Niagara of Memory ix. Blades

When I was a young child it became my habit to follow my grandfather's every step. One day, when his tractor was broken we drove down the road toward the river.

The upper Niagara
smooth
deceptive
green
wideness
shines
then shimmers
at noon

My grandfather's friend was a welder, and had fashioned a part for our ancient John Deere. We stood in the bright sun of noon in the man's dusty barnyard. There was a boat up on blocks. It was full of shine and polish. I walked around the boat, dragging my finger across to surface in that mannered way that only small boys could accomplish. As I came close to the stern of the boat and it's two polished propellers, the man and my grandfather rushed to me. The man pointed his finger at me, scolding me for the marks that I left on his beautiful boat. But, all the more so for coming near his propellers. My grandfather said to me: "These are so sharp that you'd as soon lose a finger as touch them."

The upper Niagara
cold
broken ice
running snow
twisting cold
blue
sightless gray
sundark
at noon

Driving with my grandfather again. Again his tractor had broken down, but now it was the unrelenting gray of winter. He was a good neighbor, my grandfather. His tractor plowed a dozen driveways after a winter snow. His generator gave light and heat to five or six houses when the power went out in a storm. He was a good neighbor. The road was ice and slush as we drove.  I stayed in the car as my grandfather met the welder. He returned a the few minutes, struggling to carry a heavy load in the snow and ice. I used my breath to clear a patch on the window, so that I could see my grandfather. Behind him, just out of the gray shadows, I could see the boat. Even in the winter it stood there dangerous.

The upper Niagara
thick green
green  windowglass
infinite depth
under the shelter
of a willow tree
darning needles
and damsels
shimmering in
silver flakes
of heat

It was late in the spring of my sixth year when we drove down to the river again. No tractor problems then. We went all the way to the river, to see my grandfather's friend race his dangerous boat. All the boats ran full throttle, on but never in the water. They did not roar so much as scream a high-pitched complaint. Behind each boat a great tail of water rose into the sky. The river bank was lined with people, some jostling a little here and there the better to see. My whole family was right at the river's edge, sitting in lawn chairs waiting for our friend to race.  I remember being worried that some boat might not stop, or understand that the Falls were there, just a mile or two down the river. My grandfather's friend made it round the circuit twice, but then his boat touched the water, and then again deeper still as it atumbled across the green. Our friend was hurt, but not too badly. Those shiny dangerous propellers sank beneath the river.