck. As Dot and I were putting our boats into the water below the breached dam we were sinking almost up to our knees in some amazing quicksand like muck. I thought about how I have had to wade through a lot of muck in life to get to where I am. But before I could go too far down that path, the day took such a radical turn that the muck became background noise. In fact, I would say the theme of the day truly became getting out of the muck and into the flow of the magic of the river.

It was an overcast day but warm enough to be comfortable. Best of all there was NO wind! The river was like a sheet of glass. Of course we were thrilled to have no wind to fight against. But what made it truly spectacular were the reflections.

When the morning fog lifted, the river reflected the blue sky and white fluffy clouds so perfectly it was almost hard to know which was the reflection and which was real life. I felt I was paddling in the sky. Even though the water was only a few inches deep in places, the banks of the river looked like they went way down into the water.

The reflection of the branches on the fallen trees made wonderful geometric patters appear. Reflected driftwood looked like sculptures in the middle of the river. At one point we paddled under the Mt Orne Covered Bridge. It was disconcerting and spectacular to look down into the water and feel there really was a full bridge spanning the river deep below us.

All this beauty and the relaxing paddling made me really glad to be on this trip. When I first set out I did not expect to enjoy it as much as I was. I was just following an inner sense that this was something I had to do. There were parts of me that really did not want to be on the water and thought “we” would hate it. But this was turning out to be totally not true. I did not feel cramped in my kayak day after day. I was enjoying the challenges and my fears were dissipating. I was enjoying having Dot as a companion to paddle with. I was, in fact, totally loving this adventure. And if this wasn’t enough gift enough for one day, a wonderful miracle came our way.

Just below the covered bridge I let my boat drift in order to pull out my phone and call my friend Carl. He had promised to meet us this evening with a chicken dinner. I was surprised at how hungry I already was. When hiking, this type of hunger is called “hiker hunger.” It grips you and leaves you feeling hungry almost all the time. Dot and I had been talking about food for two days already, even though we were eating what would be considered double dinners for most folks at home.

I confirmed a meeting time and place with Carl and told him how hungry we were. Just as I hung up a head popped up over the bank and asked, “Is someone down there?”
“Yes,”I replied. “We are paddling to the sea.”
“I heard you say you were hungry. Would you like some snacks?”
“Sure would!” I replied.

We ended up beaching our boats and climbing the steep bank to the campsite where we were treated with two hot dogs a piece, plenty of tuna pasta salad, lots of snacks and plenty of cold water. What a feast!
The company made it even better. We learned a lot about this great extended family who lived locally and had been spending summers camping in this RV park for generations.

I heard in a personal way the impacts a large business closing can have on a small, rural community, causing multiple family members to lose their jobs at one time. We spoke of the beauty of trust and the gift of generosity. Diane spoke of how she trusted her gut and reached out to other people. Her daughter-in law, Jessica, who is working on climbing all the 4000′ peaks in NH, talked about how she knew she had to feed us when she heard us say we were hungry. She would not have envisioned it any other way.

I thought about how people often reflect their own feelings onto other people. If these kind people had been afraid, they might have seen us as dangerous and projected that belief onto us. But because they were willing to trust their guts and put kindness above fear, they saw the best in us, enriching all of our lives. For me, this had an effect that feels life changing.

I was walking to the restroom in the campground, thinking of all the kind people I have met on all of my adventures. A flush of contentment washed over me such as I had never experienced before. From somewhere deep inside me I felt a shift happening. I thought, “I might just have to stick around and see what other wonderful kindnesses are out there waiting for me.” Those who know me know that this is monumental. I have spent these last few years, since the departure of my husband, struggling with the desire to die. In fact, even as I have done everything in my power to live a life worth living, for much of my life I struggled with a desire to die. This desire to die was born early in my life as a result of severe childhood abuse. It has lived in the deepest, most remote, cut off places inside me, rearing its painful head in times of great aloneness. It was amazing to me to feel this desire for life creeping in to those young cut off places inside of me. I don’t yet know the lasting effects of this, but I am sure it is helping to pull me out of the muck.

Dot had to pull me from that wonderful group of people. We had to get going to meet Carl and the promised chicken dinner. We continued our jaunt down the river, thrilling at the loons which came up right next to our boats. We saw more cormorants, osprey and a nest of kingfishers.

Soon we reached Carl and our lovely chicken dinner, which we easily devoured despite our large lunch. By then we were too tired to go much further, so we found a lovely campsite and settled down for a peaceful night with a multitude of frogs singing us to sleep.