This River is Home

As I ran along the Potomac River today, which I can get to on foot in about 15 minutes, I let my mind wander through the many memories I’ve made since we moved into our home in 2001:

The balmy April afternoon when we rode the metro downtown with baby Edwin cinched to Chris’s chest in a sling. We were so relieved we didn’t try to navigate a stroller through the throngs of cherry blossom admirers around the tidal basin.

The numerous runs I took heading south on the trail along the river, pushing a sleeping Edwin in the jogger, determined to lose the baby weight and get back in shape.

The frigid January morning in 2009 when we bundled our children up in multiple puffy layers, nestled them into the double stroller, and walked the four miles to the Lincoln Memorial, alongside a gray and white-capped river, to watch Barack Obama’s inauguration on a jumbotron.

That rare, perfect DC summer afternoon, low humidity, puffy clouds, and a cerulean sky when Maxine and I rode the trail-a-bike down to the tidal basin and rented paddle boats. We’d paddle around a while, lay back in the sun and watch the clouds, then paddle around a little more in a meandering, lazy trail.

The hot and sunny afternoon when the four of us stood in the grass between the river and the GW Parkway, waving to thousands of motorcyclists who thundered by on the day before Memorial Day, honoring our nation’s POW’s and MIA’s.

The many paddleboard excursions I made along the river last summer, sometimes the river choppy and slightly threatening, and other times as still as glass.

As all these thoughts flitted through my mind, I began to reach back farther. I grew up with this river. I remember when Air Florida Flight 90 hit the 14th St. Bridge and crashed into the frozen, gray water. I remember riding the school bus from my elementary school in Burke, crossing the river with my brown paper lunch bag and foil-wrapped can of grade soda on my lap.

This river is home to me. I’m not quite sure how to end this without avoiding some terrible cliched metaphor, so I’m going to leave it at this for now.