aka the source. I just spent a fantastic week at one of my sources. Not the headwaters of the Hudson, Hackensack, or even Winooski . . . but of an obscure river called the Powwow, a place whose history beckons an account I can’t do here yet.

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My first love will always be human-powered vessels that let me feel like this…

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…maybe I’ll come back as a heron here

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where turtles become astronomers in egg-laying season, finding sunny slopes where eggs’ll hatch

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and all the creatures carry some protection to ensure being left alone. (Note: I climbed 30′ up an adjacent tree to get this shot.) Even the folk in that general neck-of-the-woods contemplate a libertarian contrariness. More on the Powwow later.

For now, and with some apology to John Masefield and seafever.org, here’s my rendition . . .
I had to go paddle the Powwow again, to hear the thrush and frogs in their private lair
And all it took was a canoe and a week to linger there

And confer with heron and bull frog and watersnake, and witness thunder and heat lightning reflect in the lake.

All photos by Will Van Dorp

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