What We Choose To Forget
I’ve mentioned that on Wednesday in the early morning hours the suburbs north of Chicago were struck by a series of thunder storms and torrential rain. The towns of Mundelein, Gurnee and Libertyville received in excess of 6 inches of water within the span of 4 to 5 hours. Before light my sleep was disturbed by salvos of thunder booming like a battery of artillery. The water from Nature’s blow feeds into the streams and rivers. The Des Plaines River is expected to crest tomorrow Saturday, many feet above flood stage. One hundred thousand sand bags are being filled, but the losses will have to be taken. There is nothing that can defeat that volume of water as it obeys the laws of physics, flowing toward the Mississippi and then to the Gulf of Mexico.
A short while ago I made my way on Deerfield Road to Milwaukee Avenue and took Milwaukee Avenue north. Milwaukee Avenue parallels the Des Plaines River. I’ve lived here for over thirty years and have never witnessed the Des Plaines River over the asphalt on Milwaukee Avenue. I drove through 3 to 4 inches of brown river water spreading across the road. The picturesque Des Plaines, restorative, playground for canoeists and hikers —asserts Natures prior claim to the land, reminding us of what we forget.
I
I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river
Is a strong brown god—sullen, untamed and intractable,
Patient to some degree, at first recognised as a frontier;
Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce;
Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges.
The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten
By the dwellers in cities—ever, however, implacable.
Keeping his seasons and rages, destroyer, reminder
Of what men choose to forget. Unhonoured, unpropitiated
By worshippers of the machine, but waiting, watching and waiting……
excerpted from The Dry Salvages by T. S. Eliot
