Streams

When I was walking the rail trail in Hallowell the other day I crossed the most wonderful stream. A footbridge takes you over it, and I found myself pausing for a good five minutes, leaning on the wooden railing, mesmerized by what I was seeing and hearing.

The stream drops down in a zig-zag through a shallow, heavily wooded ravine. Every now and then it turns into a tiny, miniature waterfall, as it drops down slightly to the next level. And it makes a wonderful sound, the kind of steady, rushing-water sound that could lull you to sleep. There are large rocks and even out-and-out boulders, both in the stream and lying about on the sloping land to either side. Indeed, there is a fat wall of obviously finished granite blocks, marching to the edge of the stream on one side, then con-tinuing a very short way on the other. I was thinking this must be the remains of an old bridge, but conferring with Hallowell's historian, who very conven-iently is one of my little library's Board members, I learned that it's actually the remains of a dam.

Sam also informed me that this is Vaughan Stream, once part of the Vaughan estate, the Vaughans being one of the oldest and wealthiest Hallowell families. But in the 1830s, with the demise of the Second Bank of the United States, the Vaughans lost a good deal of their investments, and were forced to sell much of the land along the stream. A number of businesses were built along it, including a sandpaper plant just above the dam. No doubt the stream is much more pleasant now, shaded by the tall trees on its banks, than in its industrial heyday.

Streams are to be found everywhere in this area. And by this area I mean not only the Augusta area, but the state of Maine – for that matter, the region of New England. Water, water, everywhere. I was ill a few weeks ago, and when I finally began feeling somewhat better I decided a short walk through my neighborhood would get my sluggish blood flowing. I passed numerous narrow wooded areas through which water was inevitably flowing. I would walk to the side of the road and peer down at where a narrow trickle of water was wending its way over, under and around mossy rocks, fallen branches, small granite boulders, past banks pale brown with old autumn leaves. The water would be coming from beneath the road on which I stood, so then I would walk to the other side of the road to see whence it came. Sometimes there it was, twisting and turning its way to the pipe under the road that would enable it to continue its quietly gurgling trip down to the Kennebec River. They'd obviously interrupted the stream by bringing in rocks and earth, piling it up, with a pipe running through for the stream, then paving the top.

But sometimes the steam wasn't to be seen on the other side, just somebody's yard. So where was that water coming from? Or as in the case of the creek directly across the street from my house, that wends through a little woods beside the handsome white-with-black-shutters house on the corner, where does it go? It certainly doesn't continue on the other side of the road, because there's my house, my yard. The secret life of water...

So here we are, surrounded by water, taking it for granted, not even noticing that it is with us in all sorts of unexpected nooks and crannies, often not knowing where it's coming from or where it's going. And in many parts of the world – in many parts of this country – water is a rare commodity. If there is a stream, even a river, it may be dry during the dry season. In other parts of the world, what water there is may be badly polluted (we've been working hard in this country for the past thirty years to make that less the case here). And those in the know tell us that water people can safely use for drinking, cooking and bathing is going to become increasingly rare, thanks to both global warming and the aforementioned pollution.

I was thinking what a shame we couldn't bottle some of the trickles and creeks and streams with which New England abounds, send the water where it's needed. On the other hand...would I want to drink that stuff?