Hudson River

12/01/2012

Hudson River. My childhood home was in Rockland County, NY. The Hudson River held an important place in my life; a pivotal component of my youth. I suppose it was the first body of water I learned to observe. Next I would learn to love the ocean and later still I would appreciate living lakeside. 

As we all know so well, rivers change personalities daily, as do oceans and lakes. One day the river would be blue and cheerful. The next it would be opaque grey, churning and angry. But most often the mighty Hudson was a shimmering blue/grey color with brilliant sparks bouncing on the choppy waves. 

We would cross the Hudson eastbound at the George Washington Bridge every Sunday when our family would drive to NYC to attend church. And we would see the river at the Tappan Zee Bridge when in Nyack, which was the largest and nearest town where much of our shopping was done.

There was one particular year, don't know exactly when....could have been 1965 or so, when the brackish river was almost solidly frozen over. It was a brutally cold winter. The ice was not sparkling, sleek and flat. It was mountainous with one huge icy chunk pushing up against the other like crashing tectonic plates. Large barges were lined up in a row, frozen in the river until spring.

Our church was located downtown so we would drive the West Side Highway south and exit at the 21st street piers. The NYC piers were fully active back then complete with the sights and sounds of a bustling port. Weekly the large boats and ocean liners from every corner of the world would be docked; Norwegian, English, American giants. Steaming smoke stacks as big as silos readying to go. The tone of the  'steaming silo' was roughly 2 octaves lower than a note that I can personally muster, and one that would vibrate inside your chest. Often there were international naval ships in port as well which would deposit bands of sightseeing sailors into the streets. These were the exciting weekly scenes for us, but which no longer exist.

Soon we will be crossing the grand Hudson heading west from Connecticut via the Newburgh Bridge. Will the water be choppy and grey? Will it be happy and blue? Will the waves bless us with their brilliant sparks till we meet again?
O