Walking your river talk

Rivers speak to those who listen.

Near my parents’ home, the North Pocono Citizens Alert Regarding the Environment (NP C.A.R.E.) monitors the Upper Lehigh Watershed along its stretch of the Lehigh River.

Friends and I joined this group recently on a chilly rain-spattered evening walk led by Darryl Speicher, who with his wife, Jackie, founded the Pocono Avian Research Center in Mountainhome, PA.

Bundled against the falling temperatures, we walked, listened and looked. Most of the feathered residents were wisely tucked into shelters against what would eventually change from scattered showers to icy sleet. We learned about the special characteristics of those transitional zones along the river’s edges, equally interesting and often overlooked.

The river spoke to us in other voices, too. As we began walking along a dirt road flanking the water, sunlight suddenly pierced the hovering gray cloud cover behind us and a spectacular rainbow gilded the sky. Wood anemones bloomed in groves, along with snippets of yellow spray from the spotty-leafed trout lilies and gold exclamations of marsh marigolds. Bulging egg masses floated in dark vernal pools and animal tracks studded the sandy shorelines.

Eventually, dusk began its sly descent and we turned to retrace our path. My 70-something neighbor, Edith, who had come along for the adventure, began striding ahead of the group. Soon she was alone and we began to wonder if the cold was driving her haste. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well or had grown weary of the walk. Earlier she had commented on the river’s wild beauty, had said that she loved it like this.

When we caught up at the cars, we expressed our concerns. Dismissing them with her characteristic, “Acht,” and a wave of her hand, my German friend said, “I wanted to be alone. I was listening to the river.”