“The Red Wheelbarrow” by William Carlos Williams:
so much depends / upon // a red wheel / barrow // glazed with rain / water // beside the white / chickens
Containing only sixteen words and one visual image, this poem at first glance seems modest to the point of trifling. Yet its image often returns to the mind’s eye, like a haiku, a reminder of the beauty and importance of the simple things in life. Over the years, I’ve substituted a few of my own objects upon which so much depends. Here’s one version:
so much depends / upon // a turquoise inner / tube // floating on a / lake // by a hill of / evergreens
This is the story behind that version:
My husband and I had just moved from Puerto Rico to eastern Washington State. While looking for a house, we spent the summer at his parents’ cabin in the tiny town of Northport, near the Canadian border.
I’d lived for forty years in Puerto Rico. There I’d worked as a university professor and freelance writer; met my husband and raised our two daughters; had friends and an active social life; explored just about every corner of the island, its towns, mountains, and warm Caribbean waters. Moving meant leaving all that behind.
In eastern Washington, I knew virtually no one, had no job prospects nor any social life. The setting was lovely, with evergreen mountains rising above the Columbia River and a small riverside town fixed in time, but it was not my setting. There I spent my summer, adrift without a new life to supplement the old.
What saved me was Williams Lake. A mere slip of water (38 acres), it abuts a short-cut road between Colville and Northport. Cars can park on the side of the road, and a break in the grasses provides access. Early on, I drove to the lake. Wearing a swimsuit and water-shoes, I eased onto a cheap turquoise inner tube and pushed off. The water definitely felt colder than the Caribbean but not nearly as cold as I’d anticipated. Not bad. Using my hands as mini paddles, I floated away from the bank.
No one else was there. The sky was a bright blue, the trees on the hill a deep green, the water a shadowy blend of the two colors. Occasional passing cars or trucks broke an absolute silence. A couple of ducks paddled by, and dragonflies alighted on my arms. In that moment, all was right with the world.
Shaking out of the reverie, I slipped down through the inner tube into velvety water, and, with the cord tied to my waist, swam back and forth using a variety of strokes. When done, I pulled myself back up through the tube and relaxed, letting the water dry on my skin and the tube go where it wanted.
I often visited Williams Lake that summer. In the fall, we moved to Spokane. The next summer, I bought a better inner tube and the year after that, an inflatable kayak. Williams Lake was too small for kayaking, so I graduated to larger lakes in the region.
I haven’t swum there for a while, but every time I pass by, my spirits lift, and I smile my gratitude. I swear the lake smiles back.
8/31/25
