I came of age on the Swift River, jumping off bridges and rope swings, diving off cliffs, floating down rapids, sitting in natural whirlpools, rock hopping upstream mesmerized by the smooth stones made silken and bright under the clear, cold fast moving waters.
The Swift drops into the other river I grew up on, the Androscoggin. The Androscoggin is majestic, a life vein traversing from New Hampshire's northeastern mountains to the sea where it meets the Kennebec river in Brunswick in the Merrymeeting Bay.
I would watch in confusion and sadness at the contrast of that pristine water of the Swift River merging with a river that served as a receptacle for anything unwanted. The Androscoggin received effluent from the paper mills, spewing bi-products deemed necessary for bleached paper products including mercury and dioxin. The river's condition, odorous, foaming and yellow, inspired the Clean Water Act in 1972 by Rumford's native son, Senator Edmund Muskie. We have done what we wanted to the Androscoggin before that federal law, making the Andro one of the top 20 most polluted rivers in the US. Treating waste water was mandated and the river has been making a significant come back, yet, still there are sections with no aquatic life in the summer due to low or zero oxygen count in the river.
The mill was and is a way of life in the mountain valley region of western Maine. Bread and butter we say. My dad worked there before and after the war for 43 years. His father did too. Most did. It paid for my first car and college. Even helped with grad school. My parents lived by cash or layaway-no debt, no credit cards. We had what we needed and then some.
It was a disturbing irony for me, the wild child nature lover, last of 9 children, raised by the squirrels and trees, rivers and mountains. Yet I lived a split life where the culture and its families honored and bowed to the paper mill industry as it allowed regular folks to make a great living. After all, every one needs paper, right? Like the bumpersticker says, “If you don't like logging, (the essential connected industry) try wiping your ass with plastic.”
The 14 stacks communicated clearly, making paper 24-7 unless there was a shut down for maintenance or a labor strike. The air had a distinguishing quality when it was going to rain; the rotten egg smell floating upstream, suspended in a murky overcast hue over the valley I called home.
Dr. Martin got run out of town when he validated we were living in a cancer cluster. The number of people with cancer was in direct proportion to their proximity of the river and smoke stacks. I remember people on Granite St often woke up to a thin layer of ash on their cars.
It's almost humorous that we name our rivers and oceans as if they are separate, unconnected entities. All rivers and streams eventually end up in the ocean, one connected ocean. The life cycle and expanse of water is without boundary; every body of water evaporating up into the clouds until full enough to give way to gravity, raining down on us all, sharing what ever we sent up there through our tailpipes and smoke stacks, chimneys and camp fires.
I read the squirrels have heavy metals in their blood and bones from consuming the fat found in acorns. If the squirrels and trees are holding what we send into the sky so are we.
I feel compelled to offer a voice for this river, to bring consciousness to the forgotten Androscoggin and see if anyone will join me in listening to what she has to say.
I am going to canoe it's length; looking, listening, feeling, joining. I will share what is discovered along this journey home, honoring the generations that came before me and those that will follow. You are invited to join me on this journey as I document what I discover.
To the Abnaki and all native peoples that traveled here before colonization pushed you out, thank you for caring for the water, land, air, and mindfully harvesting what you needed for food, water, shelter. I appreciate that you floated on her back, migrating seasonally from the mountains to the sea in a balanced rhythm of giving and receiving.
To the generations that followed the Abnaki, finding your way in a rugged, beautiful land, doing your best to survive and care your family and community. Thank you to the forefathers and foremothers for your steadfast resilience, for showing us how to be and how not to be.
To those here now, for the ways we do the right thing with a consciousness for all of life, for the liberty of all beings and the pursuit of happiness and health, here now for every human, tree, fish, frog, bird. To the industry that gives us work and products we use that make life easier, thank you.
To the future generations, may you be more conscious then we have been and be the voice for the unspoken many. May you see that in taking care of the land, water and air you are taking care of yourself and all of life.
Jen Deraspe
The journey details: Intention: Raise awareness and water consciousness of the Androscoggin River, and beyond, while paddling its length.
Goal: Raise $5000+ for MaineRivers.org, whose mission is to protect, restore and enhance the ecological health of Maine's river systems.
Launch: June 2, Errol, NH, Headwaters of the Androscoggin Culminating Public River Celebration: June 14, Sea Dog Brew Pub, Topsham, Maine
Recommended Resources: http://mainerivers.org/watershed-profiles/androscoggin-watershed/ Living Downstream, Sandra Steingraber When We Were the Kennedy's, Monica Wood