26/10/2022
Keva Glynn's beautiful poem brought down the house at the recent Celebration of Life service for Shawn Hodgins.
As she explained, the poem speaks to the confidence-inspiring trust Shawn showed her and those around him — and the trust we, in turn, had in him, his skills, and his leadership.
Shawn's wife, Liz, and Keva have kindly given me permission to share it with the community. 🤗🛶
CHATEAU BEACH, LATE AUGUST, 5PM
There are days we live as though death is nowhere to be found
Days when the rock is warm and smooth beneath our feet,
Days with the wind at our back, woodsmoke in our hair,
River water in our shoes.
Days glittering magic, like sun on water.
There are people who bring this too
People who, when they walk in the room, bring the wind, the trees
The sun.
Something bigger, better
Something to remind us of the flicker of beginnings,
The flame of the campfire on a wet night
Shawn brought water.
Fast water
Rivers
An old soul drawn to young rivers
He moved down rivers like wind through trees,
like the flow of caribou across the tundra.
On rivers, I trusted him.
We trusted him.
Of course we did.
Because he reminded us of something in ourselves,
Something both young and old
Foolish and wise.
Shawn was both
he must have been
Or we never would have followed him over R3s, 4s, the occasional 5.
Well.
We might have done it once,
but we did it again
and again.
In ice, snow, rain and sun
We followed his silhouette as it slipped over a set
out of sight.
We tracked our canoes against his line,
ducklings heading for the shadow where he disappeared.
Willing to shoot it blind,
Willling to use Shawn’s eyes as our own.
Because there was something else in him,
Something old and quiet
Something in his stillness as he lounged on the shore at lunch
And later, the quiet of his paddle in the water
The three deft strokes as he cut into the current.
It reminded us of something in ourselves.
Trust.
Trust in the strength of our bodies,
Trust in the flow of the river, helpless against gravity.
Trust in our young, wild, untamed dreams.
Trust in Shawn’s topographic memory
that campsites would appear
that the nylon skin of our tent would protect from the night wind
that the duct tape would hold.
Young and old
Foolish and wise
Shawn walked barefoot on Chateau beach.
That’s how I remember him
No towel, no shirt, no shoes.
Sprawled in the sand, late August, 5pm
Beer in hand
Lake water dripping from his hair,
Tiny rivers trickling down his skin.
Days when death was nowhere to be found.
Days when we could not believe that the earth would turn,
That summer would end
That the dinner bell would ring
We chose to believe this
Despite the evidence,
Despite the sand,
Those tiny gritty grains,
all that remained of ancient rock worn ragged by water.
Years of rain, rivers, ice
dissolving rock
into this.
Handfuls of glitter that caught in our hair
Under our nails
Between our toes.
Shawn brought water
Quiet, clear, relentless
And it dissolved the doubt in us.
He took us to icy, flooded rivers
In March.
In Ontario.
Just cuz
He trusted his body, the gravity of his truth
And because he did, so did we.
He reminded us
Of being young and old,
Foolish and wise
Of what it feels like
To be at our best
To trust in the river,
To trust in days so glorious
That death is nowhere to be found
