River Therapy

The Magic of the Yellowstone

Photo by Rick Lamplugh

Mary and I sat in the inviting curve of an old gray trunk that had been carried along and then deposited by the Yellowstone River many years ago. In front of us, the river rushed by high and fast, fueled by spring snowmelt and recent rains. Across the river was another large trunk left behind by high water. Upstream, the Absaroka Mountains held more snow that would eventually join the Yellowstone on its journey to the Missouri.

We were there because we needed a break from our journey, our protesting journey that was fast and heavy and flooded with daily doses of new threats and lies from Trump and his out-of-control cronies.

Mary picked up a twig lying among the river-rounded rocks at our feet. She tossed it into the Yellowstone, and we watched as it was whisked downstream. She broke a long silence with, “I can’t believe how overwhelmed I feel with this.”

“What’s this?” I asked, wondering if she was saying she wanted to leave the river and go home. That would surprise me, since a short while ago we had been home, and Mary had muttered, “I gotta get away from here.” We had put away our gardening tools and headed straight for the Yellowstone.

“This activism,” she said, tossing another twig.

“Can you say more?”

“I just feel like I don’t have a life anymore outside of protesting Trump and his craziness.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “I can’t believe it’s been almost three months and this is the first full weekend we’ve taken off.”

Three months ago, Mary and I, along with two friends, cofounded Indivisible Park County, a local chapter of the national organization Indivisible. The response has been gratifying in a small-town way. Our whole county only has about 18,000 residents. Livingston, where we live, has about 9,000. Gardiner, where the other cofounders live, has less than 900. We’ve organized marches in both towns and were pleased to have more than 200 folks bring their voices and energy to Livingston and Gardiner.

We had scheduled a public event of some sort every two weeks. While doing so, one of us would suggest we needed some time off; the other would agree. Then, without fail, something would come up and we’d be on the phone, at the computer, or in a meeting. Now we needed the Yellowstone to work its magic and recharge us.

Mary brought me back to the riverside with, “I’m seventy-three and I don’t really want to spend the last part of my life like this.”

“I know. I feel that way, too, and I’m glad we’re talking about this. We’ve got to get these feelings out in the open or they’ll eat us up from the inside.”

Having opened the floodgates, our words flowed like the river. We shared about particulars that challenged, bothered, or drained us. After a while, I could feel the sun on my face instead of being preoccupied with the thoughts in my head. The magic was working.

“I’m happy you wanted to get away from the house and to the river,” I said. Mary took my hand, and we fell silent, feeling the sun’s warmth, watching the clouds, and listening to the water.

Often, when I get into an ugly inner space, I find it incredibly helpful to get outside and into nature. I can take my mind off of what I have to do, did, or will do, and just be present. I’m thankful Mary feels the same way.

“I’m so glad we’re here and talking,” I said. “I can actually feel my body relaxing.”

“Yeah,” Mary said, “I feel better, too.”

“I watched that video you recommended the other day.”

“Which one?” Mary asked.

“The one where Bruce Springsteen spoke to his audience in England and shared his anger about what Trump and what he called ‘his corrupt and incompetent and treasonous administration’ are trying to do to the America he loves. His words reminded me of why we’re doing all this. I cried when I listened to him.”

“What brought the tears?”

“I think it is the sadness I feel that all this is happening. The anger. The fear. The fatigue. After I cried, I felt relieved.”

“When I watched it,” Mary said, “his words reminded me why I’m doing all this. Yes, it’s for this country and our democracy. But perhaps even more so, it’s for our kids and granddaughter. I don’t want them to spend the rest of their lives under an authoritarian regime.”

We fell back into silence and let the river soothe us. Then we stood and hugged. We were ready to head back. As we walked along the rock-covered beach, I silently thanked the Yellowstone for working its magic again. I felt sure that I would fight, Mary and I would fight, our group would fight as hard as we could. I also felt sure there would be other days that Mary and I would have to go for another session of river therapy where we could walk and wonder, sit and share, relax and recharge.