A lesson in resilience (from a river)
An even-tempered river bursts her banks
As with humans, rivers can have quite distinct personalities.
Some are assigned based on proximity: the Potomac by Washington and the Thames in London both evoke power. The Seine that runs through Paris stirs romance.
Sometimes river personalities come from the soul of the river itself. The Mighty Mississippi could be nothing other than that, and the Beautiful Blue Danube earns its color in spirit if not always in hue.
So now consider the river called Avon. For a long time, I knew it only as the final bit of the name of Shakespeare’s hometown: Stratford-Upon-Avon.
For me, long before I visited Stratford, its personality existed simply by its proximity to Shakespeare. I imagined it being ancient, small, and a constant inspiration for a great poet.
Once I finally visited Stratford a few years ago, I was happy to learn that my impressions of Avon made perfect sense. It was all those things. But it’s natural personality shone through as well: placid, bucolic, polite.
It didn’t rush, it didn’t rapid, it didn’t churn.
Swans were so fond of gliding on the Avon’s glass, that they became a symbol of the 800-year-old town. The Royal Shakespeare Company sits on the bank of the river and one of their theaters is aptly named The Swan.
Recently, after a week of traveling all over England, I was excited to spend the weekend in Stratford-Upon-Avon for many reasons: It is a lovely, walkable town. It has one of the world’s best theater companies. And there were some wonderful friends here to reconnect with- including the elegant Avon.
In the days before my arrival, England was drenched with historic amounts of rain. It was still raining buckets when I got off the train. Upon checking into my riverside hotel, I learned that “flood defences” has been put in place and the whole town was under a flood watch.
Just like we foolish mortals, immortal rivers change personalities from time to time. I simply couldn’t imagine my elegant Avon requiring “defences” or putting the whole town under siege. And yet that is what happened.
As night fell, the Affable Avon burst her banks. One might forgive the Potomac and even expect it of the Mississippi from time to time; but watching the townspeople have to protect themselves from their beloved Avon was a little heartbreaking.
Those of us who are naturally calm rarely lose our tempers. I suppose the same can be said of naturally calm rivers. As a naturally calm human myself, I am horribly embarrassed after I’ve blown my stack.
I suspect I have this in common with the River Avon.
The morning after she burst, the rain was gone and the cold November sun had returned. The Avon was glassy and bucolic once again. But just like my face remains flushed with red long after I’ve calmed down, the elegant Avon couldn’t hide her flood, much as I’m sure she would like to.
The riverside benches were partially submerged as was the gazebo:
The booth where you buy your River Cruise tickets appeared to have become a river cruise itself:
As I strolled along the Avon in the chilly sun, I imagined her complicated feelings the morning after her outburst: I’m terribly embarrassed for showing that side of me. But in the end, you see, I had no choice. I only hope you can understand.
Oh yes, River Avon, I get it. I’ve been there. I still love you. In fact, I love you a bit more now.
