Back home to the Potomac

The sirens at gate 20 in JFK’s Terminal 5 are making babies cry.  I couldn’t sleep on the plane.  But I have a smile.  In a few short hours I’ll be home.

I was born and raised in suburban Virgina, just outside Washington, DC.  While I was in Peru, my parents sold the house and moved to Houston, TX.  But my home remained as it was.

I grew up on the Potomac River.  For me, high school was a series of trips to the river, days in the sun and on the water.  I didn’t have  many satisfying interactions with the other kids in school.  The river was my refuge,  the place I always felt comfortable. The Potomac is where I learned about respect, trust and true happiness.  I made my most lasting and important friendships in the eddies of the Potomac.  For years, every possible day, I’d load a kayak into my Mom’s minivan and drive to Angler’s Inn parking lot, paddle in Mather Gorge and surf until the sun went down.

I haven’t paddled on the Potomac in over a year and the last time I was here, late spring rains raised the river to unseasonably high levels, eliminating the chance to kayak Great Falls, a series of cascading drops that are the premiere rapids in the mid-Atlantic.  I’m getting picked up from the airport by my JD, my best friend and favorite paddling partner.  By noon we’ll be dropping waterfalls that I love as intensely as anything on this earth.

My connection to DC is boarding.  I ‘m headed back home.  Home to the Potomac River.

A few classic photos from my high school years on the Potomac.