Erosion and Deposition

The confusion set in as we parked the car in Abingdon. Neither David nor I could remember which way we had been heading the last time we walked our path. From the ancient bridge buzzing with Saturday morning traffic, and fluttering with patriotic pendants, the silver ribbon of river looked the same both ways and the sign post didn't give much of a clue either. It just said starkly, 'Thames Path'.' Thanks', we thought, as we gave up and headed into the bustling market town to look for a coffee. Lattes, paninis, muffins and a proper look at the map and we headed back to the bridge, a little more confident that we needed to head to the right, along the edge of the park and off once more into the unknown.
Walking with David, Heather and Matt had a sense of rightness about it. With Mark firmly in the middle of our thoughts and occasionally on our lips, we chattered and walked, walked and chattered, comfortable with each other and familiar, as only families, no matter how they evolve, can be.
Culham Lock and Jubilee Junction soon appeared, but this time there were more boats, more folk. The river and lock divided the flowing water into safe and dangerous, mirroring the choices we sometimes have in life; playing it safe, steady, and predictable, or taking the lesser known path, where there are pits and rocks, drops and twists, but also excitement, adventure and delights. The way Mark took! And I am glad he did. The thought makes me smile.
On from the lock, we once again crossed fields as familiar as before, except for the softness that had come upon them, descending in a few short weeks, like a flimsy filigree petticoat laid delicately across the landscape; the creamy buttermilk yellows of buttercups, cowslips and the expanses of rape seed pixled with the apple whites of daisies and hawthorn blossom. Whispy white dandilion clocks noted their own peculiar passage of time. The greens were gentler, the grey of the sky a softer dove hue and the river.........aah.........what of our young adult river? She kept alongside us, independent, yet not totally detatched, confident in her own ability to deal with the sweeping elegant lawns, dipping their toes into her watery edges; the boathouses, some broken, some chic, some occupied, others empty, standing on tiptoes in the reeds; bold bullrushes bordering both banks, and the occasional broken branch or tree root, which dared to invade her watery domain, poking their bony fingers or toes above the silvery surface. She took them all in her stride. Families of noisy ducks swam purposefully along, teaching downy ducklings the art of swimming against the flow, their efforts both amusing and 'lump in the throat' touching.
Culham Lock and Clifton Lock came and went and we arrived at Clifton Hampden in time for a welcome lunch, taken at the Barley Mow. It was warm enough-just-to sit outside in a very pleasant pub garden. As always, it was a real effort to get up and continue on. Legs were beginning to ache, the chatter drying up in the determination to reach our destination at a reasonable time and four weary walkers rejoined the path and relied on the river for energy and motivation for a while.
A field of excitable cows ignited the adrenalin and we giggled and gasped in turn, trying not to show any fear. A silly story about 'cow tipping' connected us to Mark and each other once more, and we strode on smiling.
A majestic meander swept us past Dorchester in the distance and on to Day's Lock, where more pleasure and leisure boats and their cheery crews awaited their turn to negotiate the drop or rise in the river. The cows, the animals, the houses, mills, power stations, the humans and the boats all adding to or taking something from the river, changing it sometimes for the better and occasionally for the worse. Like us; we are all changed by events we are involved in, or encounter and by those that we meet, become friends with, stay friends with, or somehow allow to slip away over time. Those that make deposits in our lives enrich us as people. They enable and enhance us and we need to value them. Sadly, events, situations and people, sometimes family, sometimes those we thought were friends, erode our very substance, leaving us broken, hurt and diminished somehow. I am so grateful for those that have deposited their love, encouragement, kindness and friendship, trust and belief in me. I am a better person because of them. For the bits of me that have been eroded, I will continue to seek to find some healing and peace. This walk is part of that.
The stone spires of the church at Wallingford appeared thankfully over the meadows, but a much needed cup of tea at Benson's Waterfront delayed our arrival at our destination for a little while. Our eyes lingered over the lazy launches soundlessly passing our riverside spot. It would have been so easy to have lingered longer, but.......... Five hundred metres later found us at the end of our thirteen and a half mile walk. Relief seemed to be the only word necessary. Our faces, hips, feet and aching calves said it all as we waited for the taxi to take us back to Abingdon, a journey where words were irrelevant.
Back at the car, a quick change of shoes, trousers, and a dash of lipstick for me and spirits and chatter returned as we headed into Oxford to sample a meal at Jamie's Italian. And very nice it was too!
Taking Heather to the train station was hard on all of us. It always is, but like our silent promises to our 'river child' to return soon, we hugged and set a date to meet in London...........soon.