The sun, radiant in a cloudless sky, cast dancing lights upon the quiet river. All that Grandfather described during many wonderful stories had not prepared me for the awesome beauty of the Allegheny River.
We. arrived at Grandfather’s cabin on a moist warm morning in 1955. I caught the fishy scent of the river close by, as my Dad’s ‘55. blue Olds pulled into the tree-lined clearing. The cabin smelled of old weathered pine and there, standing next to the concrete porch, was the black iron water pump that Grandfather had described. I couldn’t wait to give the pump a try so I could feel the icy water on my tongue. Not wanting to delay any longer, I raced down the grey-stone path to the water’s edge. Giant silver-streaked boulders lined the rugged banks of the river. I climbed on one of the larger rocks feeling the smooth warmth of the stone beneath my feet.
As if asleep, the river lay motionless, while blue and green dragonflies dove fiercely, skimming the water’s surface. Their long translucent wings produced a buzzing sound that lingered in my ears.
Not two feet away from where I stood, I caught sight of something in the water. A snake’s head appeared above the surface. As I watched with interest, it wriggled its way to the mossy bank. I recalled Grandfather’s warning about snakes in this region. Logic told me to move quickly, yet curiosity held me to the rock. I didn’t recognize the symmetrical cross-back design on its back, but I was certain it was poisonous. The snake lazily opened its massive jaws, revealing the whitest white I had ever seen; whiter than fresh whipped cream. I knew immediately that this was the Cottonmouth, a snake to be feared. I sat quietly awaiting its next move. Hot beads of perspiration formed on my brow while my heart beat a faster cadence. The snake must have come to shore for a brief rest, for after a few minutes it turned and wriggled back into the cool waters. I was so excited, I couldn’t wait to tell Grandfather about my encounter with this deadly snake.
I heard the soft whining sound of an engine across the water growing louder with each second. A bright cardinal-colored motor boat sped down the river. The driver, catching sight of me sitting on the rock, waved a happy salute. Before I could wave back, the boat had vanished, leaving behind a gentle wake that washed up onto my rock. The refreshing water kissed the bottoms of my feet, sending icy chills up my spine.
The water below my feet clouded over as tiny air bubbles appeared on the surface. As I gazed into the water I could see hundreds of tadpoles scurrying in a state of confusion. I swiftly reached my hand in hopes of catching one of the little creatures. To my sweet surprise, a tiny black tadpole was frantically squirming around in my wet palm. It had tiny gills for a body and sported a long ebony tail. I gently released the tiny tadpole into the water. It was hard to believe this little creature would soon grow into a monstrous bullfrog, singing a croaking lullaby along the muddy banks of the river.
I sat staring at the beautiful vista that lay before me. This was truly an artist’s dream with its tall stately evergreens standing watch over a sleepy river. I could almost feel the presence of spirits of long ago among the trees and glimpse their canoes traveling on the water. I knew two weeks would never fulfill my hunger for this land, and I couldn’t help but imagine all the wonderful experiences awaiting me on my vacation. This special time with Grandfather would give me a lifetime of forever memories.
