Revisiting “Reflections on River Teeth”

Carol A. Hand

This past week, my granddaughter was on vacation from school. She stayed with me while her mother worked, creating an impressive collection of artwork. Once again, I was reminded of kinder times and a neighbor whose gift enabled me to witness my grandson’s seventeen birthdays and be present in my granddaughter’s life. In this time of gift-giving, it’s important for me to give thanks for the gift of a life that has been worth living.

My grandson's 17th birthday celebration - January 2016

My grandson’s 17th birthday celebration – January 2016

***

Reflections on River Teeth
(Originally posted by on October 26, 2013)

Recently, I have been reflecting on what I would identify as the “river teeth” of my life thus far. River teeth, according to David James Duncan (2006), are the hard resinous knots that are all that remain after the softer wooden fibers of pine trees have been dissolved by the river waters into which they have fallen. Applied to life, they are the memories that remain decades later as transformative experiences and epiphanies.

This morning, I awoke with gratitude to Frank Bates, an elder and neighbor from my New Jersey childhood who literally gave me a reason to live. I no longer remember exactly what led to the profound sadness I felt by the age of 4. Perhaps it was the absence of peace, joy, and love in my family. Perhaps it was because of my mother’s emotional distance and disapproval of anything I did. When I was born, my father’s white family in New Jersey commented on the “lovely dark child” my mother gave birth to because of my straight dark hair and dark brown eyes. It reminded my mother of the shame she carried from her years in a Catholic Indian boarding school where she was constantly told that she was inferior to white children and faculty because of her Ojibwe heritage. She preferred to “pass” as white, so my younger brother, with his curly light brown hair and hazel-colored eyes was more acceptable. Perhaps it was because of my father’s emotional volatility, charming to strangers, abusive to family, and sometimes deeply depressed and suicidal, a legacy of childhood abuse and PTSD from his Korean War experiences. Or perhaps it was because of the cruelty and bullying of other children in my neighborhood. When the little white boys beat me up, I would run home crying. My father would kick me out of the house and lock the door, telling me not to come home again until I made the bullies cry. Perhaps all of these cumulative sorrows were too much for me to bear as a 4-year-old.

I only know that by the age of 4, I no longer wished to live, so I stopped eating. I understand from what my mother told me years later that she tried everything to encourage me to eat, but nothing she did worked. I became so weak that she had to carry me everywhere. It was my next door neighbor who worked a miracle.

My special connection with Frank Bates began because of an apple tree that grew just inside our side of the property line, with branches that hung heavy with fruit over his yard. One day, as he was picking an apple from an overhanging branch, I confronted him. “You can’t do that. It’s my pop-a-tee.” He laughed and acknowledged that I was correct, it was my property, and from that moment on, we became friends. When Frank later learned that I was not eating, he and his wife, Grace, invited me over to their house. I sat at their kitchen table as Frank prepared a special “feast” for me. He peeled the skin from an apple from the disputed tree and placed the spiraling peel in a clear glass of water. I drank it, and the subtle taste of apple flavored the water. During the weeks that followed, I drank many other glasses of this apple water prepared with love and kindness.

Frank then learned that my favorite food was pickles, so his next feast consisted of mashed potatoes filled with slices of pickles. I ate the feast, and many more. As I regained my strength, Frank lost his. He died from stomach cancer soon after saving me from starvation. I never had a chance to thank him while he was alive. (My tears are flowing as I write this.)

This morning I awoke pondering what type of picture I would draw to illustrate this special river tooth from my childhood. Perhaps the branch of an apple tree reaching down from the left corner of the page, a glass of water in the center with its spiraling peel, a cored apple and a peeler below. So, I took my camera out to capture apple tree branches in the morning sunlight… Even if I never have a chance to draw this picture, I am writing to thank my friend from 6 decades ago for the gift of life.

After writing this essay and remembering a river tooth from my past, I found the courage to draw the picture I envisioned. I do not claim to be an artist, but I believe that the act of remembering our river teeth gives us the courage to challenge the socially constructed rules of “good” art, freeing us to express deep gratitude authentically in our own ways.

Remembering River Teeth - by Carol A. Hand

Remembering River Teeth – by Carol A. Hand

Chi miigwetch , Mr. Bates, for the kindness and compassion that gave me a reason to live. (Chi miigwetch means thank you very much in the Ojibwe language.) I am sorry I never had a chance to thank you in person. I am also grateful to my parents, now deceased, who did the best they could, and better by far than their own parents and caregivers. They gave me the strength to be independent and the opportunity to learn how to stand up to bullies, not by returning their violence but by using intelligence, creativity, and humor.

***

The greatest gift I can imagine this holiday season is for all of us to reach out to our neighbors. We may never know how many lives will be transformed and given meaning through loving kindness.

Author Cited

Duncan, J. D. (2006). River Teeth: Stories and writings. New York, NY: Dial Press Trade Paperbacks.

Copyright Notice: © Carol A. Hand and carolahand, 2013-2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Carol A. Hand and carolahand with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Advertisements

About Carol A. Hand

What matters are not the titles I’ve held or university degrees I earned or the size of a house or bank account. It’s really what I’ve learned from ordinary people like me whom I’ve met along the way. They taught me to live with gratitude and give thanks for each new day.
This entry was posted in Gratitude and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

24 Responses to Revisiting “Reflections on River Teeth”

  1. Bernadette says:

    Carol, what a beautiful testament to the goodness that can be found in our fellow humans

    Liked by 1 person

  2. sojourner says:

    Well, Carol A Hand, you ruined my anger and frustration by making me cry, and I was so enjoying my bitterness. NOT!

    Yes! I cry. Comes from my mother, who was well acquainted with pain and grief, but she never turned to my ways of dealing with them.

    The universe bless Mr Bates and wife, wherever they are! And the universe bless you, Carol, and your family!

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Sha'Tara says:

    Chi miigwetch, Carol for that wonderful and heart warming “remembrance” of a life’s river teeth. As a almost life-long canoeist and kayaker on the mighty Fraser river that gives life to the south-west portion of B.C, Canada, I have encountered many old logs with “river teeth” – not all of them pine. There are many different ways logs lose their softer wood. Also, I have many personal memories of life’s river teeth, encounters with life savers, not all from this part of the universe. There is a sublime aspect to life, its river teeth, that too often goes unrecognized because unremembered. One of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves is to remember, even beyond the confines of this one life.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you for sharing such lovely, poetic insights about rivers and memories, Sha’Tara. I agree that it’s important to remember and give voice to our gratitude for river teeth and “encounters with life savers.”

      Like

  4. My Theory says:

    This is a nice blog but please visit and read the new ultimate theory of human relativity exclusively on My Theory also give me some feedbacks as I am hungry for it.
    From your latest follower My Theory.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. My Theory says:

    Thanks for reading and visiting my blog. I am looking forward to read and browse your blog. I also wish you and your family, friends Merry Christmas and a happy new year 2017 🎄 🎆 👍.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. underswansea says:

    Hi Carol. This was one of the first posts I read when I discovered your site. I had never heard of ‘river teeth’ before but now, thanks to you, I find them often. Each is a gift. They remind me beauty always takes the sting out of hardship. Wishing you the best. Take care, friend! Bob

    Liked by 1 person

    • Bob, I am so grateful that we connected via our blogs. I appreciate your kind words and a friendship that has brought laughter and the beauty of night skies and nature into my life. Sending my best wishes. ❤

      Like

  7. Whether you call them angels or spirit guides or something else, I believe that special souls are around us. Sometimes they are in physical form (not always human) and sometimes they are ethereal, but they always come just when we need them and do just what we need. That’s what you essay made me think about. Thanks, Carol, for reminding me that, no matter what, I never was, and never will be alone. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Carol, my soul cried with yours on remembering the “river teeth” of our lives. A black neighbor, Auntie Kathie, saved mine and shaped my vision of looking beyond skin color to the heart of the other.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. steelcityman says:

    WoW !! all I can say Carol, is that your words moved me .. as they usually do .. making me look at MY river teeth in a very different way … thank you for your light. xx

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s