Ricky and the River

Sudbury River, photo by local river god, Roy Barnacle.

Weeks ago, my husband sold his canoe, preparatory to our planned move. Purchasers were two young boys from the neighborhood. They stopped in to enquire, ran shuttle negotiations back and forth between Roy and their Dad, and eventually showed up with Dad and cash and carried the boat away. Not long after, we saw the boys down at the river's edge, set up for fishing. Roy tromped through the woods to see them with their new canoe, only to find that the canoe had vanished. They hadn't realized it needed to be tied. Roy gave them all the advice he could, then and later; but we knew that unless their Dad got on the stick quickly it seemed almost hopeless that the children would ever see their boat again. We were uncomfortable about this outcome. We knew that here the Sudbury River enters a great wetland reserve and meanders for miles through lonesome byways before emptying with the Assabet  into the Concord -- then into the Merrimack and finally the sea. What likelihood of retrieving a lost canoe? If we only had a boat . . .

Today, as I set out for a walk, I crossed paths with a boy. He stopped to get acquainted. We had quite a good chat about events and people in the neighborhood, and I learned that he was Ricky, a middle schooler. He reminded me that he had bought Roy's canoe. Immediately I asked if they had ever found it. Oh, yes. Some people across the river had seen the floataway, had caught it and tied it at their waterfront. Somehow news of the catch got to Ricky's family.  "My Dad has a GPS, so we went and got the canoe," he said. "We had to climb down a real steep bank and carry it up. It's in our garage for the winter. If you and Mr. Barnacle ever want help with anything, just come and get me." Ricky headed for home and supper.

I had much to ponder on my walk. We had questioned the wisdom of a parent giving children a canoe to use, apparently unsupervised, on a river. We had seen no evidence of their recapturing the boat, and had assumed -- again -- some level of parental inattention. But all the time, the family had the situation well in hand. What kind of parents raise a child to be so comfortable conversing with an adult? So considerate? The fact is, that Ricky is the first neighbor to make a point of welcoming me to Riverview.