In 1852, Henry David Thoreau wrote in his journal about some walks he made up the Assabet River in Concord ( and he wrote about the sandy bottom of the river, the clear water, and the ability to see every detail of the bottom. He also wrote of the weeds that grew on the bottom that remind you of the sea.
This past Sunday I had the opportunity to, perhaps, visit a place that recalls the river that was. We paddled a section of the Swift River in central Massachusetts. The Swift River has the rather unique distinction of being the primary source of water for Boston — the river was dammed in the 1930’s to form the massive Quabbin Reservoir. But the fine folks of Boston don’t manage to drink all of the water and so a little bit is allow to continue down the river and it’s just a great place to visit.
I really was in awe paddling on this water. Whether the water was two or twelve feet deep, I could see quite clearly to the bottom. Instead of the more typical dark, almost brown, plantlife I see in other rivers, this part of the Swift was dotted with verdant green gardens of various water plants — all teeming with fish.
To realize that, at one time, the river in my backyard shared similar qualities was really a mind-opener. As an advocate for our river I’m constantly trying to find ways of connecting people to it — particularly through my photography. I lacked the ability to capture what I experienced on the Swift River that afternoon, but I’m going to go back one day soon and try — because I think it represents what we’ve lost and what we might be able to give back to our grandchildren (actually, that might be aggressive — we’ve got about 100 years of use and abuse to try to reverse).
It has been gone for so long, I don’t think people realize what we’ve lost (and what we have to gain by coming to terms with what we’ve done to the river). This isn’t the image that will tell that story, but there’s a picture that will and I’m going to go and find it.
So head on over to your local post office or wildlife refuge visitor center and buy a stamp or two. (Many people collect them as artwork, as they are quite beautiful.) If you value conservation of land, 
I wasn’t involved with OAR in the early days. Stories of those early cleanups included the use of cranes to remove cars from the river and mountains of tires. Just a few years ago a large number of tires were removed from the river just behind the Elks Club here in Maynard. Last year a team reported that they couldn’t remove all of the tires they found in a site in Concord.
Bob Guba, who, as well as being the cleanup site coordinator in Acton, celebrated his 80th birthday today, mentioned that he continues to be amazed that each year they clean up a section of the river and they feel they’ve pretty much removed all the stuff — only to come back the following year and find more. And it’s not so much that new things are being thrown into the river (that still occurs, but not as much) — we’re still uncovering the decades upon decades of abuse that were piled upon this river.
We’ve had a pretty long spell of no rain in New England this year and the river was running quite low (except for a bit of rain earlier in the week we probably would have had a mud puddle cleanup). So the shoreline was pretty flat and muddy, with a bit of vegetation — but a lot of what is normally below the surface was right there to see.
And so we continue our efforts to save this river. Like many forms of pollution and environmental stress that we have today in the United States, much of it is invisible. Occasionally nature lets us see the damage we have inflicted upon this planet, but more oft than not it covers it over — and we think we’re doing a great job. The truth is not quite as rosy.
