“Hello, folks, this is your pilot. We may be rerouted before we arrive in Minneapolis because they’re predicting severe weather in the Twin Cities. During the flight, you should keep your seatbelt on even when the seatbelt sign is off because of the possibility of unexpected turbulence.” 

No kidding. Our small jet flies us out of Des Moines, bucking us left and right and up and down. Good practice for bull riding, but not so helpful in drinking a cup of coffee.  

Of course there’s bad weather. This year’s storms in Iowa required more chainsawing than an old man should be allowed. As for turbulence? Come on, this is an election year. 

”Don’t worry about getting rerouted,” the pilot jokingly adds over the loudspeaker, “we have enough fuel to fly to New York.”

I didn’t realize I had to worry about the fuel. But the pilot’s statement is oddly comforting to a retired guy like myself who is just wondering what’s for dinner. And since we are at 32,000 feet anyway, and on the first leg of our trip to Washington D.C. for a high school graduation, New York seems like a fine place to land. 

But Minneapolis weather allows a small window for us to touch back to earth. So we do without any rerouting. And it turns out that Reagan International Airport in D.C. is merely a nap away. And figuring out the metro cards and the subway is a success. And then finding the right bus in the middle of Washington, D.C. actually works. And then finding the correct track in Union Station for the commuter train to Kensington, Maryland, is a pleasant surprise.

The graduation is a grand success — even without a Palmer’s salad. And then we are off for an hour-long ride to my sister-in-law’s home in bumper to bumper traffic on the beltway.

Whew. 

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The river is as broad and flat as a bean field in winter. I stand alone on the bank. The sounds of birds float over the water. Loud. Insistent.

“Look at me, look at me, look at me,” one sings. So I do look. Eagles, crows, osprey, turkey vultures, cardinals, and robins. My goodness. Am I in an aviary? 

A black swallowtail butterfly flutters past nonchalantly. Off to do her job in the marsh grasses. While two fawns on just-born legs slip into the trees at the urging of an impatient mom. I assure them I’m an admirer. 

The Severn River, just outside of Annapolis, Maryland, is as wide as the Mississippi. The syrupy water is brackish from the not-so-distant Atlantic Ocean. In the mud on the edges are white and grey shells, which the water covers and uncovers like a slow heartbeat. And in the distance, ocean sailboats drift quietly down to Chesapeake Bay.

I sit on my sister-in-law’s large wraparound porch overlooking the river. A bluebird flies back and forth across the open field that rolls down to the docks. A small fishing trawler optimistically works the water near the distant shore. I drink coffee.

This close to the ocean the river’s ebb and flow is influenced by the tides. No different than the moon’s influence on tomatoes, my 97-year-old mom would argue. Tides and tomatoes. Just two more things you can’t control.  

The day is heating up. The Severn River is now placid and thick as tomato soup. I eat my sandwich with one eye on the water and one eye on the six-foot black snake that undulates its way up from the river bank. Not as thick as an Iowa bull snake fed on rats near the hog pen, but big enough for me to shift my bare feet to higher ground. Eventually off he goes along the edge of the porch to dine on something tastier than an old man. I don’t blame him and wish him luck.

This part of the Severn is actually called Cool Spring Cove. And as night comes in and the lightening bugs come out, a cool breeze comes up from the water.  In the distance, boat lights move up and down the river, while the cicadas sing a song of home.

_____________________________________________________________________________

“Good afternoon, this is your pilot. As you know we are late in departing for Des Moines so as to let that storm pass.”

Yup, we flinched a bit when the wind and rain pushed against the terminal’s large windows. The storm was violent enough that they shut down the entire airport as it blew through. But now they’ve deemed it safe enough to board our plane.

“We’ll be off soon, folks. Please keep your seatbelts on even when the seatbelt sign is off because there might be some unexpected turbulence.”

I close my eyes. Before I fall asleep I hear the birds sing, “look at me, look at me, look at me.” So I do. 

Joe