File #986: "Mosaic_Spring2008_6.jpg"
Description
Red River
James Rock
The Red River meanders along the Kentucky and Tennessee borders and gets its name from the reddish-brown color of the water. The water gets its color from the red clay that is abundant in southern Kentucky and northern middle Tennessee. Whenever it rains, some of the red clay gets washed into the river. The part of the river that passes through the secluded areas of Robertson County, Tennessee, is the section of the river I know best.
Every day during the summer, I spent hours in the hot summer heat, working in my grandfather's tobacco fields. The fields were near my grandfather's house and seemed to extend for miles. After working all day, my uncle and I looked forward to going down to the river for a swim and some tubing. We pretended that we were white water rafting. We had to pretend, since the river moved slower than my grandfather did when his arthritis acted up. If I threw a stick into the water, took my eyes off of the water for a few seconds and looked back, the stick would still be where I threw it in.
We loaded the inner tubes into my granddaddy's old truck, a 53 Chevy with rusted out floorboards, to drive down to the river. We could tell how fast we were going by watching through the floorboards. We could see the gravel passing by under the truck. We completed the two-mile trip to the small bridge that crosses the river in record time, ten long and dusty minutes. We didn't drive the truck; we experienced it. One of us would have to hold the gear lever in gear while the other one steered. First gear was the only one that worked and that was the one we drove in, at six or seven miles per hour. We could have walked from the house to the river. Going through the woods near the house, the river is only about one hundred yards away. However, we were thirteen and at thirteen we drove every chance we got. A two-mile drive was better than no driving at all, in our opinion. Driving at thirteen was commonplace, when I grew up, especially in the country.
Once we arrived at the bridge my uncle had a surprise for me. We were going to jump off the bridge into the water instead of walking down the bank. That may not seem like a big deal, but the bridge is about twenty long feet up from the water and the water is only six or seven feet deep under the bridge. When I realized what he had in mind I balked. I wasn't going to jump into a shallow, snake filled, muddy, rocky-bottomed, foul smelling, and slow moving river from twenty feet up. The water really didn't smell, but when I am scared I can find all kinds of things wrong with the river.
Dickie, actually Dixie Lee is his real name, started badgering me about jumping. He said, "What's the matter, are you scared?” I responded, "No I am just taking my time checking out this shallow, snake filled, muddy and so on and so on river."
After a while he finally got the best of me and we took our inner tubes and went out onto the bridge together. On the count of three we jumped into the water, or at least I did. After splashing home at the bottom of the river among the rocks, snakes and tree limbs, I looked back up to see Dickie still standing on the bridge. It seemed like he was always doing stuff like that to me. A few moments later, however, he jumped and joined me in the water. There was only one problem, no inner tubes; they were still up on the bridge. We climbed out of the water and back up onto the bridge to retrieve our tubes and jumped in again. This time I made sure he went first.
We spent the afternoon floating down the river among fallen trees, stumps, and small sand bars that created some swift moving water from time to time. We could hear the roaring water as it rushed through the small corridors formed by the sand bars, the songs of birds twittering and squirrels chattering up in the trees. This was what everyone our age who lived in the country did for fun. There weren't many other activities, besides work and school, without going all the way into town to see a movie. This was, "BC," before cable. While we floated down the river, I tried to capsize my uncle by pulling at his inner tube or a dangling arm or leg. We kept up these mock wrestling matches for hours just floating along enjoying the cool water and playing. After floating for a couple hours, we were still only a few miles down river from the bridge.
As we approached a fallen tree that jutted out into the water near a sand bar, I noticed my uncle paddling steadily away from the tree as I floated near it. I was wondering what the problem was, when I heard a rustling noise in the base of the tree roots that still clung to the riverbank. That was when I saw the biggest bunch of cottonmouth snakes that I think I had ever seen. I immediately began paddling as fast I could to get away from the fallen tree. It seemed that the faster I paddled, the harder the quick moving water pushed me toward the tree. The small sand bar near the tree caused the water to go towards the tree before it spilled around the end farthest from the bank of the river. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, I passed clear of the tree and floated back out into the center of the river.
James Rock
The Red River meanders along the Kentucky and Tennessee borders and gets its name from the reddish-brown color of the water. The water gets its color from the red clay that is abundant in southern Kentucky and northern middle Tennessee. Whenever it rains, some of the red clay gets washed into the river. The part of the river that passes through the secluded areas of Robertson County, Tennessee, is the section of the river I know best.
Every day during the summer, I spent hours in the hot summer heat, working in my grandfather's tobacco fields. The fields were near my grandfather's house and seemed to extend for miles. After working all day, my uncle and I looked forward to going down to the river for a swim and some tubing. We pretended that we were white water rafting. We had to pretend, since the river moved slower than my grandfather did when his arthritis acted up. If I threw a stick into the water, took my eyes off of the water for a few seconds and looked back, the stick would still be where I threw it in.
We loaded the inner tubes into my granddaddy's old truck, a 53 Chevy with rusted out floorboards, to drive down to the river. We could tell how fast we were going by watching through the floorboards. We could see the gravel passing by under the truck. We completed the two-mile trip to the small bridge that crosses the river in record time, ten long and dusty minutes. We didn't drive the truck; we experienced it. One of us would have to hold the gear lever in gear while the other one steered. First gear was the only one that worked and that was the one we drove in, at six or seven miles per hour. We could have walked from the house to the river. Going through the woods near the house, the river is only about one hundred yards away. However, we were thirteen and at thirteen we drove every chance we got. A two-mile drive was better than no driving at all, in our opinion. Driving at thirteen was commonplace, when I grew up, especially in the country.
Once we arrived at the bridge my uncle had a surprise for me. We were going to jump off the bridge into the water instead of walking down the bank. That may not seem like a big deal, but the bridge is about twenty long feet up from the water and the water is only six or seven feet deep under the bridge. When I realized what he had in mind I balked. I wasn't going to jump into a shallow, snake filled, muddy, rocky-bottomed, foul smelling, and slow moving river from twenty feet up. The water really didn't smell, but when I am scared I can find all kinds of things wrong with the river.
Dickie, actually Dixie Lee is his real name, started badgering me about jumping. He said, "What's the matter, are you scared?” I responded, "No I am just taking my time checking out this shallow, snake filled, muddy and so on and so on river."
After a while he finally got the best of me and we took our inner tubes and went out onto the bridge together. On the count of three we jumped into the water, or at least I did. After splashing home at the bottom of the river among the rocks, snakes and tree limbs, I looked back up to see Dickie still standing on the bridge. It seemed like he was always doing stuff like that to me. A few moments later, however, he jumped and joined me in the water. There was only one problem, no inner tubes; they were still up on the bridge. We climbed out of the water and back up onto the bridge to retrieve our tubes and jumped in again. This time I made sure he went first.
We spent the afternoon floating down the river among fallen trees, stumps, and small sand bars that created some swift moving water from time to time. We could hear the roaring water as it rushed through the small corridors formed by the sand bars, the songs of birds twittering and squirrels chattering up in the trees. This was what everyone our age who lived in the country did for fun. There weren't many other activities, besides work and school, without going all the way into town to see a movie. This was, "BC," before cable. While we floated down the river, I tried to capsize my uncle by pulling at his inner tube or a dangling arm or leg. We kept up these mock wrestling matches for hours just floating along enjoying the cool water and playing. After floating for a couple hours, we were still only a few miles down river from the bridge.
As we approached a fallen tree that jutted out into the water near a sand bar, I noticed my uncle paddling steadily away from the tree as I floated near it. I was wondering what the problem was, when I heard a rustling noise in the base of the tree roots that still clung to the riverbank. That was when I saw the biggest bunch of cottonmouth snakes that I think I had ever seen. I immediately began paddling as fast I could to get away from the fallen tree. It seemed that the faster I paddled, the harder the quick moving water pushed me toward the tree. The small sand bar near the tree caused the water to go towards the tree before it spilled around the end farthest from the bank of the river. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, I passed clear of the tree and floated back out into the center of the river.