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What the River Knows: An Angler in Midstream (1990)

by Wayne Fields

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531488,649 (3)2
At the age of forty-two, Wayne Fields set upon a sort of pilgrimage when he waded the near twenty-mile stretch of a small river in northern Michigan with fly rod in hand. He emerged with a beautiful and poignant memoir, a meditation on families and aging, and a whimsical response to what time, and streams, and those we care about bring into our lives.… (more)
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I read over half of this book (skipping most of the 2nd half but finishing the last 35 pages) before giving this to a retired friend who is an avid fly fisherman. Further similarities with my friend are the author's middle age reflections on his life. The writing holds together well, and the continual shift between his inner musings and the outer experience of wading a river kept my interest.
His writing is so literate that I'm surprised each time he mentions his rural Missouri Baptist upbringing (showing my preconceptions need reforming). Yet some of the best teaching from this book comes from Fields' Uncle Ivan, a respected church elder. "God's not something any of us ever comprehends, not at any age, and, because we can't understand God, there is a lot in ourselves that we never quite get hold of. ...eventually you'll choose the way you think of God. It's a choice you make based on what you come to see in yourself--the part of yourself you can figure out--and in the world around you. In a way it's all there waiting for you to imagine--you, the world, God....There is enough that is terrible, enough to feed all those brimstone-breathing preachers, enough fire and filth for the meanest god imaginable. I don't doubt there is reason for the worst versions we come up with, but when I choose to imagine God, it's as the god of that colt out in the barn. I know that isn't the whole story, but when it's time to choose, that's the choice I make. It seems to me, wherever there is meanness, it is our duty to fight it rather than give in, even if it is God Himself we are reforming." (p 246-7)
Instead of chapters, this book is separated into sections by date, covering the time period from July 29 to August 29, For each date, Fields records the particulars of his progress fishing the Paint River, planning to reach the headwaters from a location near his home
I am not a fly fisher (tho I do like exploring streams and the natural world). My review might be more enthusiastic if I were. Perhaps I'll have an update from my friend later. ( )
  juniperSun | Nov 2, 2014 |
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For my family and all the others who have helped me through the deeper waters--some of which are named in this book, many of whom are not.
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Late July signals the beginning of the end.
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For a moment in all of this I glimpsed one aspect of my identification with this slight stream...the fact of multiplicity and the simultaneous aspiration for singularity, wholeness, something to do with several selves yearning for reconciliation. (p. 112)
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At the age of forty-two, Wayne Fields set upon a sort of pilgrimage when he waded the near twenty-mile stretch of a small river in northern Michigan with fly rod in hand. He emerged with a beautiful and poignant memoir, a meditation on families and aging, and a whimsical response to what time, and streams, and those we care about bring into our lives.

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