dang this river

Tonight, the third night of our skinny-dipping, river baths, was definitely the most meaningful. It was tonight that as Will finally got the nerve to submerge his body under the rushing, frigid current, he came up out of the water and said, “dad, this is addicting. Now I finally know what you meant when you said the mountains take away a part of you.” Jack said, “especially this river, it literally washes a part of you away.” Will said, “dang this river.”
I knew it had happened. Both boys had spent the evening fishing, jumping from rock to rock and feeling the water flowing all around. And just like it always happens, they were being absorbed and they didn’t even realize it. “I’m going to remember this trip for a long time,” Will realized. Not only that, I thought, now you’ll always have to come back. I think tonight the boys felt the absence of the missing parts that had been stripped from them the countless times we’ve come here before. Since they were babies, they’ve been dragged into the woods by their dad, absorbed by the mountains, and washed by the river.
But this time, it includes the first willing metaphoric bathing, and an awareness of the bonding that such activity allows, complete with countless euphemisms and wisecracks not fit for mixed company, but completely guard-dropping when done between father and sons.
I will remember this trip for a long time, I thought as I watched parts of my sons wash down the river, under the hemlocks, and around the bend.