From This River, When I Was a Child | Mary Oliver
by Elouise
Photo of the dock and river; taken by DAFraser in July 2010
A Mary Oliver poem for all of us. My comments follow.
From This River, When I Was a Child, I Used to Drink
But when I came back I found
that the body of the river was dying.
“Did it speak?”
Yes, it sang out the old songs, but faintly.
“What will you do?”
I will grieve of course, but that’s nothing.
“What, precisely, will you grieve for?”
For the river. For myself, my lost
joyfulness. For the children who will not
know what a river can be—a friend, a
companion, a hint of heaven.“Isn’t this somewhat overplayed?”
I said: it can be a friend. A companion. A
hint of heaven.© 2008 Mary Oliver
Poem found in Red Bird, p. 44
Published by Beacon Press
When I read this poem, I tear up. It takes me back to my childhood in the South. We lived on a branch of the Savannah River. Our smaller yet substantial river was named the Vernon River, part of the Intracoastal Waterway.
Vernon River spoke to me multiple times. Especially when I was feeling sad, misunderstood or inundated by the noise of four daughters living in one house with two parents. Plus small pets, parakeets, and the occasional baby flying squirrels rescued from certain death when they fell or were pushed out of their nests.
We lived in rural Chatham County, at the end of a narrow country road, 15 miles from Savannah, Georgia. I had three younger sisters. Frequently I needed a companion. A hint of heaven that was there for me, night and day.
The Vernon River did all that for me. No, I didn’t drink the salt water. But I swam in it. Better than a bath on a hot, humid day! Plus miraculous skin-healing properties of salt water free for the taking. Crabs to be caught, boiled, picked and eaten. Salt-water breezes to soothe my sad, sometimes lonely soul. The soft splash of tides coming and going like clockwork. The sound of seagulls chasing shrimp boats early in the morning and late in the afternoon.
When I read Mary’s poem, I’m out on the dock again. Alone. Sitting on top of the picnic table. Feeling the goodness of earth and heaven come together in one grand moment of peace.
Am I “somewhat” overplaying what I’ve lost? Or what the children of today may never experience?
I said: it can be a friend. A companion. A
hint of heaven.
Elouise♥
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 27 July 2020
Photo of dock and river taken by DAFraser, July 2010
Telling the Truth 
I agree there is something very personal and soothing about water. Even a rough boisterous sea crashing on rocks is uplifting. But also a little creek meandering through trees. A dried up river bed, and we have a lot here, make me feel sad.
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A few nights ago we watched a small team of female veterinarians from the USA joining Australian veterinarians in a week-long search and rescue project. They were looking for still living forest animals caught in the fires and dried up sources of water. Just the tip of what’s happening. Sad, indeed.
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What a delightful poem. But the anguish expressed in the last two lines is very moving.
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Yes, it is. No one seems to be listening? Hearing? Understanding? Caring?
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Yes, water can be so healing…so comforting…to hear it, see it, feel it… SIGH.
(((HUGS))) 🙂
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Yes! We don’t have one, but I can understand why some people have small fountains running in their homes. It always seemed a waste of money (and time) to me. Still, the sound of water is like nothing else when it comes to calming heart and mind! 🙂 and Hugs! Always!
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I smiled all the way.
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I’m smiling, too. This time, at you! 🙂
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Amazing how words about places bring feeling buried in our memory. I am glad it brought to you pleasant ones. For those like me, who grew up in an abusive home a river would remind me of the Wabash river my Dad fished in and occasionally we camped there with some of Dad’s and Mom’s friends. Of course it was like being at home for the alcohol was king of the river and at home. thank God my growing up years filled with hurt taught me to do everything possible to make sure my children had a pleasant childhood. That they knew they were loved no matter what, encouraged to reach for whatever their dreams were. She and you are good writers, made me want to visit this river and swim in the salt water.
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Thank you for this kind comment. I’m also from an abusive home. Sitting on the dock was one way I could be alone with myself. There were four sisters. As the oldest, and with a mother still recovering from polio, a lot was expected of me. In some ways, it stole most of my childhood. It took years of professional help (beginning in my 40s) to figure out how to deal with my past. I pray your children, like ours, have escaped the problems you faced. Part of my own wake-up call and growth was due to friends I met in AlAnon. It’s a small world. One last thing: There’s nothing like swimming in salt water! 🙂
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Wonderful to hear an account of an AlAnon survivor. I have a dear friend who husband is a alcoholic and I have tried to get her to go to AlAnon since I met her. She refuses, and instead pays a very expensive counselor for his advice. He husband goes to one too, has for years but neither one of them are doing well. He will not admit he is an alcoholic , she thinks because her counselor is on the radio and cost a lot she is the best. I am from a small town in Ill. and do not remember any kind of help back then. People knew what was going on in our house because we would have to call police at times but people were afraid of my Dad. Only person who wasn’t was a preacher who lived two doors down from us. My Dad hated that man and would get buck naked and stand on our porch and shoot his gun toward the pastor house. You are a very good writer, I could learn from you. Working on a book, almost done now, about forgiveness, possible for me through the forgiveness of God. Blessings.
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Hi, Betty.
What a sad situation for your friend–who could go to AlAnon even if her husband refuses to go to AA. In addition, she could leave open the possibility of doing both AlAnon and seeing her counsellor. As for your own story, I can’t even picture what life must have been like for you and your family.
I’ve struggled with forgiveness. Nonetheless, I’m at peace with what I’ve done up to this point. I’ve also blogged about it. If you’re interested, here’s a link to the beginning of a short series (4 parts) called The Shape of Forgiveness: https://wp.me/p32tHJ-5ld. Each situation is different, and not all forgiving is easy. In the end, there’s only one person who can fully forgive my father. That would be Jesus of Nazareth. In the meantime, I carry the scars of his attempts to subdue me, and a, still learning how to get on with my own life.
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