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Poem

Oh let me sing of the river's people
No, not holiday boaters, but those rare few
Whose homes and hearts embrace the river, 
Trafficking in all that she so blithely carries.
Backyards a port of entry for wayward canoeists
Seeking naught but groceries and Dr. Peppers, 
Well, maybe an occasional Dairy Queen as well.

Dinners, showers, homes left open, conversations, 
Tales of those who came before, war stories, 
Worn proudly as they counted victory and loss as well, 
Fodder of a life well lived, trophies of significance
Those who wrote to thank them, those who didn't.
I see now too that I myself was not grateful enough, 
The safety of a home's backyard is holy ground.

Once as dusk was stooping lower
River banks loomed high above us 
Blocking view of a good night's campground
I spied tire tracks suggesting boat ramp
And pulled ashore to check it out.
Found above game warden's yard and home.
He drove us 30 miles to replace used camera film. (9)   

Poet's Notes:
(9)    The hospitality and generosity of the Minnesotan people we met on this trip was for me almost beyond belief. We truly were treated like celebrities.

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