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| Detail from second photo |
By Craig McCollum & Maik Strosahl
While Craig is working on an upcoming post, I am trying to beat our deadline before leaving for a family vacation, so I grabbed a couple of Craig’s photos and ran with it. —Maik
A River Runs Through It was the last film in a theater that I went to with my father. And we didn’t really have a history of going to movies. When we were kids, I remember going to see Bambi when it came around in the ’70s. Then there was a carload night in the early ’80s with a double feature that included an updated Lone Ranger. I had to sleep through the second feature because by then I had a paper route and would have to wake up early to do the deliveries. That was it. Until 1992’s A River Runs Through It.
I don’t remember why, but I invited my father and two brothers to go see the film with me. I had already been out of my parents’ house and fiercely independent for several years and already knew my first marriage was going to fail. My brothers were still living with Mom and Dad, Pete just graduated high school and Steve was a freshman. We were four people heading in different directions, but we came together for that movie.
Rivers have always been important to me. We lived just three blocks from the Mississippi for most of my youth. Its waters have swirled through our lives as it had the family Maclean. I fell in love with the poetry of that movie, fell hard for the beauty of the land, and came away with the dream that someday I would live in Montana. Yet, somehow, near 30 years later, and even though I drive this country for a living, Montana is still on a shortening list of states that I have never been through.
The closing lines of the movie still speak to me in Robert Redford’s voice:
I knew there was a reason why I liked this guy. He chased his dream, he is living the dream, and that dream is in Missoula, Montana.
No, this is not a grass-is-greener moment. I am not looking for a place anymore. We all have to find where we belong and I think I have done that for myself. But in these days when all of us are separated by six feet or many miles, I find comfort that a lone fisherman can find the peace he is looking for in the Blackfoot, that lonely souls can still make amends and gather with those who have grown distant, and though I never sought that peace in faraway Montana, perhaps I can take the steps needed to find peace among brothers, to stand again with my father, one day overcoming the divisions that have held us afar.
While Craig is working on an upcoming post, I am trying to beat our deadline before leaving for a family vacation, so I grabbed a couple of Craig’s photos and ran with it. —Maik
A River Runs Through It was the last film in a theater that I went to with my father. And we didn’t really have a history of going to movies. When we were kids, I remember going to see Bambi when it came around in the ’70s. Then there was a carload night in the early ’80s with a double feature that included an updated Lone Ranger. I had to sleep through the second feature because by then I had a paper route and would have to wake up early to do the deliveries. That was it. Until 1992’s A River Runs Through It.
I don’t remember why, but I invited my father and two brothers to go see the film with me. I had already been out of my parents’ house and fiercely independent for several years and already knew my first marriage was going to fail. My brothers were still living with Mom and Dad, Pete just graduated high school and Steve was a freshman. We were four people heading in different directions, but we came together for that movie.
Rivers have always been important to me. We lived just three blocks from the Mississippi for most of my youth. Its waters have swirled through our lives as it had the family Maclean. I fell in love with the poetry of that movie, fell hard for the beauty of the land, and came away with the dream that someday I would live in Montana. Yet, somehow, near 30 years later, and even though I drive this country for a living, Montana is still on a shortening list of states that I have never been through.
The closing lines of the movie still speak to me in Robert Redford’s voice:
But when I’m alone in the half light of the canyon, all existence seems to fade to a being with my soul and memories, and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River, and the four-count rhythm, and a hope that a fish will rise. Eventually all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood, and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.I mentioned in last month’s first “Maroons” post that Craig and I reconnected over Facebook this summer. One of the first posts I saw of his was that very quote and the following picture he took.
This is my family, dysfunctional as itAh, but I promised this wouldn’t be just about me…. We will get there.
may be, and a river runs through.
| Copyright © 2021 by Craig McCollum & Maik Strosahl | |
| Originally a flat lander, Craig A. McCollum received his degree in photography and headed west. He lives in Montana with his wife and two sons, exploring the outdoors while hiking, biking, and chasing moose – the latter only with a camera, of course. |  |
| Michael E. Strosahl has focused on poetry for over twenty years, during which time he served a term as President of the Poetry Society of Indiana. He relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri, in 2018 and currently co-hosts a writers group there. |  |
How’s Craig’s upcoming post coming? May we expect to see it in November? I believe that month’s 20th day awaits him. A Saturday, calendar-wise, Goines reminds me.
ReplyDeleteI too have been near water my whole life, mostly the Indian River, one of the world's great saltwater estuaries. I can hear that water running in your mind's ear, your dream taking shape then metamorphosing into something else, your nostalgia for good times missed. Good dreams my friend, and worth reaching for.
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