Finding Flow

By Katherine Munter

“When you’re on the water, you are one with the ancestors. Every stroke, every time you put your paddle in the water is a prayer. Those who sit in the canoe are healing themselves and healing the community collectively.” -Meghan Ormandy, a traditional Coast Salish canoe puller

My grandfather, who I called Dziadek, slid the canoe into the water as dawn broke. The water sloshed against the hull, and the aluminum sides vibrated, sending shivers of metallic sound across the lake. The damp, earthy smell of the lakeshore enlivened my senses and drew me in. Fog rose, stretching and slowly dancing in the warming air as birds welcomed the sun with song.

I was awed by the buoyancy of the boat as I got in and picked up a wooden paddle. The paddle seemed heavy and awkward in my hands, and I nearly dropped it into the water. Dziadek steadied the canoe as he pushed off and sat behind me. I turned and watched his paddle dip smoothly into the water, making a muted woosh as it pulled back, and then came forward to dip back in.

I tried to imitate his smooth paddling motion. My paddle, however, splashed awkwardly, skidding across the surface and wobbling back and forth. I asked Dziadek if I could sit behind him so that I could more easily watch and copy his rhythm. He encouraged me, saying that the person in back provides the power and keeps the boat on course, and that I had the vital job of watching out for rocks and other obstacles.

I tried to push the water, and I grew frustrated when my paddle continued to flail, slapping waves and knocking against the hull like it was trying not to drown. Dziadek relayed that the goal isn’t to move the water. Rather, you send gratitude to the water and use its support to move you. He told me not to fight the water, to slip the paddle in cleanly, press into it, and let the water lift you.

I considered an acrobat I’d watched place a foot into another’s entwined fingers. The support person became a platform as the other pushed off, launching into the air. This metaphor changed the way I viewed the lake and my relationship with it. I didn’t need to conquer the water or my paddle. The water tension became the hands that gave me a boost as I launched the boat forward. We flowed with the water, all working together.

As we moved around the lake, we slowed to quietly watch beavers and muskrats forage at the water’s edge. Herons stood like dignified statues, waiting for fish to venture near their shadows. Turtles basked on fallen logs, stretching their heads to warm their long necks. Minnows dimpled the surface as they dashed to deeper water. Occasionally a cautious doe would bring her fawns to drink. My relationship with the land deepened, and I contemplated the generations of humans and other animals that thrived in and around the water.

I experienced connections to water on both sides of my family. My maternal uncles and great uncles were wooden boat builders on Lake Saint Clair. I watched them create custom vessels in their shop, which sat partly over the water. They only made one or two boats a year, and I could see the care and attention that went into their craft. They described boat building like raising a child over the course of the year before releasing the ship into the water and beginning again.

As a gift to my parents upon my birth, my uncle Larry used some of his boat restoration skills and refinished an antique child-sized rocking chair. Its earthbound rhythmic sway is soothing, much like riding on water. The rockers are short, creating the effect of a tiny tugboat navigating choppy waves. I remember sitting in the chair, delighted by the rocking motion before my feet could touch the ground. Decades later, my own children rocked in the chair. It now sits patiently by the fireplace, waiting for the next child to bring energy and motion.

Can you recall a time when you felt most connected to the land around you?

Dr. Katherine Munter, clinical psychologist, art therapist, and founder of Creative Life Therapy, an Ann Arbor practice of art therapy and integrative wellbeing. Learn more at www.CreativeLifeTherapy.com.

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