August 31, 2014 - The Old River Hermit

I heard the legend of the Old River Hermit a long time ago.  He lives on the river or maybe even in the river, and if you’re having many troubles in your life, you can go and talk to him and he’ll give you answers.  But they say you never see him, you just hear him.  Today I decided I had many problems and maybe I ought to go down to find him and hear what he had to say.

I set off early and got down to the riverbanks while it was still cool outside.  There was no one else there (and there never is anyhow, which makes me wonder where his legend comes from), and so I sat down on a rock and just looked out onto the river.  But nothing happened.  I didn’t see an old hermit.  I wondered if his legend was just a tall tale after all.  I thought maybe I should make sure about it though, so I just began talking.

“Old River Hermit, old river man, I’ve come to tell you my problems and get some answers,” I said loudly.  And then I proceeded.  First I told him about the many financial woes I have being an old-time Mainer and not a wealthy “summer person” who comes from afar and spends the summer here, pockets weighted deeply with gold.  Contrarily, mine are lighter than air.  Oddly enough, I could have sworn I did hear a sound.  It was like a “wash-wash-wash” sound, and so encouraged, I thought I’d continue.

The Old River Hermit's favorite riverbank.

Next I told the Old River Hermit about a neighbor across the cove who was angry with my chickens, saying the roosters were too loud.  (Roosters can be thunderous.)  As I said it, I saw a small whirlpool appear.  It pulled a leaf down under the water, and then it disappeared.  I went on and told him about the blight that was ruining some of my tomato crop.  Just then, I saw some white water rush by me, hit a rock, and splash high into the air.  And then it was calm again.

And so it went on.  I would tell a problem, and I’d get some sort of an answer, either a swishing sound or a gurgling or a splashing, or I’d see the water make an interesting pattern or shape.  Each time, I felt that it was some kind of answer I was getting, but I wasn’t sure what.  By the same token though, each time I told a problem, I felt a little better, a little lighter.  Still, I’d wanted solid results--real answers in words--and I hadn’t gotten any, so I stood up and got ready to leave.

“Sure wish you’d tell me what you think about it all,” I said.

“About what?” came a real answer from behind me.  I knew better than to turn around and look because it would break the spell.

“About my problems,” I said.

“What problems?”

“Everything I just told you about.”

“Oh,” he said, “what were the problems again?”

“I don’t know.  Just some stuff, I guess.”
“But it’s not bothering you now?”

“Not too much,” I said, “I mean it is what it is.”
“Nice day here on the river, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Be seeing you around then,” he said.

“Okay.”

I stayed a while longer and threw some twigs and pebbles into the river and watched the ripples spread outward.  The sun came out to play, and the breeze was heavenly.  It was a nice day, really.