In the summer of 2019, I was doing my least favorite activity: applying for jobs. It had been six months since I graduated with my bachelor’s degree, and landing an interview was becoming a struggle. I wasn’t writing, instead, I was worried about many things: would I ever be a ‘writer’? Would I find a job in my field? What if I am failing and I have to go back to school? Hope was dwindling until I got a text message: What do you know about the Ada Long Creative Writing Workshop?
I knew two things actually: The first was that it was a creative writing workshop for high school students that operated out of the Spencer’s Honor House at UAB. The second thing I knew was that their director, Tina Braziel, was a poet who I had only met a handful of times through my professor, and her husband, Jim Braziel. A phone call later I had secured a job for three weeks in June helping them with social media, their newsletter, and whatever else they needed an extra hand with.
That summer was filled with poems and short stories, blistering summer heat and local tacos, it was floor-sitting and zine workshopping, laughter and brave tears, and even a few afternoons were filled with the notes of a student playing the piano that sat beneath the quilted visage of the great sanctuary window. Each week the workshop went on a field trip and one of our weekly excursions was the Cahaba River. I remember that before our bus ride, Tina told us that we were river people.
River people? I wanted to ask more, but the students were ready to climb into the van. Soon we were disembarking from the van to meet with staff members of the Cahaba River Society. Water wasn’t a rare excursion for me. My father was a stickler about us being good swimmers. As kids my sister and I would have to race each other in the early hours of the pool’s opening—but we refused to join swim team. Swimming was our joy. We didn’t want it to feel like work.
Fishing was another pastime in our childhood. We’d walk through the woods, careful of snakes and poison ivy until we found the bridge that held us over the pond while Dad showed us how to cast a line and reel a fish in. He taught us how to hold the fish, how to unhook the line from their mouths safely, and how to plop them back into the water.
There was always a turtle on a nearby log, watching us, unbothered by our loud giggles or squabbles. The quiet is something my family has never been fond of. My sister many times would find a strong branch and get to work, tying stray lines and hooks to the end, and somehow, some way, she would catch a fish. She’s an engineer now to no one’s surprise.
The Cahaba River is a connection I have felt my whole life. It’s hard not to feel connected to something that you drive by and drink1 from each day. One of its main wonders, the Cahaba Lily, I had not seen before, that is until this past weekend at the Cahaba Lily Festival.
On that fateful trip to the Cahaba River in 2019, I met La’Tanya Scott who serves as the Education Director for the Cahaba River Society. I remember one student asking her, “Are there any alligators here?” to which she answered, “Sure there are, much further down.” before we continued walking to find mussels and snails and other living things. She has a way with students, come closer, see what I see, and know what I know. She guided the students towards this connection with the river, even those who took a moment to forget about the supposed alligators downstream.
I didn’t know then but our paths would cross again in the summer of 2023 when I was interested in joining a junior board. I had taken a moonlight tour and found myself missing something. I missed exploring. I missed enjoying. I missed the connection I felt with my own backyard. Via email, La’Tanya told me that the junior board had been dormant, and I could help revive it.
Almost a year later from that initial email—I was organizing a group of junior board members to the Cahaba Lily Festival to volunteer. There was a buzzing of excitement and prayers sent that the bad weather would stay away for the majority of the day. We were rewarded with clear blue skies, a gentle breeze, and of course, the Cahaba Lilies.
These white spider lilies are a local phenomenon, only growing along the Cahaba River and two smaller locations in Georgia and South Carolina. Their seeds sink into the shoals of the river, only blooming between May and early June. The beauty is temporary, for their blooms only last for a single day. From your viewing spot, you can see the other stalks rising as their blooming partners prepare to die. Sphinx moths are believed to pollinate the flowers at night, rubbing their wings against their partner like an evening waltz.
That day I learned I was not a natural at canoeing, ending up under some trees and remarking, “Oh that is a snake,” to another board member. We scuffed our ankles against stones and slipped on algae as we walked across the shoals to see the lilies. But we also sat on larger rocks that peaked out from the water and simply enjoyed the marvel that these flowers are. I wished I had my notebook to jot down my thoughts, but another part of me didn’t want to work—or even create. I just wanted to be.
Before leaving the festival, my friend said, “I don’t think I can leave here without taking a swim first.” I didn’t have a swimsuit, I didn’t have a full towel, and my dad’s voice about getting my car seats wet made me pause. Then along that same train of thought I remembered my car is nearly 20 years old! It was a beautiful day! What other chance would I have to enjoy this? Five minutes later I was floating alongside my friend and one of CRS’s summer interns.
The water was cool and seemed to carry us where it wanted us to go—our pack steadily cruising down the bank of Canoe Beach. We watched as other folks were canoeing down the river to see the larger party of lilies, we felt the kisses of small stones and shells and fish against our legs and feet. With each ebb and swirl of the river, I was rekindling that thing I had missed for so long. I had loved the river, yes, but did I know her before that day? I am still getting to know her, and I am still learning the ways that I am a river person.
For you, dear reader, there is still a little time left this season to see this wonder. Gather your supplies and your courage, see this floral curiosity, and discover the river person that you can be.
Also:
Love to hike? Birmingham-area Hiking Group, HikeBHAM hosts excursions monthly.
The Secrets of the Octopus || a free documentary on National Geographic
The Cahaba River supplies drinking water to 60% of households in Central Alabama.
Beautiful 💚💚💚