We​ ​called​ ​ourselves​ ​the​ ​‘Wild​ ​Men’.​ ​​ ​​ ​Pat​ ​Waldron,​ ​Don​ ​Brenneman,​ ​Jerry​ ​Smith,​ ​Michael​ ​Klute and​ ​others​ ​took​ ​this​ ​trip​ ​with​ ​me​ ​at​ ​different​ ​times.​ ​​ ​The​ ​very​ ​​ ​first​ ​time​ ​we​ ​just​ ​tied​ ​logs​ ​together with​ ​rope​ ​and​ ​climbed​ ​on.​ ​The​ ​raft​ ​immediately​ ​sank​ ​but​ ​then​ ​rose​ ​until​ ​it​ ​stabilized​ ​about​ ​an inch​ ​below​ ​the​ ​surface.​ ​That​ ​was​ ​good​ ​enough​ ​for​ ​us​ ​and​ ​we​ ​were​ ​off​ ​on​ ​our​ ​first​ ​trip​ ​down​ ​the river!​ ​​ ​The​ ​River​ ​was​ ​not​ ​the​ ​same​ ​as​ ​it​ ​is​ ​today.​ ​By​ ​the​ ​1960s​ ​it​ ​had​ ​become​ ​a​ ​repository​ ​for sewage,​ ​trash,​ ​tires,​ ​refrigerators,​ ​and​ ​even​ ​waste​ ​from​ ​local​ ​factories.  We​ ​floated​ ​under​ ​the​ ​cement​ ​arches​ ​of​ ​the​ ​main​ ​Street​ ​bridge,​ ​down​ ​past​ ​the​ ​pool​ ​hall,​ ​past​ ​the cement​ ​plant,​ ​under​ ​the​ ​railroad​ ​bridge,​ ​alongside​ ​the​ ​spur​ ​line​ ​that​ ​carried​ ​fruit​ ​to​ ​Benton Harbor.​ ​​ ​We​ ​passed​ ​Kawneer’s,​ ​around​ ​the​ ​island​ ​near​ ​the​ ​mouth​ ​of​ ​Dowagiac​ ​Creek,​ ​we​ ​could see​ ​the​ ​back​ ​of​ ​Lena’s​ ​Resturaunt,​ ​high​ ​up​ ​on​ ​the​ ​River​ ​Bluff.  Then​ ​the​ ​river​ ​opened​ ​up.​ ​There​ ​were​ ​a​ ​few​ ​fishing​ ​shanties,​ ​a​ ​campfire,​ ​maybe​ ​a​ ​lone fisherman​ ​standing​ ​on​ ​the​ ​shore.​ ​​ ​Our​ ​adventure​ ​became​ ​a​ ​trip​ ​back​ ​in​ ​time.  We​ ​could​ ​imagine​ ​the​ ​long​ ​canoes​ ​of​ ​the​ ​French​ ​explorers,​ ​smoke​ ​from​ ​the​ ​fires​ ​at​ ​Weesaw’s village,​ ​Mound​ ​builders,​ ​a​ ​thousand​ ​years​ ​earlier.  Suddenly​ ​a​ ​huge​ ​creature​ ​rose​ ​up​ ​from​ ​along​ ​the​ ​banks​ ​of​ ​the​ ​river.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​unlike​ ​anything​ ​we had​ ​ever​ ​seen,​ ​a​ ​pterodactyl,​ ​misplaced​ ​in​ ​the​ ​wrong​ ​century!​ ​​ ​With​ ​it’s​ ​crooked​ ​neck,​ ​enormous wingspan,​ ​and​ ​feet​ ​trailing​ ​behind​ ​it​ ​glided​ ​ahead​ ​of​ ​us,​ ​just​ ​inches​ ​above​ ​the​ ​water.
 Our​ ​reflection​ ​back​ ​in​ ​time​ ​was​ ​extended​ ​to​ ​prehistoric​ ​times,​ ​thousands​ ​of​ ​years​ ​ago!  The​ ​river​ ​has​ ​been​ ​home​ ​to​ ​our​ ​generation​ ​and​ ​many​ ​before​ ​it.​ ​​ ​But,​ ​long​ ​before​ ​the​ ​bridges that​ ​have​ ​come​ ​and​ ​gone,​ ​before​ ​the​ ​inter​ ​urban​ ​that​ ​ran​ ​along​ ​it’s​ ​banks,​ ​before​ ​the​ ​ferry,​ ​or the​ ​stage​ ​coaches​ ​that​ ​crossed​ ​it,​ ​before​ ​the​ ​Carey​ ​Mission,​ ​or​ ​Fort​ ​St.​ ​Joseph,​ ​,​ ​the Potawatomi,​ ​or​ ​even​ ​the​ ​first​ ​of​ ​the​ ​mound​ ​builders​ ​it​ ​was​ ​home,​ ​and​ ​still​ ​is,​ ​to​ ​this​ ​bird-​ ​the great​ ​blue​ ​heron. 

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