Kettle River Q&A: The small place by the river
By Graham Watt
Editor’s note: Graham chose to submit this creative work instead of his usual Kettle River Q&A after sharing it at a conference and receiving positive support. Enjoy.
[For Ben – may you grow up tall]
There once was a small place, a wet place nearby
A river ran by it, and through it sometimes
The cottonwoods swayed in the summertime breeze
Neighbours, near and far, their eyes did it please.
A village of creatures with tails and webbed feet,
Feathers and claws and fur-covered seats
Knew of each other in their many calls
By friends and neighbours alike as the “smalls”
But nearby the small place there others did dwell
In the tall’s place, with hard things and buildings like shells
A flat place with black things and shiny sharp clatters
So by smalls the talls were known as the “atters”
The atters took pride in their toil and their strife
In seizing the most out of day and of life,
Leaving no stone unearthed they look and they look,
In every last corner for some wealth they mis-took.
In the tall place an atter, a tall one, so smart,
Looked over the small place and said, “there I’ll start –
My fields are not endless they come to a stop –
Where I should be farming I simply cannot!”
“From wetland to dryland, this bothersome muck,
I’ll just take some fill with my monster dump-truck.
Away with this wet loathsome nuisance says me,
And soon with my tractor I’ll plant it with seed.”
So by spring all around talls noticed and fretted
But no one, not one, did anything about it
Till one tall one shouted and asked far and near
Did anyone notice, does anyone care?
Smalls cried out too but the atter couldn’t hear
Too busy dumping and sandbagging I fear
For under his sandbank the river was coursing
New courses and channels and rapids were forcing
Because that was the time of the oft-troubled flow
When the river it wriggled, and squiggled, and growed,
Over the banks it did charge with a frightening might
Carrying boulders, and tree trunks, as if they were slight!
The smalls in the river had but one place to go
To weather the storms till floodwaters slow
To swim in the settling silt clay and sand
Hunting for creatures from both water and land
But now with no place they crawled on the bank
Called up at the atter, said “are you to thank,
For this mess, for this loss of our village so dear
How will we live now in your field so clear?”
The atter stood tall and looked all about
To see what was there with such a small shout
So he stooped, lowered, kneeled, and noticed at last
The village of smalls he’d knocked over so fast
A look of dismay crossed his eyes, it was plain
With wonder, and sorrow, and pain, he exclaimed,
“But I did not know, I was blind, did not see
I thought it was my land to do as I pleased!”
“I thought of the profits rich bottomland yields
In fresh ploughed and seeded flat floodplainy fields
But floodwaters fell leaving more stucky muck
And sinkholes gave way taking my whole dump truck!”
“And who are you, little ones, now I see you so small?”
“We’re smalls” said the creatures, “and once and for all,
Stop being an atter and we’ll call you a tall
If you give us our homes back, and places to crawl!”
“Put it back!” they cried, “though you can’t overnight”
“We’ll put it back!” cried the tall, “with all of our might.”
“I won’t let my land and your land slip away,
So help me, please – what do you say?”
The floodwaters slowed, and they all got to work.
The tall returned boulders to each bend and each quirk
The smalls gathered brush, planting poles in a pile,
And by the end of the summer, the tall stood with a smile,
Surveying the wetland, no wasteland, he saw,
A flourishing village, stable banks without flaw,
A meadow of flowers, his bees would enjoy,
Giving honey and herbs for the talls he employed,
Now his tractors are quiet, most days and nights,
The tall works with nature, instead of a fight.
His fields, with nut shrubs and fruit trees, so lush
Catch soil every springtime when the river does rush.
So harken this story of woe, and restoring
The place of the smalls alongside talls, with adoring
To your grandchildren, and theirs, it truly will matter,
That you grew up so tall, and left behind being an atter.
Graham Watt is the coordinator of the Kettle River Watershed Management Plan for the RDKB, and is working with a Stakeholder Advisory Group from across the region to develop the plan. Email plan@kettleriver.ca
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