For my whole life I’ve lived up and down the Hudson River, in Hastings, in Ulster Park, in Ossining. New York City crouches on its shoreline, and I lived there for twenty years. The Hudson happens to be my favorite river in the world – although to be precise it is an estuary.
I’ve written about its history, in both nonfiction and fiction — about the rubble-stone house of Margaret Hardenbroeck, in Yonkers, about Blandine berry-picking on a Manhattan bluff, and other people whose lives I placed against this magical backdrop. But I haven’t just told stories about a place. I’ve lived it.
I was thinking about some of the things I’ve actually done along the Hudson’s reaches. What helped me in my imaginings. How the Hudson Valley has informed my life.
I’ve taken a canoe out through ancient marshes at the river’s edge. Had picnics along its shores. Dined in fine restaurants. Rode a bike. Collected beach glass.
Kissed. Thrown sticks for a swimming dog. Gone swimming myself. Taken the train, that glorious route down the river’s eastern flank. Snoozed on that train and missed my stop.
Watched fisherman pull out catfish. Careened along the Henry Hudson Parkway above the river in a series of second-hand cars. Visited a yacht house in winter, warmed by a wood stove. Hitched a ride on a tugboat.
Walked the George Washington Bridge–it sways terrifically. Learned to hula hoop.
Heard blasting rock and roll concerts on ancient piers. Wandered a factory ruin from the nineteenth century. Did I mention throwing a stick for the best cattle dog in America?
Saw fireworks explode up from every little Catskills town down the river’s length one Fourth of July. We sat on an escarpment far, far above the river coursing below.
As an adolescent, I read classic books in a library overlooking the water.
Later, bought paperbacks at library sales. Talked about my own books in library all-purpose rooms.
Watched my three-year-old get gleefully wet under a sprinkler at a city park in Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Devoured garlicky Dominican mofungo at a lunch counter a block from the water in Sleepy Hollow.
Hiked the Breakneck Ridge Trail, which rises 1,250 feet in a three-quarter mile stretch and hovers over the river as it winds. Experienced vertigo and rapture at one and the same time.
Admired thousands of sunsets.
Praised the mighty Palisades. Daydreamed. Considered the water’s surface, olive green, deep black, cobalt, covered in crashed-together ice floes. Seen eagles ride the ice floes (an untruth – I’ve always wanted to, it’s in my bucket, but I never have managed it).
Admired art on walls with river views. Experienced the unicorn tapestries, in awe. Taught children to make art. Touched cattails. Bought hanging plants from Garden Club ladies. Watched my teenager kill it in soccer games on a field watched over by the Palisades. Stood on the porch of Washington Irving’s stucco cottage, Sunnyside, imagining the 1840s river the way he must have seen it, appalled when the railroad went through.
Skipped stones, clumsily. Never could master that. Threw a stick for a dog. Considered the white-tailed deer swimming across to New Jersey – diaries describe the phenomenon in the seventeenth century. A long time back, but a drop in the bucket for the old, bountiful Hudson.
What have you done along the Hudson–or your own personal favorite river? Leave a comment, will you?
Jean Zimmerman 
Having read this I thought it was rather informative.
I appreciate yoou finding the time annd energy to put this
content together. I once again find myself persoally spending a significant amount of time
both reading and posting comments. But so what, it was still worth it!
Hello! I just want to give you a big thnumbs up ffor your
excellent info you have here on this post.
I will be coming back to your web sitte for more soon.
I’d like to see what those rivers look like!
Rivers!
how can you love just one?? they are like books– old friends, new friends, amazing life giving (and taking) gifts to us. I love so many of them…they are a part of me..and me, a part of them. The Ohio-The Cuyahoga, The Mighty Monongahela, The Grand, The Allegheny—
This is a part of the world I am relatively unfamiliar with. I’ll have to pay it a visit sometime.
Other RIVERS I’ve loved… (I woke last night, listing them, all of them with wonderful histories and geographical significance, esp. these five… thanks for stimulating these memories!)
**DELAWARE RIVER, the border between PA and NJ, where I spent many lovely weekends in New Hope and Lumberville (at the 1740 house).
**SUSQUEHANNA RIVER, the border between Lancaster County, PA, and York County, PA, with Three Mile Island which I saw each time my plane landed at MDT airport outside Harrisburg, PA.
** BRANDYWINE RIVER, PA + Delaware, with its Treasure Trail, which I explored repeatedly, esp. the Hagley, Longwood Gardens, and the Chadd’s Ford museum of art (the Wyeths and other great illustrators.)
** SCHUYLKILL RIVER, PA, which I crossed many times between Philadelphia and Lancaster, and where my grand-daughter participates with Temple Univ. Girls Rowing Team.
** PLATTE RIVER, Central Nebraska, with Grand Island (where I lived for many years) and the hugely significant, annual migration of the SandHill Cranes.
None better.
master of the neck hula
Didn’t know you had spent time out our way!
I’ve climbed Beacon Rock, named so by Lewis and Clark, and been amazed that such a huge, deep river such as flows beside it hasn’t toppled such a big rock. Was further amazed that just across the river there is a sleeping volcano that rises more than 11,000 feet and watched as a lazy sunset colored it’s sides.
I’ve watched the river at the foot of Beacon Rock, the Columbia, has gone from polluted and damaged to clean and fresh in only 20 years time.
Rivers are wonderful, dynamic things.
Summer, 1970, I drove my VW across the Tappan Zee Bridge to see Sleepy Hollow and Washington Irving’s cottage; took photos in the old Dutch cemetary and toured Van Cortlandt Manor. My four year old son liked the sheep at the Manor, and I liked the flax demonstration (I hadn’t known about how to make LINEN!). For years, I used my slide show in my 8th grade classroom as my students studied The Legend.
Raised our family! In a stone and timber English Tudor house with the river in the distance. Many hours on my knees in the rock garden, even more in the kitchen cooking. I am reminded recently of sitting in the living room around a small TV set, surrounded by three small children who were dismissed from school, when Kennedy died.