The River
People are often surprised that after three months of living in Nauvoo, the greatest physical memory for me is of the Mississippi River. What, not the old pioneer buildings? (Actually, no.) Not the temple? (Oh, you mean that large hole in the ground?) Really? That dirty old river? (Yes, that dirty old River.)
The Mississippi is no mere river; it is The River. Last fall, hoping to stir up some nostalgia, I took some time to sit on the fallen autumn leaves next to the stream that runs along Cougar (now LaVell Edwards) Stadium. Walking by the stadium on my way home from school was a daily activity in 1999, and at times I would go a few yards out of my way to walk by—and sometimes in and through—the stream. It was a little breath of nature.
Last fall though, recently returned from Nauvoo, it seemed insufficient. Nice enough, but not quite the Mighty Mississippi. I remember very clearly the first time I sat on the stony banks of the Mississippi. I sat there a long time, watching the movement of the waves (waves! in a river!) lapping on the shore, floating bits of driftwood and an occasional rogue otter. When my bus pulled into St. Louis a few months before, I had been amazed at its breadth and beauty under the night sky, but oh! to sit at it’s lapping shores!
Before I flew out East, on my way to Nauvoo, I had a poor opinion of the Mississippi. I imagined it full of silt and garbage, all foul and death brown. A big, moving mudhole. But I was wrong. The Mississippi River is just as powerfully magnificent as the mountains about Provo or the ocean always threatening my wife’s hometown. The River is equally demanding of respect for its beauty, obvious power and calm, aeonic existence. It is a Presence—Nauvoo’s omnipresent ambassador of Nature.
And for me, unexpectedly so. You can, after all, always see the mountains at BYU (unless you’re in the windowless dungeon-basement of the JKHB), and when you are near an ocean, there it is! If you somehow cannot see it (or the void above an ocean that gives it away), you can certainly hear or smell it. But the Mississippi is not always inside the senses. Yet somehow, it retains that omnipresent quality.
As I was walking down the stadium’s streamside path, I was startled by a pair of ducks taking flight before me. That was nostalgic. I think I may always associate ducks and the Mississippi. As we would drive down the River to Keokuk, Iowa; whole flocks of ducks would take flight before us, flapping and flapping and still seeming like their feet will never clear the water.
Another bird I’ll associate with the Mississippi is the bald eagle. Keokuk yearly celebrates the eagles’ deep winter congregation along the banks of the River. We went down to look through the men-in-green’s binoculars. That day I easily saw ten times the number of bald eagles I had ever seen, as they stood proud in the naked branches.
But no animal can outflank the majesty of the River itself. The Mississippi is an irresistible force of nature. When I sat on its banks and watched it stroking the rocks, I could feel the power. God has created some amazing things. I’ve never been so stunned as when I first saw the Grand Canyon. I’ve never felt my mind twist quite like when I realized I was standing on the other side of the Pacific Ocean and California was somewhere way, way, way Over There. And I’ve never felt serenity quite like I have on the banks of the Mighty Mississippi.
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Thanks for revisiting Nauvoo with me. I would love to hear your thoughts.