Reminders for Humans is a monthly series exploring truths of the natural world, and how I’m using them to remember what it means to be human.
What I Learned:
Rivers usually start in mountains - where they have rock as “guardrails” - that keep their shape relatively straight. Once they get to softer ground, they immediately begin to meander.
Rivers meander by nature - if they didn’t, their water would be lower quality, cause more erosion, and support less wildlife.
They may look erratic, but the math of river’s bends are always the same.
Meandering makes rivers dynamic but stable.
Reminders for Humans:
I am guilty of approaching life like it should always follow a logical, straight line. But in reality, this is quite rare.
Sometimes meandering, changing, and adjusting course is the most stable method of progress
“I have transported many, thousands; and to all of them, my river has been nothing but an obstacle on their travels. They travelled to seek money and business, and for weddings, and on pilgrimages, and the river was obstructing their path, and the ferryman's job was to get them quickly across that obstacle. But for some among thousands, a few, four or five, the river has stopped being an obstacle, they have heard its voice, they have listened to it, and the river has become sacred to them, as it has become sacred to me.”
- Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha
Who among us has taken the straight path forever? By which I mean, no detours, no obstacles, no wandering, no crises of direction, no change in belief? This concept of straight paths, with its roots in the logical, is not very realistic.
Here’s logical (humans love to be logical): to travel from point A to point B, the fastest and most efficient way is the vector that connects them in the shortest distance.
Here’s realistic: to travel from point A to point B, you certainly can immediately go in a straight line as quickly as possible, but doing so comes with a significant chance that this endeavor will not last forever, will not be sustainable, will not be balanced or homeostatic, and just might reduce its overall quality.
At its core, a river is a channel to transport water, with a start and an end.
If we boil it down to its most basic functional purpose (humans love to boil things down to their most basic functional purpose) it is to transport water from a source to a sink (from point A to point B, if you will.) If we combine this basic functionality with logic, it may be reasonable to assume that a river would take the shortest vector path to achieve it: that a river would act like a freeway, or a pipeline - delivering its rushing stream and sediment and gilled citizens in a straight line.
But this is not what happens; they are not linear. Rivers often take many multiple more miles of surface area to reach point B than they would by triangulating themselves like a missile to their final destination. Rivers meander. Rivers turn and twist and double-back and curve and bend and wind and wander. Rivers are messy. Rivers occasionally flood the surrounding land in their floodplain. The path of a river is inherently tied to the obstacles, the realities, the climate which it encounters.
Right now, our American Dream is, in many ways, one of vectors. The Dream says: pick something you want to do, and get to it as fast as you can. Decide what you want for your life when you have just begun it. Finish high school and go to college to study what you’ve decided on, get a job immediately doing that thing, work your way up the ranks of that job, become the boss, become incrementally better and more powerful at that thing, forever. Grow at a consistent 5% year-over-year. Easy. Point A to Point B.
The American Dream, the culture, the status quo- whatever you may call it- prescribes trajectory: this is how to be; this is how to move; this is how to grow.
This way of life is to vector, not to meander. This way of life is to force, not to flow.
The idea of linear progress encourages us to treat the complications, obstacles, unexpected opportunities, and unexpected losses as distractions and obstructions in our path. They are fucking with our logical plans and getting in the way. They are slowing us down. They are meant to be fought against, ignored, conquered, minimized.
A river might disagree.
For a Hydrology lab in college, we spent a day along a local Rochester stream to measure its graded profile, which effectively meant drawing our best interpretation of what the bottom of the stream looked like, and how fast the water flowed throughout its cross-section.
We crouched in rain boots along the bank edges to take measurements of the water’s flow, depth, and rate of movement across the width of its channel. One of us got the job of wading gingerly into the stream, then poking a measuring stick down to the stream bed to measure its depth every six inches or so. Aside from getting a day outside of the classroom and a new location for goofing off, I remember being painfully underwhelmed by this activity. Surface water hydrology is shiny and mysterious until you’re crouching on a muddy bank waiting for someone to take the last goddamned measurement already. It’s interesting and beautiful at the macro level, until you’re recalculating gradient flow after screwing it up for the third time. Consequently, I got bored quickly and handed off the tools so someone else could take over.
That class was almost a decade ago. The person I was then feels almost like a stranger now. She was sure of her ability to vector. She had a goal, and was going to reach it.
Controlling one’s path is a penny of idealism carried around like a charm. Familiar, shiny, comforting to hold. It’s a smooth and uncomplicated notion that’s grasped onto for dear life, embedded in the body like a second heartbeat: particularly when one has felt so deeply out of control of almost everything else.
In the years that followed that Hydrology lab, there were countless things that fucked with my vector path. As each appeared, I frantically calculated how to counteract its disruption and detour in order to get back on the right track - the logical path - that I had seemingly just been on. I imagined that if I could just get back to that trail, my trajectory would right itself. If I could return to the part that felt straight and narrow, I’d no longer encounter so many difficulties.
I imagined starting a career in sustainability right after graduating: that it would land me in some major city on the East Coast or in California. I imagined I would work at nonprofits, for the government. I imagined making just enough money to get by, but that would be okay - because I was doing something I believed in; something I believed was worth the sacrifice of comforts. I imagined I would eventually become a lawyer. I imagined I would never have to break ground to grow outside of my skill set, I would only need to work more, and faster.
I imagined that I would fall in love at the precise time I was ready for it. I imagined if I had read every book, and knew every theory, that I would excel in life the same way I’d excelled in school. I imagined I would die young, maybe tragically. I imagined I’d never have the means to live alone, or feel safe, or be one of Those People who are really, truly happy and comfortable. I imagined I would only encounter loss and difficulty if I did something to deserve it.
I imagined fate like a series of calculations.
Even the straightest river will eventually start to meander
There is science to support the methodology of rivers; which explains mathematically how their rambling nature is supported by fluid dynamics and physics.
Many rivers are born in the mountains. During winter, snow accumulates on mountain peaks or packs into glaciers, and as temperatures rise in the spring and summer, the snowpack melts and begins its gravity-fueled, relentless journey towards lower land until it reaches sea-level. When the water travels through rocky crags of the mountains, the stone walls corral the flowing water into more predictable lines. The hardness of rock keeps the water within tighter boundaries and from veering off in wide swoops. And while the water doubtlessly impacts the rock, through repeated exposure and erosion, the path of the river changes the rock it slides through on the timescale of thousands of years.
When the water emerges from unforgiving rock terrain, and encounters flatter and more importantly - softer landscapes, like plains, valleys, forests, grasslands - its method of movement changes.
Where the boundaries of rock walls and steep slopes dictated the shape of the channel before, the plains’ soft topography does not. There are different rules when the water reaches sediment and soil than there are for granite crags, and this is where we begin to see rivers take up their signature sinuous, S-shaped curvature. There are a few reasons why this happens.
The most fundamental comes from universal physical laws: gravity, energy, and force. A rushing channel of water contains a lot of energy: as fluids move ceaselessly from higher elevation to lower elevation, a whole bunch of kinetic energy flows in a singular direction in an attempt to reach equilibrium.
Fluids in motion are inherently unstable, and centrifugal force dictates that the speed of water is fastest at its furthest edge- the same way that, when your car follows a winding mountain road, you’ll feel more centrifugal force on your body in the outer (wider turn) lane than you do in the inner (smaller turn) lane. This force creates rivers that have different speeds at different locations across their width.
The next reason stems from the interactions of water with its environment: in this case, a channel of water moving against and through a landscape made of softer materials: sediment, soil, vegetation. This kind of topography is much more forgiving, much easier for the water to shape and alter than mountain crags, and it does so on much shorter time frames. The force of water against these more malleable surfaces erodes sediment away from the banks and bed, picks it up, and carries it further down the channel. Now it’s not just water molecules slamming into the topography around it, but water with sediment: making the erosion potential even higher with the added hardness of sediment, small pebbles, silt, and sand. As the stream continues, eventually the sediment slows enough to be deposited in consistent patterns to create banks called point bars.
The terrain the river encounters is imperfect. Where the river’s channel meets a blockage or varying obstacle in its path- for example, a boulder sitting on the bank of one side- the course of the channel is destined to bend. In a second, countless energetic water molecules are bounced off the boulder, thrown into a different direction and slammed into the other side of the channel- effectively sending more and more water at an angle into the bank opposite the boulder. The water rushes on the far-side of the river’s edges with greater speed than it does in the center, cutting the banks with more force, and digging out a deeper side of the bank. As more water beelines off the boulder and into the opposite bank, this opposite side becomes more eroded - adding more sediment to the river, and pushing its edges further out into the surrounding land.
Mathematically (im)perfect
If you could slice across a river’s curve to see its cross-section, you’ll almost never see a uniform half-circle - where the deepest section sits squarely in the middle. You’ll usually see that it’s lopsided: one side is deeper - more carved out - the indication that tells you this is where the fastest water in that segment of the channel lives.
On the opposite side, where the water is not moving at the highest speed in the cross-section, the flow is slow enough to deposit sediment - to allow the pebbles, silt, sand, and clay that the water has picked up along its course to drop out of the channel and settle down to the riverbed. This creates the phenomena whereby bends in rivers have two very different profiles on each side: one with faster-moving water where deep pools are cut-out, and another shallow bank of sediment that slowly drops off towards the other.
The continuation of this swerving happens in alternating sides of the channel, which creates the signature S-shape geometry of a river.
From an aerial view without scale, it can often be impossible to tell the difference between a massive river and a small stream - their patterns of curvature are identical. While the meandering process may seem somewhat chaotic, in actuality, the math of a rivers’ geomorphology is extremely predictable. Regardless of the size of the river or stream, the wavelength is approximately 11x the channel width, and between 10-14x the width. The radius of curvature of the central portion of the channel’s bend averages about 1/5 of the wavelength. No matter its scale, any small bend in a river or stream tends to grow larger and more pronounced over time.
Meandering allows the river to be dynamic, but stable. There is compromise to its shape: looking from above we see how it goes so far in one direction, only to pivot and move in the other direction, only to do it all over again. The resulting shape allows the energy and water to move in a method that - at the micro-scale, may seem dizzying, but at the macro-scale is smooth and predictable. This pattern is, in fact, the most stable method of transporting water and sediment in a sustainable way - meaning, in a way that can be sustained, without need for change, for extensive amounts of time. For rivers, that can be hundreds of thousands of years, or longer; the Amazon River is 11 million years old, and took its current shape 2.4 million years ago.
All of this supports the larger physical law that affects most living and non-living inhabitants of Earth: the equal distribution of energy. The instinct to find a homeostatic equilibrium. Meandering is the most stable way for a channel of water to move its force and fluid through a soft plane. Meandering is how a river finds stability and equilibrium. It is its natural state.
When we don’t meander
Assuming the conditions are correct (the land is relatively flat, the sediment is the correct kind of hard and soft, there are no mountain ranges to traverse) a river will meander.
In situations where the river’s course is altered into a straight path, the quality of water, the ecosystem that it supports, and the entire watershed that follows suffers.
Alterations like these can happen by human methods, through channel straightening (also called channelization) in which a section of winding stream is excavated and adjusted into a straight line. This practice is becoming less popular, but is typically intended to remove wetlands or reduce potential flooding in a segment of the watershed by adjusting the speed of water that passes through it. Water moves more slowly through a meandering river pattern than it does a straight channel, so when bending is replaced by a straight line, the water moves through the channel much faster, and reduces the chance that this area would be flooded during the change of seasons or higher levels of precipitation (rain or snow). A straighter channel, with its bends and turns removed, also creates more land on either side of the river, which can be used for farming or development. Both of these implications have, historically, been beneficial to human sprawl and commerce.
However, the downsides of a straight, fast channel far outweigh its benefits. As it’s straightened, its overall length shortens, despite the fact that the amount of water flowing through it stays the same. This leads to much faster water flow and higher levels of erosion, which have cascading impacts downstream.
Faster channels have fewer areas where the water can pool, meaning less habitat for aquatic species like fish and amphibians to lay eggs and grow. The water speed is so much faster that the number of fish species and populations dwindle; less aquatic vegetation grows; and fewer surrounding species of birds, mammals, insects find food within it. Faster water means more erosion on the banks and bottom of the river, and unnaturally uniform (like a half-circle) profiles form like pipes. The banks become more steep, creating challenges for amphibians like salamanders to safely reach and leave the water they need to survive. As more sediment becomes exposed on the banks of the channel, more erosion takes place - filling the stream with more and more sediment, despite the fact that there are now fewer slow bends to deposit it into point bars and sandy banks. Consequently, a common result of channelization is high levels of downstream sediment, nutrient, and pollutant loads: reducing the quality of water for drinking (for humans and wildlife) and creating more and larger sediment deposits downstream.
Rivers, and especially the wetlands that they can contribute to, naturally purify the water that flows through them. Much of this purification relies on slower speeds and riparian zones - the land and ecosystem that buffer the edges of the water from inland habitats. Where pooling and slower segments of channels exist, more biodiversity can interact with the water and what it contains. Chemical reactions like denitrification are more likely to take place through vegetation and soil uptake, removing high levels of nutrients like nitrogen (that often come from agriculture and fertilizers) that in excessive amounts can harm wildlife and reduce water quality. Riparian buffers can trap and remove sediment in the water - one study in North Carolina showed that an unaltered grass-forest riparian zone reduced the sediment load of the river by 60 - 90%.
Allowed to exist in accordance with their nature, rivers will clean and purify themselves. They will let things go. They will meet, and then part ways, with much of what they carry.
Rivers move in one direction only. They feel a lot like life in that way: to be on one is to have only the noise and perspective of the rushing water around you in that very moment; to be constantly moving; to be understanding of your journey only in hindsight. In each moment floating on the river, we don’t get the big picture. We don’t have the quiet understanding of a map to know where we’re headed.
To view a river from above and especially, to attempt to explain its path to others, is to see it for its vast complexity and seemingly irregular, pinballing mess. There’s a good chance you ended up where you are by taking a unique path. There’s a good chance that this unique and outwardly illogical path was, in fact, the best or only way you could have reached the particular spot you find yourself in now.
The people I admire the most treat the path of their lives like rivers. They know the terrain is imperfect and filled with obstacles. They expect to twist and bend their direction, even though - at the very start - they had more guardrails to keep them on the straight and narrow path. They aren’t going for speed or efficiency; they are not straightening their path at the expense of life quality. They occasionally make a mess and flood the land around them. They understand that side-effects of rambling are many and positive: making pools of space for other life to thrive; clearing away debris and pollutants; self-purification; the kind of unhurriedness that is required for noticing a complex and beautiful world.
The people I find most fascinating are those whose paths have strayed. They’ve had crises of faith. They’ve had various careers. They had strong ideas about themselves, only to find that these ideas didn’t stand the test of time. They studied something completely different from what they do now. They fuck around and find out. They change their minds as they learn and experience more; they are not irreparably tied to who they were yesterday; they are open to who they might become tomorrow, and mostly - they are comfortable floating in the present. They have been through enough switchbacks and pivots to know that their best attempts to control what’s next are well-meaning but unrealistic. They respect and adhere to the unexpected obstacles that screw up their path - maybe not as they are happening, but certainly in hindsight.
They have surrendered to the nature of meandering, and that is honorable.
It is honorable because it is vulnerable: it is vulnerable to accept that the nature of living is to have no control over most of it. But accepting this is also true, and wise. Floating along a river with no concept of what’s to come is, maybe, part of what it means to be alive. Being able to understand your path only in hindsight is our reality.
When their path is wonky, they can recognize whether it’s because of something within their control, or something absolutely and completely out of their control: the climate and environment they’re passing through; obstacles and impediments; unexpected changes in weather or slope; the forces working to bring them to equilibrium; and always always always, timing.
When their path is crooked, they can still manage to find small scraps of peace and understanding and forgiveness for it, and most importantly, they do not use their detour as a reason to throw themselves under the bus. They do not count the meandering as just one more piece of evidence in the case to prove their unworthiness; they do not use it as fuel to stoke a fire of shame.
Instead, amidst the frustration and chaos of a winding life, they occasionally stop and consider that
Maybe this river knows what it’s doing.
And occasionally, even if just for a second, they believe it.
“And when Siddhartha was listening attentively to this river, this song of a thousand voices, when he neither listened to the suffering nor the laughter, when he did not tie his soul to any particular voice and submerged his self into it, but when he heard them all, perceived the whole, the oneness, then the great song of the thousand voices consisted of a single word, which was Om: the perfection.”
- Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha
Thank you for reading. It means a lot to me that you do.
If there’s something meaty and confusing you’re chewing on in your life, let me know. I’ll try to find an ecology metaphor for you that will either make things feel simpler, or potentially even more convoluted. Either way, you will have given my brain something to work on instead of being left to its own devices - which truly is a gift.
xoxo, Sarah
Love that meandering is a legit term to explain natural phenomena and also so resonant on our silly human level. Really feeling this right now in my life.
Love all that too Eamon! I equate this topic to the phrase, “stop and smell the roses” which I do every time I pass them in my front yard. I have loved cultivating roses over the last two decades and love the relationship that I have with them, the whole plant, each individual bud and bloom, and the process of cultivating and cutting the stems just right, in the right place, above a little pink nubby, and on a downward diagonal angle to allow another stem, then flower(s) to grow in its place.
I’d love an ecological metaphor for when life brings a lot of dis-ease into a body. Due to tremendous “complicated grief” (actual diagnosis), and serious life stress and midlife crisis, I’m experiencing worsening of an autoimmune disorder I’ve had since I was 12, bringing me closer to having two reverse total shoulder replacements, a second total knee replacement, an ankle fusion, hardware removal from a past ankle injury/surgery from a fall plus, new chronic diagnoses affecting my kidneys, liver, gallbladder and GI system. Ironically, I’ve never been better at taking care of myself, being proactive with my health and eating, meditating, stretching, etc., than I have over the last two and a half years…and still…
”the hits just keep on coming!”
I’m working on my health through western medicine with phenomenal doctors and facilities, eastern medicine and exploring more alternative healing modalities, all with the eventual goal of finding a way to heal myself of all of it and return again to the balance I had as a child who danced for a living.
That may be too many things for one metaphor, but I love the way you connect life to the beautiful planet we get to live on and call home and so if you’re ever looking for a new topic, that’s when I would adore Reading. Thank you for sharing your gift for metaphor and science as it relates to life on Mother Earth. 🌎🌏🌍🌱🌲🌳🌵🪴🪺🍁🍂🍃🎋🪹🍄🐚🪸🪨🌾💐🌷🌹🥀🪻🪷🌺🌸🌼🌻🌞🌝🌛🌜🌚🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌙🪐💫⭐️🌟✨⚡️☄️💥🔥🌪️🌈☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️🌦️🌧️⛈️🌩️🌨️❄️🌬️💨💧💦🫧☔️☂️🌊🌫️
Thank you for your writing!