When I planned to write a novel set in ancient Greece, a guide book told me about a river that the ancients called a branch of the River Styx, because it flows as a full river from a cave at the base of a mountain. The city on this river's bank and a shrine nearby filled in a big piece of the plot. I had to see it.

Tracing the river through the valley is a meandering route. At the edge of the mountain range that forms a barrier to the plains of Thessaley, the river runs through a deep, narrow canyon between two mountains. At first, it is thirty meters wide with a stoney bank and small, gnarled old, oak trees. The canyon narrows to ten meters, and the river fills it, canyon wall to canyon wall.

The air is cool, moist, thanks to the ice cold water. Walking in the river takes a person deeper into the canyon to a bowl at the base of three mountains filled with moving water. At the base of one is a cave, the river's mouth.

I am sure that hydrologists can describe how rainfall collects in the mountains, seeps through cracks to give this river life. There is an explanation. But even knowing that, it feels magical. It is a full flowing river that does not quit in the dry season. It just appears.

With most rivers, we can trace their origin. I was walking in Harrison Park the other day with a friend whose farm is near the beginning of the Sydenham River. "It's a lot bigger here," she said. But even around Williamsford, the river is strong. It once ran a large mill there.

From its source, the Sydenham winds through farms, provides nurture for fields and forests. It powered at least two more mills along its way. Where I see it most, it is a dark, quiet flow, but from the number of people who fish from its banks, it is a lively ecosystem.

I spent the first five years of my life on the Niagara River. It's wider than the Sydenham,  and it is powerful. It races. At the falls, it roars. Boats run on it, in places, but my father used to point to spots along it and tell of disaster and miraculous rescue.

After Lake Ontario, the same water becomes the St. Lawrence River. It is wide and deep. In comparrison, the Sydenham is a creek. The St. Lawrence has an important history. When Europeans were exploring the land, it was a road from the coast to deep inland. For Indigenous people's before them, it had been a well used path.

Rivers define places. The St. Lawrence defines part of the border between Canada and the U.S. In Ontario, many towns have grown up around places where the water ran fast enough for a mill. Walter's Falls had three mills, so at one time it was a bustling hub where any shop or trade you needed could be found. Later, the towns that grew larger were the rail stops, but Markdale, Flesherton began as towns because of a mill.

Rivers are also affected by the land they flow through. The St Clair, Niagara, and St. Lawrence Rivers flow past major cities. Their waters supply the cities. Treated sewage is dumped back into the rivers. Rains overwhelm these systems and dump untreated sewage into the rivers. And rains wash whatever is on the land--field or yard or street--into the water.

This is true of the Sydenham or Saugeen or Big Head as well. What ever is put onto the land can find its way into the river and onward.

We can miss this much of the year, but in the spring with run off or after a really heavy rain, rivers are brown. This was true this fall with the streams that come off the escarpment and flow under Grey Road 1. All the stuff that the rain had washed into the water, and all the stuff that the rushing water picked up could be seen. Some of that was just dirt, which means that soil was eroded, but it was also everything that the rain came in contact with.

We can trace the origins of rivers, but it is equally important to trace their flow and see what humans do to them.

Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway

(ttweet)(flike)(fcomment)