There is a deep, narrow river that originates in central Lincoln Coutny, Kentucky and snakes its way through the Blue Grass State down to where it empties into the Ohio river. The tree lined banks caste a rich, dark green hue to the swiftly running water and thus comes the name, Green River. After a series of locks and dams were constructed, this body of water became a source of river traffic, hauling mostly coal from the underground and strip mining operations in Muhlenburg County. The community of Paradise was immortalized by the folk singer John Prine in the early seventies with his song that bemoaned the destruction of the ecological system by the Peabody Coal Company. "Mr. Peabody's coal train..." hauled its load of black coal to offloading docks that transferred the coal to huge tow barges. The sturdy towboats then muscled these barges down the river.

 While it is true that large amounts of earth were displaced by the gigantic shovels of the huge cranes, today, some 25 years later, the hilly tree covered terrain has been replaced with hilly, tree covered terrain. In truth, if one factors in the recreational benefit of fishing the deep strip mining pits since filled with Shell Crackers, Bass and Catfish, the area is arguably in better shape than before it was strip mined. True the acid runoff from the mining operations has killed some trees, but the area has mostly been restocked with hearty pine trees.  

 (I recently drove through a section of reclaimed land in Ohio County and took a few pictures. The land is truly beautiful.  Here is a link if youl'd like to see them.  click )

 Some say that the Green River is the deepest river in the world. It has been said that there are places where the bottom has never been found. As a young boy, I often heard tales of huge catfish as large as a man.   Whether these stories were true or not, I had no way of knowing, but I personally had seen a 40 pound Buffalo carp that my Dad and some of his friends brought back from giging trips. Giggling, by the way, was a type of fishing in which a large three-pronged tool was used to spear fish unfortunate enough to be trapped behind fence rows as the flood backwater receded. My brother tells me that he once caught a 60 lb catfish on a trout line. It is not an understatement then to say that the thought of such large creatures would naturally cause a youngster to get all sorts of ideas upon entering the deep mysterious water. The Green River was not wide but it was deep and foreboding.

 Such fears, however, were not enough to keep young boys away from the water in the steamy Kentucky summertime. Indeed, a favorite actively, especially before central air conditioning, was swimming. For us, this activity was not available in the sterile, sanitized, minute puddles of water that the inhabitants of larger cities like Madisonville or Owensboro called swimming pools., We found it in the bowls of the deep and unforgiving river itself.

 On a typical tropical summer afternoon, ten or fifteen of us would gather at the rock ledge just above the bridge and locks for a time of cool fun. I am amazed today that our parents would let us swim in the strong, treacherous currents. Indeed, swimming across the river was a sort of rite of passage for us. It must have been the grace of God that none of us drowned.  As for our parent's permission, as I now think about it, perhaps we neglected to inform them of all of our activities.

 One of our favorite pranks was for the benefit of passing motorist. As they crossed the large steel framed bridge that towered high above our swimming hole, if they happened to look down, the unsuspecting victim would have a panoramic view of what appeared to be 15 large, skin colored, cracked turtle shells smiling back up at them from the water below.

 The river was also a place where one could enjoy a bit of an arial thrill. On the other bank across from Calhoun, was the often-waterlogged village of Rumsey. A great deal of this town flooded quite often and the rumor we heard growing up was that most of the inhabitants of this town had webbed feet. I kind of doubt this story.

 Traveling back a gravel road on the edge of the Rumsey City limits would take us to the river banks where someone had hung an old tire with a 50 foot rope attached to one of the tallest trees. No amusement park ride could equal the thrill of swinging our far into the river and dropping off just as the rope reached it's furthermost distance from the shore.

 The river was also a great source of income for the small towns of Calhoun, Rumsey, Beech Grove, Sacramento and Livermore. The Crounse Corporation had an office in Calhoun. The traffic from it's boats, as well as the traffic from several other lines, one based in Bowling Green and another out of St. Louis, provided not only jobs for the town folk, but for merchants like my Dad, who owned a General Grocery store, a source of revenue as well.

 Growing up in the store, one of the major tasks was to fill the orders from the boats as they came in, and then to "catch" the boat at the locks and off load the merchandise. One of my biggest thrills was to get on the Motorola radio that was in our pick up truck and talk to the captain about when he would arrive. "Yeah, we're at Big Bend now, we'll be in the locks in about 15, come back..." the captain would say.

 While using the radio was a big thrill, I believe that my favorite job, at least while I was young, occurred on those occasions where the schedule of the boat did not fit the normal hours of the store. On those occasions, we would go to the locks late in the evening. Sitting in the truck with my Dad or John, the man who worked at the store, as the fog rolled in wispy strands, I was often filled with a sense of rest and contentment that was rare in the hustle and bustle of a pre-teenage life.

 As the towboat came up the river, it looked and sounded like a huge train. The powerful twin diesel engines droned loudly as they strained against the current, muscling its load of coal-laden barges in a titanic struggle against the forces of nature.  The huge spotlight on top of the pilothouse, brought both illumination and shadows to the sleepy banks of the Green.

 Slipping gently into the lock, the scene of the brightly lit tug, revealed what was to me, an alluring image of another world.  Later in life, I would see this world from the inside as I worked for the line as a cook, but as a young boy, the idea of living on a river boat inspired a special kind of fascination. As I watched the men climb the ladders up the lock wall to take their turn standing in line at the pay phone, I could only imagine what it was like to live in this strange world. Later, I would learn first hand of the hardships and loneliness of working on the boat, but for now, my curiosity was enough to make me long for that life.

 I guess this must always be the nature of our lives here on this earth. We always believe that there is something better  somewhere else. "The grass is always greener" cliché is so enduring because of it holds some truth. There is, in truth, a better way of living.

 Like the river, life is sometimes mysterious, always moving and changing. Sitting on its banks, the temptation will come to leap into the strong currents and flow downstream, and to yield to a more powerful force. This I feel, is the essence of faith.

Daring the unknown and unprovable, a pilgrim must make that "leap" into the swirling waters before he can truly understand the power that resides within them.

There is a river, scripture tells us that flows from the throne of God. As all rivers on earth, the Green River has a source and a destination. The Green has its beginning near a huge hole in the earth, and merges into the Ohio, then the Mississippi and eventually the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean. It starts from nothing and ends in something much larger than itself.

 The river of God also has a source but it is not emptiness but infinite fullness. It flows from the very center of our awesome and magnificent God, but where does it end? I believe that its destination is the hearts of Adam's fallen, yet redeemed seed. From there, if we are yielded, it can flow out from us to those yet to be redeemed in grace and mercy.

 This river is eternal, ever changing, but always the same. It is living water that beckons us to plunge in. Unlike the Green, however, this river will never harm us but will renew and refresh us in unfathomable ways. It is an infinite fountain of love that will never be exhausted.

 Some day, the Green will cease it's wandering as the Lord folds this creation up like a worn blanket and replaces it with the new creation that will cover us as a brilliant tapestry, conceived and stitched by our wonderful Creator. Until then, we have these earthly reminders like the Green Riverto point us to His eternal truths.

 Amen!

 © 2002 by Steve Tichenor