Touched by the Full Flower Moon
- Creator: Van Shields
- Item Type: Document
- Date Added: 03.28.2008
Like many of us here in the Carolina Piedmont, my first experience with the Catawba River was crossing it on the I-77 freeway bridge. I was headed south from the Charlotte airport to a job interview in Rock Hill. I'm not sure that counts as an experience because other than appreciating the fleeting view I didn't really touch the river and it didn't touch me.
Shortly after we relocated here in 1997, my wife and I had the pleasure of taking a "party boat" dinner cruise with friends on Lake Wylie. Even though I knew that there was a lake upstream from where I frequently crossed the river, this was my first visit so it was a pleasant surprise to realize that this wonderful resource was in my new "back yard." We enjoyed the calm waters of the evening and a remarkably beautiful sunset that reminded me of my youth growing up in the South. As time went by I became more familiar with the Catawba and, although I touched it many times, it had not yet touched me.
In the spring of 1999 Dan Huntley invited me and my 13 year old son Elliot to join him and a group of local Catawba River aficionados to camp on its north bank across the river from the Landsford Canal State Park. Lindsay Pettus, head of the Katawba Valley Land Trust, had organized the trip to coincide with a full moon. Another camper, Ted Borg was on a mission to photograph the moon "over" the famous Rocky Shoals Spider Lilies while in bloom. When we arrived, Elliot and I got to know our fellow campers, walked along the river, visited a historic grist mill site and went fishing. Later in the afternoon another camper on a mission, Bill Stokes, showed us some “balls” he had pulled out of the river earlier in the day. Called “The Ball Guy,” Bill tirelessly paddles his kayak retrieving basketballs, soccer balls, dodge balls, footballs, etc. out of the river and donates them to area recreation programs. He said many of his finds were marked with addresses identifying them as coming all the way from backyards in Charlotte down Sugar Creek to the Catawba, making the obvious point that whatever happens on the land ends up in the river.
That evening Ted and his assistants paddled out to a temporary platform they had set up in the rocky shoals for the photo shoot. I jumped in to help, literally, since maneuvering the boats required wading around the rocky outcroppings in the shoals. We watched from the bank while they took the photos and later, while my son slept, we sat around a campfire drinking brown liquor and telling stories about the Catawba. We talked about how 250 years ago you could see clear to the bottom of the free flowing river and shad and sturgeon were abundant sources of food for the Catawba Indians and the first European settlers; and how the modern Catawba's chain of lakes with dams and hydroelectric stations that powered the textile industry to its peak in the 20th century made possible the rise of the air conditioned “New South.” Everyone agreed the Catawba was the most important, and the most under-appreciated, natural resource in the region. Although I was already familiar with a lot of our conversation, musing over the Catawba’s history while hearing its waters rush by made the stories real for me.
Framed by our adventures and campfire chat the day before, the next morning my son and I went back to the river with our eyes open to the full glory of the Catawba. We canoed, fished, and saw an eagle, ospreys, herons, and other wildlife including a snake swallowing a catfish! We had a great time and at the end of the day, I realized this was really my first trip to the Catawba because it had finally touched me. A few weeks later I received a gift of a framed copy of the photo Ted took on the trip. Called Full Flower Moon, it’s a beautiful portrait of a vast stretch of glistening lilies bathed in moonlight with wisps of clouds around the full moon. It’s on my office wall today to remind me of when I fell in love with the Catawba River and promised to help protect it.
