Monday Morning Musings:
“The water understands
Civilization well”
–Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Water”
There’s a spin instructor
At my gym.
She sometimes lifts her water bottle
And says, “community drink.”
When she says that
I picture a group of people
In a smoky old tavern
Passing around a mug of ale.
History brain.
And as soon as I think “history brain,”
Referring to myself
You understand,
I begin to ponder drinking in
Revolutionary Era America.
At the City Tavern
In Philadelphia
The bill for “55 Gentlemans Dinner & Fruit”
In September 1787
Went mainly for alcohol.
Madera, Claret, Porter, and Beer,
And don’t forget the “7 Large Bowels of Punch.”*
George Washington
Had a distillery at Mount Vernon,
The largest one in North America
At that time.
His hogs were fed the slops.
No waste on the farm.
Perhaps his neighbors
Drank to his health
With the whiskey
They bought from him.
Eighteenth-century toasting
At the table could be an ordeal.
With each guest toasting the health
Of everyone there
And on
And on
Till they could toast no more.
But perhaps it was better
Than drinking water in the city.
Dr. Benjamin Rush once
Lauded the murky water
Of an urban well,
Saying that its mineral waters
Could cure a host of conditions
From flatulence to rheumatism.
But it turned out its peculiar scent and taste
Was due to its connection to a privy.
Ooops.
I guess the doctor is not always right.
Well, well.
There’s a scene in A Town Like Alice
Where an Englishwoman
Returns to a village
In Malaya,
A place where she lived and toiled
During the war
After the Japanese took control
And force-marched her with
Other women and children
Over hundreds of miles.
She had money after the war,
An inheritance,
I think,
And so she goes back
To ask the headman of the village
To let the women have a well.
A small thing
But huge to them.
The scene has stayed in my mind
After all these years.
And I think about how in many parts of the world
Women and children are at risk every day
Because they must fetch the water used for
Cooking,
Drinking,
And washing
From miles away.
They can be assaulted
Or kidnapped
Or killed.
And women in some places
Do not have sanitary facilities
During their monthly periods
And so they cannot go to school
Or to work.
Water.
Those of us who have it
Take for granted that we can turn on a spigot
And there it will be.
And I just realized we haven’t seen
The Walking Dead survivors boiling water
To drink
Not that I remember anyway,
I could be wrong.
But then I guess if you’re already
Infected with a zombie virus
It doesn’t matter much
About the water.
Water from faucets,
Wells, springs, and rivers,
The Amazon,
The Nile,
The Thames,
The Tiber,
The Ganges,
And the Delaware
That flows not far
From my door.
The Delaware River from Red Bank Battlefield
All giving rise to cities
And civilizations.
And the oceans–
The magnificence of whales
Killed to supply people with
Oil for lights and corset stays.
The tides call to them
And to us.
I think about my four-year-old daughter
Twirling and jumping on the beach,
Sheer delight at seeing the ocean
For the first time.
Then the day both girls
Were terrified by a storm
That arose suddenly
On that same beach
As if Poseidon himself
Had awakened–
But was not very happy.
Nothing like a grouchy god.
Air and water blended
Into a mist,
The sand whipped us
In tiny, stinging pellets
As the wind howled
And the waves crashed.
And then just as quickly,
All was once again calm.
Water
And life.
Playful otters
Who cavort in rivers
And salmon that swim upstream
To spawn.
Fanciful beings who
Live between water and land,
Selkies,
Mermaids,
The Lady of the Lake,
And Nessie, too.
We build bridges over troubled waters.
And we sing in the rain.
We paint water lilies
And glance at reflections,
Illusions
And ripples
Time passing
On the water.
I’m fascinated by reflections on the water.
Knight Park
We humans spend nine months
In a fluid-filled sac,
Emerging from the womb
To gasp, breathe,
And let out that first cry
Announcing,
“I am here.”
Like our ancestors
Who surfaced from the sea
To build a life on land.
But still,
The water calls.
Spinning thoughts
As I pedal
And the wheels turn.
Connections,
Community,
Though the water is wide.
Raise your glass.
Drink.
Sources:
* “Entertainment of George Washington at City Tavern, Philadelphia, September 1787
http://teachingamericanhistory.org/convention/citytavern/
Merril D. Smith, The World of the American Revolution: A Daily Life Encyclopedia (ABC-CLIO, 2015).
A Town Like Alice (miniseries 1981 with Helen Morse, Bryan Brown, and Gordon Jackson) based on Nevil Shute’s 1950 novel.
There are so many versions of the folk song, “The Water is Wide.” Here is James Taylor singing it.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 
Absolutely marvelous, Merrill. Marvelous.
Thank you so much, Cindy!
You really took us through time and space in this lyrical treatise on water, Merril. Such a creative reflection on water should have an audience beyond this blog: ecological website? print media?
Sadly, the lack of water is a fact of life for many, which reminds me of Coleridge’s line from the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, “Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink,” often a result of pollution in third-world countries. I know there are organizations that purport to address this problem, but I wouldn’t donate unless I could verify their trustworthiness.
I especially enjoyed the reflection at Knight Park. It reminded me of Monet but with a different palette. Super musings: an A+ in my books!
Thank you for your very kind words, Marian, and an A+, too! Woo hoo!
I also thought of Monet when I saw the reflection in the water at Knight Park. I’m glad my photo made you think of him, too.
You are right about pollution and being cautious about donations.
A truly wonderful piece of reflection Merril. To top it off with James Taylor is an undeserved treat, thank you.
I leave you with just one thought in these days of conservation. Save Water- Drink Wine.
xxx Ginormous Hugs xxx
Thank you, David. You made me laugh.
I will open a bottle of wine now to have with dinner–in your honor. 🙂 Hugs back to you from New Jersey!
A marvelous salute to the universal solvent …. Amazing how cities and towns throughout the ages and across the globe were built along waters … what a driving force for growth and expansion.
Thanks, Frank. Yes, water travel was so much easier to transport people and good than overland travel before there were roads, trains, and planes. And even now, there are those giant container ships and ports are big business.
Water’s importance is a constant throughout history.
What a wonderful ride on your words and images, Merril! I remember that story from A Town Like Alice. It reminds me of my husband’s tour in the Peace Corps, in Ecuador in ’85-’86. His purpose was to help build potable water systems. It wasn’t easy, even though the villages needed cleaner water for drinking. Many didn’t understand the need. But it’s a fundamental need for us all, one most of us take for granted now.
Thanks so much, Marie!
I’m glad you remember the story from A Town Like Alice, too. It sounds like your husband did some important work. You should be very proud of him.
And I’m glad you have some great treats for your NaNoWriMo. I think good chocolate is especially important. 🙂
Merril, I am enjoying your stream (get it?) of consciousness poems. One of the phrases that connected with me was “history brain.” I am not as infected by this disease as you are, but I too enjoy history. One of the things that fascinates me in this stage of life is which facts and stories “stick” in the brain over time and which ones don’t. We obviously are alike in this regard.
Why do I remember Israel Putnam saying “don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes?” Because my junior high history text book used that phrase as a way to explain the inaccuracy of muskets in the 18th century. Now I discover that the old prevaricator Parson Weems might have been the source of that story. Well, too bad. It’s stuck in my brain and forever attached to Israel Putnam. 🙂
Thank you, Shirley!
It’s a funny coincidence that I recently heard someone ask about that phrase. I was listening to Radio Times, a Philadelphia NPR show, and they were doing a mixture of interviews and calling it “the Revolutionary edition.” There was an old interview with Jill Lepore discussing her book on Jane Franklin, and there was one with a historian who wrote a book about Bunker Hill. He said that the quote probably was not said like that (good old Parson Weems!), but apparently someone did say something similar. From what I’ve read, it’s likely that many people said similar phrases, which as you said, had to do with the mechanisms of 18th century weapons. I don’t think there’s any proof that Putnam said the words, but many probably thought and perhaps said similar things.
Reading only now Merril thank you for this wonderful ode to water. And reminding us that many have no access to it’s life-giving properties. From the sublime of the oceans to the mundane of water faucets, such a graphic juxtaposition! … Wasting of water, pollution of it – it makes me sad. Here in SA, especially up on the highveld, we’re experiencing drought conditions. Oh for rain, for the animals and the land, for our gardens, for those who are thirsty ….
I’m saving your piece. Have a lovely weekend.
Thank you so much for your very kind words, Susan. I will wish for much needed rain for you!
Beautiful tribute to water, Merril. I love your reflections (in words and images!). I have spent a good deal of my life around water. An astrologer once told me that my husband and I are incompatible, but as long as we lived near water, we’d be fine. I thought it was silly, but maybe she was right. We’ll be celebrating 40 years of marriage next year, and we have lived close to or on the water for most of that time. On the Ohio River, near a pond, and now near pond, creek, river, sound, and ocean.
Thank you for the link to James Taylor, too. Beautiful song. 🙂
Thank you, Robin.
I noticed that your former Ohio home was also close to water (I didn’t know it was the Ohio River), but it’s interesting that all of your homes have been near water. Funny about the astrologer. 🙂
There are many versions of the song, but I liked James Taylor’s for the blog.
My last Ohio home/property had a 1.5 acre pond. It was the Ohio home before that where we lived along the Ohio River (in southern Ohio where Ohio, West Virginia, and Kentucky meet — and oh the stories I could tell about living in Ohio Appalachia). I was surprised by how different southern Ohio was from northeast Ohio. Only a five hour drive between the two, but northeast Ohio provided a lot of snow, cold, and ice in the winters. We rarely saw snow in southern Ohio. Mostly cold, rainy or drizzly days. I’d rather have snow. The politics between the south and north of Ohio are world’s apart, too.
M and I have moved around a lot, but there was always water either nearby or on the property we rented or owned.
I think the differences in politics and attitude in Ohio go back to the early 19th century, if not before. I don’t know about the weather. 😉
Merril … I’m not sure if my comments went to your post. I wanted to share with you a video by Brother David Steindl-Rast, “A Good Day.” He also touches on that we take for granted our many blessings such as turning on a faucet and out comes warm water, cold water and drinkable water. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Zl9puhwiyw
I got both comments, Judy. Thank you for thinking of me!
WOW! This was such a simple yet complex theme, and you conquered it so eloquently! Bravo, my friend. I’ve not heard of A Town Like Alice before, but now I want to research it. And between that, the history, the storm, and the connectivity, you sucked me in and kept me captivated the entire time I was reading. Have a great week! ❤
Awww.. .thanks SO much, Rachel! I’m glad you liked this post, and I appreciate your comments. Hope you like A Town Like Alice if you find the book or mini-series. It’s been years since I saw or read it.
Lovely musings, Merril. Water, the placidity of it, what we need right now.
Thank you so much, Jane. Yes, we can all use some peace and placid times.