Riverside scars

We drifted down the Grand River through the south side of Lansing, carried along by the slow current. It might be the industrialized North, where everyone is always in a damned hurry to get someplace, but the river wasn't about to be rushed along its way. This had a corollary effect on whatever it carried. Matt Ferguson, founder of Michigan Liberal and coxswain, observed from the back that when you're on the river, things tend to slow down to the river's speed.

So true. The river, even one as comparatively young as the Grand (at no older than 14,000 years old, younger than humanity), has its own way, its own schedule. There is a different tempo even than when you walk across the land. If you were to sit in the dirt, you would go nowhere. Your forward progress is entirely dependent upon you. Sit and drift in a river, on the other hand, and there is a baseline of movement that is beyond your control. It flows as it will, and it is we who have to work ourselves around its schedule, either by use of paddle or outboard motor.

The river, as do many rivers, formed what used to be Lansing's central nervous system. In a state flush with them, they were the first highway system, and from the back of the canoe Matt described how the city was built with materials floated down the river from the city of Jackson.

Lansing, like many of the cities in the southeastern quadrant of the state, became part of Michigan's auto empire. Its highways soon became things of asphalt and concrete, and the rivers fell into a supporting role for industry. Renovation of old buildings, like the now-abandoned Knapp Building on the downtown's Washington Street, give the city a facelift and help to hide the scars of change from the street, but from the river you can get a glimpse of the city through time. Here and there, scattered are silent concrete artifacts alongside and in the water, some downright mysterious in purpose.

Right after launching, we'd paddled upstream to the dam below the ancient Eckert coal-fired power plant with its three tall smokestacks (called, Matt says, Winkin’, Blinkin’ and Nod) that blight the city's skyline. Not visible to us was the General Motors plant now being dismantled, the city's continuous facelift in progress.

These kinds of physical changes are usually confined to where people are expected to see them. On a river that gets a great deal of human traffic, there are signs -- canoes and kayaks tied up at homes, manicured launches, places where children can jump in for a summer swim, and none of that is evident. That leaves the remains of industrial activity fighting a losing battle against time and nature, with weeds, shrubs, and small trees in many places curling up around concrete monuments to other days. They are long-lost American temples, paying homage to American utilitarianism and industriousness, hidden in a weed-choked riverside jungle.

Eventually, we drifted past the launch and towards the city's downtown. I scanned the riverbank for wildlife (you can tell a lot about a river by the critters you see using it), while Matt talked about the use of railroads in the state's development. The river and the railways have this much in common -- both played an important role in the state's development, and were shunted aside with little fanfare as cheap gasoline made the more flexible car and tractor trailer an easier option.

Around a bend, the city's downtown came into view, with the state Capitol peeking out from behind some of the taller buildings surrounding it. Matt ridiculed a parking garage that butts right up to the river -- a poor use of riverside property, he called it. I looked at the city itself, which reminded of the drive into Atlanta on I-75, where suddenly all of the tall buildings of the downtown come into view just as you're about to dive down through them.

We ducked underneath the first bridge -- Kalamazoo Street -- to the sounds of a raving derelict, the second we'd seen in less than 50 yards. This is what happens when a city neglects its river. The banks become cluttered with weed-choked leftovers from long-gone days and many of the people you meet are there precisely because it's not where they're apt to run into polite company.

North of Michigan Avenue, we passed another power plant, this one shuttered. At the top of the building, in letters big and bold, are the words Lansing Power and Light. One day, long ago, it proudly pumped sulfur, mercury, and carbon dioxide into the air. Lit up, it was a statement that industry and progress were intertwined. Today, there are the usual schemes to make use of prominent downtown properties, including one plan -- I'm told -- to turn the thing into a casino.

We drifted quietly to the Old Town section of the city, passing a theater production in Riverfront Park (while yet another raving derelict, this one on bicycle, passed us on the wooden planks). Another dam prevented us from going further upstream, so we tied up and took a short walk. Here were signs of human life. Banners advertising an upcoming festival hung in front of a park, and many of the buildings showed both not just signs of upkeep, but of efforts to beautify. It isn't coincidental that where there was the bustle of leisurely human activity, that the river was made to be a part of it. People sat in benches or leaned against the railing overlooking the Grand. Many fished, but many others just sat and watched the water tumble over the dam (I'm told that there are plans to perhaps remove this dam).

With light beginning to fade, we headed back to the canoe landing just north of I-496. Along the way, we hatched schemes to revitalize the city's riverfront and use the river as a way to connect parts of the city. Place canoe slips here, encourage riverfront cafes there, promote waterborne transportation along the way. They were plans for a different kind of revitalization – reconnecting the city’s people with their river. The jobs and money it might generate were secondary to another idea, that if you can tell a lot about a river by the critters that are using it, it is just as true that you can tell a lot about a city by the way it treats its river.