A Transcendental Journey Down the Huron River
By: Kate Walsh
Final Project
When navigating through the industrial confines of Ann Arbor, Michigan, there is a distinct vein of life that works its way through the city. The Huron River flows and winds throughout the town, serving as a focal point for activity and attention. A mighty force that has existed here long before the people came in and made the region their own, the river has now been changed and tamed in a way so as to allow for a natural space that exists within the confines and expectations that the all-powerful city planners had in mind for their work. As I strolled out onto the docks of the Bandemer Park, a designated green space along the banks of the river, I thought about the purpose of this spot as many peoples first introduction to the Huron River. This location was so decisively chosen to fit the needs and desire of the community of Ann Arbor so as to give them a spot that they could engage with and enjoy the river, but as the leaves fall and the vibrant greens dull to a muted brown, the park that is at times so alive with noise sits quiet, empty, waiting. Though the people are gone, the elements of their impact never leave. The docks and structures meant to enhance the summer entertainment of man sit vacant, abandoned, cluttering the riverbank with human structure devoid of humans. We leave behind these structures for the future hopes of another season of self-service. The slight wave in the water laps against the wood like a haunting plea for warm weather and warm bodies to return, a yearning desire to fulfill a value of the water given to it solely by our interaction. The river at this spot exists as a mesmerizingly boundless teal that demonstrates the depth of the water and a concealed spirit that has been overrun and silenced by the city. The river has a plan and a path that has been thwarted and redirected by the control of the people that so enthusiastically enjoy what it can offer them. From its very beginning, the desires of people have taken over the natural tendencies of the river.
As the waters erupt from the dam, they flow down what would seem to be the divinely inspired path of the river, until the mighty hand of the powers that be grab ahold and yank the Huron at a 90-degree angle. The city has redesigned the course of nature to fit its master plan for the land. What exists where there should be a river alive with fish and birds and algae, sits buildings and roads and infrastructure…. a distinct lack of life. Man has taken it over for his own use, but when an area is selfishly monopolized by one species, how is that really living? And yet through this action we have created what we believe to be life for ourselves, enjoying the beauty of the rapids and the entertainment that can go with them. Shooting out in vibrant tubes and boats, blissfully ignoring the reality of what could be, of what should be. For how can an afternoon spent in laughter and happiness have anything but sunshine lying beneath it? We view the Huron River as a plaything. Something we can take from what we want: aesthetic, fun, interest, but abuse it as what it is intended to be, and conveniently neglect to acknowledge our hand in the change. In our attempts to honor the beauty of creation, we have somehow interjected ourselves into the role of creator. The desire for omnipotence that exists in the nature of the human mind has pushed out the thoughts of other beings and focuses in on the plan for what we see for ourselves and the world in a way that only serves us. But the plan of humans is not the only one that matters. If the river had a voice it would be screaming out to be put back in place, like a child displaced from its mother. If the river had a voice, maybe we would listen. Instead of an entity present and powerful in its own right, we look to the river in a self-serving manner as our connection to the natural world, but what is natural about it anymore? The ecosystem we have destroyed and attempted to rebuild so that our highways have a home? The harsh direction of the concrete that the water flows over now instead of the riverbed so perfectly designed to guide the meandering flows of the current? Or the rapid water that pulses with the anger of a river that has been moved and reshaped? What about this is natural? When a resident of the city wants to be in touch with the beauty of their surroundings, they go to these predesignated areas for recreation, but how can this be natural when we are told what and where natural belongs? The word nature implies an existence separate from humans or human creation, but that doesn’t seem to exist anymore, especially not in Ann Arbor and not with the Huron River. Human desire for control pushes us to the point that we even strive to control the one thing that is fundamentally meant to remain untouched, in an attempt to connect to the world around us. Natural no longer implies the sense of untouched beauty it was intended to convey, but instead demonstrates the strong grip of the societal hand that expertly moves and shapes the pieces of the world to fit their master puzzle.
Pushing past the island, the waters flow calmly past apartment buildings, offices, and more parks constructed to allow people a constant view of the river; a continuous visual demonstration of their handiwork. As I come up on Gallup park, it marks the end of many humans’ journey along the river, though not their control over it. The colorful boats sit, waiting to be moved back up the river to traverse their journey once again, but man keeps pushing forward. Bridges and dams keep allowing us access to an and the opportunity to impose our control over places the river has not and force it to submit to our will. To the eyes of many, this is the end of the river, the last stop on their journey, but the spirit of the river pushes on, continuing to fight for its idea of natural, a much more authentic nature than we would ever be able to recreate, no longer how hard we try and how perfect we believe our work to be. Human intervention serves only one purpose; to appease human will. Natural processes serve the greater will of the Earth as a whole. The Huron River is a body of energy so full of life and beauty, yet so drawn back and shut down by our blind desires. Yet hope exists that natural can be maintained and enjoyed by all, it just takes cooperation on the part of all involved parties, a partnership between the City of Ann Arbor and its life host, the Huron River.
Following along its predetermined path, the Huron continues its way to Argo Park. The water here sits in a calm state, almost stagnant, cleverly concealing the power of the current that lies beneath. It is clear and glassy, reflecting all of the trees and structures around it, a mirror of society back on itself. The calm water reflects the stark contrast that exists between the greenery that has situated itself along the river’s edge with the bright and unnatural colors reflecting off the canoes and vessels at the boat livery. Not only have we physically inserted ourselves into the path of the river, but we physically insert ourselves into the waters of the river as well. Looking out along the flow of the river, my eyes are drawn to a point where it seems as though the river just drops off, so subtly and gently, as it gets consumed by the concrete structures that cut off its path. An intentional tranquility exists that builds to the demonstration of the true power of the waters, forced out by the city. The river wants so intensely to remove these concrete barriers and push on with its intended strength and force, but the people of the city continue to push back. The picturesque state created by this dam serves the rowers of the city, as their training ground. The cry of the river can be heard so loud, the people are staring to listen, and the river has recruited constituents of the city to fight on its behalf and free it from its concrete shell. Unfortunately, as loud as the cry of the river may be, it is continuously drowned out by the influence of the rowing community over the plans of the city, and thus the dam and its control over the river remains. A harsh concrete divide marks this forceful control, as the dam quietly collects the water just to spit it back out the other side.
The dramatic push of the Argo cascades is juxtaposed by the calm trickling forward that exists for a ways after. As the Huron continues on, the flow of the water is abruptly interrupted further along its path by a small island that emerges right in the middle, creating a split in the river. This standalone piece of land so elegantly carved out by the delicate hands of the river, has been connected back to the outside banks by a short bridge. Though the bridge is small in length, it is mighty in disturbance. Humans have given themselves access to a space that the river has directly cut them off from, the city deciding to invite themselves into a space not meant for them. This island, now a designated park, is a showcase of the exploitation of natural spaces. The river surrounds the island, keeping it safe and protected and wild, while the patrons of Ann Arbor came in and designated it as their own. Completely disregarding the cues and wishes of the river and deciding that they know best. Bridges give humans access to land that the water has tried to bar them from. Through the work of man, no location is off limits. Upon this once self-contained island now sits sidewalks, grills, a playground, and picnic areas, and at its centerpiece, a Greek style building with large, ominous columns. When gazing at the flowing waters through the pillars of a manmade structure, it becomes apparent that even our view of the river has been dictated by the city. No part of its existence in the eyes human can just be left up to chance.
