SKYE stephenson

About a week or two ago, I took a walk along the Ashuelot River, along the Jonathan Daniels Trail. This is something I often do – several times a week, weather permitting. Such that I have slowly come to know her twists and turns; her moods and ways. This day there was something odd about the River. Something not quite right. What was it?

This is when I noticed that the River was flowing in the opposite direction than normal. It was moving towards its source, rather than towards the Connecticut River.

Some years ago I was told how the Contoocook River, that flows from Rindge up to Concord, is so unusual because it goes north. This person told me that this unusual water flow makes that area a great place for poets and prophets and inspiration. This may well be true.

But this day as I look at our local Ashuelot flowing sort of in this way – it does not seem right. And when I reach the former dam, now sort-of-waterfall – there is no water falling over the structure. It is bone dry. Wow!

My heart sort of hurts. And a kind of melancholy settles upon me as I sit down on the bench there. Usually there are some ducks, or geese, or both in the area to watch. That day, there were none.

I think about a course I assisted with a few years before at Keene State College. Led by Musician Jose Lezcano, the class explored Music in Ecuador, and then we made a visit there. A good portion of this class was dedicated to Indigenous and Andean musical instruments and songs. This is when I learned that there are specific tunes to sing and play to the waters and rivers.

I watch a video of an indigenous women discussing how the rivers longs for these songs that help to nourish the waters’ flow. And how important it is to remember and pass on these ancestral songs of wisdom and elemental healing generation to generation, and offer them with to the waters with love and appreciation.

We travel to Ecuador a few weeks before the Inti Raymi period, during the summer solstice. One night at a hostel in Peguche, close to a very sacred waterfall, a group of four or five Ecuadorian men about the same age as the students come to play. As we eat, they pluck away on the strings of their guitars and sing with great fervor. They keep up this tempo for an hour or more, without stopping even for a minute.

They agree to speak with the students, and put down their instruments. They explain that they are practicing for the Inti Raymi Festival. That these are songs that need to sung each year to the earth and the waters to maintain balance and health for all the living beings. That this is one of the most important roles of humans on Earth. And that they still have much more to practice to be ready for the Ceremonies – when they will play all night without stop. “Until our fingers bleed,” one of them said.

As I sat on the bench that day by the dried-up waterfall that lies, in fact, in the center, or heart, of Keene – I recalled this scene in Ecuador and wondered if our River – the Ashuelot – is hungry for some sacred songs. Or, maybe, some prayers or offerings or even simple thanks for all the beauty and life her flows bring to all of us.

I return the next day and made a small offering by a twist in her course. Then I sing a song I invent on the spot. It is not very good. I am a terrible singer and musician. Then, I continue my walk. Only a few steps later, a woman about my age stops me. And she points, towards the other shore of the River. A heron is standing there – staring at us. One leg raised. Shortly, the heron flies off – towards the north.

As I write this article, the Ashuelot River is still very low and we are still in a drought. Maybe there is nothing any of us can do about this, given climate change and the vagaries of weather patterns in New England. But maybe a song or a prayer or an offering of thanks to the waters – any water around us – would be appreciated by the elements, and Mother Earth herself. Maybe you want to give it a try, in your own way. But if you do, it must be with full heart and no expectations. As one gives any true to gift to another being: whether a Person, a Pet, or a River.