The River, Path, and Stream

I came to this river, and this path and stream, as if I had been here before, as if there was magic here. The scenery comes back to me at odd times: when I see a new snowfall, or the fresh green of Spring, or the cold hues of Autumn, or a day of unbearable heat. I wonder what it’s like there now, the river , the path, and the stream; the sycamores, and oaks, and willows. How have they changed, what do they mean? This haunting scene in my mind gives me a sense of awe and inspiration; away from the world of business, of concrete and ceaseless people.

It’s been over thirty years since I came to this river, the memory of which has provided me with years of pleasure. This place is the Prophetstown Battlefield, connected to the Wabash River by an uneven path and stream that gently winds through a vined woods.

I have a growing hunger for a story that is there lurking along that stream, and along its irregular pathway. This area is alive with Native-American lore; where there is a story about the clash of two cultures, one supposedly primitive and crude, the other supposedly advanced and civilized. The advanced culture crushed the primitive, but the winning culture destroyed the vital life-giving elements that the primitive culture enjoyed:

Earth, air, water, the ungovernable forces of nature (lightning), the mature trees and red saplings, and the wind (from the four corners of the earth); the maize and other crops growing, the flying wildlife of the air, the creatures of the earth, and the wonder of life’s unknowables. All plant life, the sun and the blue sky, all overwhelmed by thunder (the gatekeeper of heaven), and the inscrutable path to heaven.

I’m past the time when in youth I felt a keen pleasure in seeing, and smelling, and feeling the woods, without a thought of how or why. But now I believe there is a story, a history, there: a spiritual presence involved in it all.

Robert F. Gilyeat

Dedicated to the memory of Hoosier author James Alexander Thom.