THE TRAIN AND THE RIVER
Rex Burress
The dry July morning was more brown than green, as I stopped by the river for a moment of “stop and stare” to see what was going on.
The Fish Barrier Falls was nearby, and that constant rumble of falling water is a refreshing reminder of moisture in the mountains, even though the adjoining parched fields must long for some of that flow. I was noticing the many plants in the seed stage of summer, quite difficult to identify without blossom or leaf, but you can be rewarded by the artistic development of thistle to triteleia seeds and many more, even if it's somewhat mystifying, too.
The tall soap plant stems wave in the wind, and tiny black seeds shatter to the soil, where I had watched the evening bloom for several weeks back in May. Most of those seeds will be intercepted by something, although the soap plant shouldn't be desperate since they also grow from a long-lived bulb, but like most plants, they are trying to reach out and extend their range. The will of nature is to advance their species, and we see it in ballooning spiders riding their airborne strand of silk to new places, or in wind dispersal of downy 'parachutes' carrying the seeds of milkweed, dandelion, cottonwood, fireweed, and more.
The “stop and stare” thought was expressed by an art student in my Oakland Camp Art class one summer. As I led a dozen adults through trees and tangles trying to“Understand Nature Through Photography and Art” in the Sierra, one student was prone to drift to a spot and stop and sit as if studying the angles. She said, “I just love to stop and stare. I find that I see so many different things that way.” There you have it: the essence of watching...stare! [“...but only those who take off their shoes, see.” ]
My reverie was changed when I heard the low rumble of a train coming down the tracks, headed west out of the mountains, and it was a long 'four-engine job' with near a hundred box cars and tankers. It was going in the same direction as the river, both carrying their loads for their individual destinations, one moving with merchandise for industry, and one moving with a stream of water mostly to end in the ocean.
I have an affinity with rivers and trains. While in high school, I was drawn to the Rock Island Depot in Trenton, and learned the telegraph there. A telegraph agent-opr job developed at Spickard, Mo, 12 miles north of Trenton, and I worked there for a summer before going west. Handing up train orders to a moving train got me into trains and not under them, although it was touch and go!
The uncanny thing about the Spickard Depot was that it was a few yards from the Weldon River, and like the train in Oroville and the Feather River going in the same direction, thus it was at Spickard with the Weldon and the Rock Island moving on! We know some trains go the other way, but like water circling in rain clouds, trains travel a system of circular routes eventually to return down the canyon. One track and two trains going opposite ways must have an understanding!
It was one of those sad notes from Paradise when my railroad-buff friend, John Sedwick, died in that treacherous fire. He had a deep and abiding interest in trains, relished my train stories, and we had planned a fall trip up the Feather River Canyon to see and study that train system. Not to be...
I lingered over some more weed seeds--magnifying the mullein seeds and seeing the miniature log-shaped design under the husk with my hand lens. The Virgin's Bower Clematis had already erupted into fuzzy fluff-seed-balls, decorating the thickets with those pale powder puffs. Dandelions popped their aerial drifters, and quite obviously, there was a big hatch of pastel skimmer dragonflies, randomly patrolling the river for their brief encounter with aerial gymnastics!
Just stop and stare and you'll see something...guaranteed every time!
“The benefit of seeing...can come only if you pause a while, extricate yourself from turmoil, and look thoughtfully at a quiet image...the receiver must be willing to pause again and again...to mediate.”
--Dorothea Lange
“Earth's crammed full of heaven, and every common bush is afire with God. But only those who take off their shoes see; the rest walk around picking blackberries”--Elizabeth Browning