Susquehanna Meditations: Petroglyphs

Petroglyphs

Come winter, given how high the Susquehanna river can run at winter, there’s no guarantee that you’ll see them, even at Little Indian Rock or Big Indian Rock.  You can always check out the museums and there check out some of the replicas and several of the originals (though a bit mauled in their removal – alas, the best of intentions).  But should you boat or paddle to the rocks near Safe Harbor and check out the Little Indian Rock or Big Indian Rock, be sure to tread carefully and lightly.  Please, no picnicking on them.  No tracing either.  No rubbings.  And if you dare carve your initials into the rock, as others vandals have done in the past, the ghosts of Algonquian medicine men will haunt you forever and make your life a living nightmare.  Save your graffiti for railway box cars. 

Sources suggest:  “Some petroglyphs appear to have astronomical significance.  Six snake symbols point to the sunrise or sunset positions for the annual equinox and solstice” [Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission].

Thunderbird spirit.

Manitou spirit.

Transformed human figure.

Walking bird.

Serpent shape.

Tracks of bear, elk, deer, bird.

Some things are best left unmolested.  For that matter, when you think about it, most things are best left unmolested.  Simply admire them please, and sit back and picture them being carved into these river rocks centuries ago.   These symbols and signs -- carved to convey messages, lessons, dreams, hopes, experiences.  Symbols and signs carved, meant to last across generations so that the story might continue.   Come, young brave and learn what the elders have left behind.  What they said is important.  What has been said is important.  

We have something to say.   We had something to say.  The message deserves to survive. 

We have a story for we are a story.  We leave behind our mark lest the generation be completely forgotten.  Who can remember fully even their grandparents?   As a church saint thought:  there is no such thing as the past, only the present memory of the past;  there is no such thing as the future, only the present hope and expectation of the future;  there is only the present instant, and even then it goes.

So we leave something to be remembered.   

Scent on hydrants.

Legends retold around cook-fires.

Pebbles left on graves by visitors.

Names inscribed on tombstones or brass plates.

A flag planted on the moon.

In a small town, the name of those who lived in the house down the street regardless the name of those who may have lived there these recent years.

Calligraphy on parchment.

The sepia toned photograph in gilded frame, best when the name is scrawled on the back.

Penknife initials inside the heart shape carved into tree trunks.

A name along the spine of a novel.

A song.

Those men and women who lived along this river centuries ago left their mark.  They carved, drew, wrote to mark and be remembered.  I was here.  We were here.  Our story will be remembered.  Our story will be told.  We may not last but our story will last, our story will endure as long as rock endures.