My Experiences on the River from Birth to College
I was born in Hastings, Minnesota, at 5:05 a.m. Aug. 30, 2005, at United Hospital – Hastings Regina Campus, approximately 3,000 feet from the Mississippi River. I crossed its rushing waters via the Hastings High Bridge as my parents drove me home.
To me, the river has always seemed to hold all the simple beauties of life inside its banks. My earliest memories are of walking with my parents beside it in Afton State Park, tossing stones, watching the ripples fade, and waving at boats pulled along by a surprisingly swift current.
There were always people fishing on the opposite side, sitting on docks in front of their cabins. Those hikes always ended with dipping our hands and feet in the river’s dark, icy waters.
In school, we’d always talk about how the river carried the materials that built the Twin Cities, and how its presence created biodiversity among the fish and birds, which my parents would always spot through our binoculars.
The river was always there, an ever-present reminder of the depth, history, and unique beauty of where we lived. The calming tranquility of seeing eagles hunt for fish and turtles waddling along the beaches reminds me of the beauty of its ecosystem. It’s a staple of my Minnesotan identity.
My mother came to America from Slovakia. She loves the ocean, and the Land of 10,000 Lakes was a good substitute for her. But it was the Mississippi she loved best. “It’s a beautiful but dangerous thing,” she would say to me.
Probably for this reason, I rarely got to be close to its waters. But as I got older and it was easier for my parents to wrangle, we’d take paddleboat tours on hot summer weekends.
At first, I was bored out of my mind, hearing the endless recitation of historical facts from a century-old boat captain. The rhythmic sound of the waters splashing up and down over the side of the boat made me sleepy.
But then I would see a bald eagle soaring in the clouds, a beach of campers laughing and drinking the heat away, and the sun reflected on the waters, turning from a bright white to shades of orange as dusk arrived. And it suddenly began to make sense to me.
The river is a core part of me. I could measure my age in water stains and level dates etched on the side of the Hastings bridge. When I picture my friends, family, and home, the river is always flowing in the background.
The Mississippi River connects us all in the Midwest. It’s a staple of our identity. Tune in to hear these stories on my podcast at Urban Plains. And let me know in the comments: What’s your river story?
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