Beside the Ohio River: A Kentucky Retreat

 

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The stillness of the water, steady as socks around the tree trunks is deceptive. Simmering through the leaves, the sun makes a green sauna of where I stand searching the water for a hint of lapping tide against the sloping banks.  Stepping carefully across the slippery mud, I dodge the poison ivy thriving even in these flood waters. Swollen by this summer’s rains, the Ohio River looks benign from where I stand. But 20 feet out, huge logs and unidentifiable debris speed by, the only indication that this is no lake. The current is treacherous enough to swallow the strongest swimmer. In fact, in recent days entire homes have been washed away by these waters.

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A massive engine rumble and I know before I see, a loaded barge passing – long, flat beds piled high with construction materials. This one dirt, the next, huge cement blocks. A tugboat at the end, merrily pushing the load. It stirs my heart, this timeless glimpse of industry and I watch it pass like a parade.

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I love a river – the stories they carry, the sense of coming and going, both a force of life and destruction. Growing up, the Hudson was my river. I sent my adolescent angst against the tides of immigrant history, imagining relief and romance with the promise of the ocean and a world beyond my Bronx Streets. The Ohio is a different beast – an American river connecting and sustaining working communities. I stand in Kentucky looking across at Ohio. West Virginia, Indiana, meeting the Mississippi in Illinois leading through – not just an exit and entry – as much a life-line as an artery.

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Up at the house are friends who also traveled here from other states. But this river holds our history from decades ago. We studied with a sculptor here in Kentucky, sharing art and our lives. When we can, the women of our group, (we christened ourselves Studio 70 Sisters) meet in summer for what we call, our retreat. We began these gatherings more than 5 years ago when our kids were old enough that leaving them for a week inspired minimal guilt. We reconnect with the ease of family, sharing wine and food, delighting in catching up on each other’s lives.

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By the second day, a spot is sussed out, easels set up, paints and pastels arranged and a magical quiet descends. These gatherings are not just for gabbing – there is work to be done! Like alchemy, there is a sweet understanding and common language creating best circumstances for creative working, thinking, being. Quiet, of course and a sensitivity to space that is remarkable and rare. Any of us can peek into a room and quickly sense whether someone wants to be left alone.

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This year we are at Paula’s – a stunning spread of fields bordered by river and railroad tracks. At night, the rattle of trains rush by, so close to this grand old farmhouse that our beds shake. Like barges on the river, I find this romantic and easily go back to sleep imagining the lives whooshing past this dear spot. I feel simultaneously a sense of being in the center of things and in the middle of nowhere.

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It is good to be back here after so many years even in this sweltering humidity. The barge has passed and the rumble fades as the load heads towards Cincinnati. Within minutes, a lone Tug chugs into view heading in the opposite direction, relieved of its load, it is pushing easily upriver. I think of us gals – especially with kids, how we forded our way through the currents of our lives, keeping precious cargo steady on course for the more than twenty years until we could (almost) let go. And here we are again. As I watch the tug chug back from where it came, unencumbered and light, I navigate my way carefully up the muddy banks for dinner with my friends.

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14 Responses to Beside the Ohio River: A Kentucky Retreat

  1. andria816 says:

    Sounds like heaven.

  2. Oh my Tricia, your writing and photos conveyed the essence of this idyllic Kentucky retreat. I truly felt as though I were there with you. My husband was from nearby Indiana so I have spent much time in this part of the country. Your photos resonated with familiarity for me — the green fields, the architecture of the farmhouses!

    I am so happy for you that you have this yearly retreat with your dear women friends to reconnect through conversation, silence and your respective arts — what an important and precious thing to have in your life.

    I loved your warm and vivid descriptions of the river and the railroad.

  3. Tricia says:

    Yes – it is! Thank you for reading and saying so.

  4. Beautiful piece, Tricia. Very evocative, poetic. I can feel the creativity the atmosphere bred pulsing in your piece.

  5. Tricia says:

    Thank you, Barbara! I remember feeling the same familiarity when I read your post on visiting Indiana with your son. Love these connections.

  6. Tricia says:

    Thanks! I love seeing Moldova pop up on my stats. Where next for you??

  7. elissa says:

    I so enjoyed these gorgeous photos!

  8. Tricia says:

    Thanks! See you soon!

  9. This is so beautiful. Love your photos and your chance to take a retreat with fellow artists, catching up with your lives and your work. Thank you for sharing this with us. Have a wonderful time.

  10. Tricia says:

    Thanks Katie! I’ve got some catching up to do on your blog! xxx

  11. That’s okay. Take your time. It’s just good to know you’r there. I loved this post so much…

  12. Lea Sylvestro says:

    A lovely piece – beautifully written and reflective. What a wonderful opportunity, to join your artist friends for fun, connection, and creativity! Having just taken the overnight train from Chicago to Washington, I loved your impressions of the passing trains and the photograph of the tankers. We took many pictures of scenes along the rails. America flashing by!

  13. A beautiful post–I felt like I was there and it felt so peaceful. It’s lovely you and your friends havin g your painting retreats. I’ve had to give up that for awhile, and miss the two women I’ve been painting with this last year. I’m looking forward to returning to that.

  14. Tricia says:

    Thanks Deborah. I am happy to write while the others paint. I gave that up years ago – just so many hours in the day and room in the house for accumulation of pieces. Maybe when I am ‘retired’! ha! I do miss the dreamlike state of it – a little different than that of writing. Thanks for checking and chiming in!

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