Few people outside of Buffalo know much about the Niagara River, other than that it is interrupted by one of the seven natural wonders of the world, Niagara Falls.
Historians might cite the battles fought on and across the Niagara River during the War of 1812, or its later role as a section of the Underground Railroad. Politicians recognize it as an important international boundary, and geographers as part of the great watershed that connects two of the great lakes, Erie and Ontario. Boaters and daredevils are in awe of this river that flows north over the Falls at nearly 70 mph, preceded by some of the most dangerous rapids in the world.
Photo: Library of Congress
Buffalonians, however, think of none of that. We who grew up alongside the Niagara know it as the artery that pulsed through our childhoods.
I lived not far from the place where Lake Erie narrows and the Niagara River begins. We often walked to the river to fish, and could easily make it to the Foot of Ferry Street or the river’s break wall in 20 minutes. Our Sunday family outings often ended at one of the parks along the river’s edge, where we could play and enjoy delicious Ted’s Hot Dogs in the summer, and ice skate in the winter. At night, we listened to the sand flies, newly hatched down by the river, pinging against our window screens.
When we were teenagers and could ride our bikes some distance, we would say goodbye to Mom in the morning equipped with a brown bag lunch and a bathing suit, and ride over the Peace Bridge to Canada. The Baby Hole beach, with its treacherous currents, was right over the bridge, but we preferred Crescent Beach, where other teenagers tended to congregate. If we had the energy, we would ride the 14 miles to the Crystal Beach Amusement Park, and then back again, arriving home sunburned and late for supper.
As I grew older, the river sickened. Steel, petrochemical, and chemical industries had flourished along the river, thanks to the availability of cheap electricity from Niagara Falls and easy access to the Great Lakes. In the late 1970s, many of these plants pulled up stakes and left the area, leaving behind hazardous waste sites and contaminated waters. In 1978, a neighborhood near the Love Canal, just outside of Niagara Falls, learned that it was sitting above more than 20,000 tons of toxic industrial waste. Many residents fell ill and died.
By the late 1980s, the Niagara River was officially designated one of the “Great Lakes Areas of Concern,” and the people of Buffalo were warned not to eat fish caught in the river or swim in its waters. I remember all too well the fetid smell of rotting fish, the abandoned factories along the river’s edge, and the greasy film atop the water from industrial runoff. It felt as if the river itself had died.
Today, however, the river is alive again. Restaurants, parks, and upscale apartment buildings have replaced the derelict structures along its shoreline, and Canalside, Buffalo’s revitalized terminus of the Erie Canal, has become a popular tourist destination. Recently, a dozen or so of my elementary school classmates got together at the River Grill, a popular outdoor spot where we could sit and swap stories about the old days while enjoying the river’s cool breeze.
Photo courtesy of Dean Gallagher
Last summer, I joined the Buffalo Paddle People to kayak around Grand Island, a piece of land the size of Manhattan that splits the river in two. We glided along its banks and out to smaller islands, looking for nesting birds and other wildlife. Off in the distance, I could see the Buffalo skyline, gleaming in the setting sun. I let my fingers drag through the cold waters of the river and was instantly transported back to the days when I would gingerly step out into the same cold waters in my bathing suit, and feel the swift water pushing through my fingers and toes.
There is an old adage: “No man steps into the same river twice, for it is not the same river, and he is not the same man.” As I paddled back to Grand Island’s green and healthy shore, these words deeply resonated with me. For as much as the river has changed, I have changed more.
One thing, though, has remained the same: I love this river and always will. The mighty Niagara still runs through me, and I now know that for many future generations, it will do the same.
Did you grow up loving a river? Leave me a comment, below. I look forward to hearing your stories.
Moxie Gardiner is a writer and gardener who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.
One of my favorite memories growing up in Buffalo was the annual trip my brothers and I would take each fall to collect chestnuts at the Connecticut Street Armory. At least, we thought they were chestnuts.
Don’t let the name Gardiner fool you—I had a Sicilian grandmother. She and my grandfather lived on the West Side of Buffalo in an upstairs flat with three small bedrooms and one bath. They had eight children (and adopted two more) who were likewise highly accomplished in producing offspring, so I shared my grandparents with 35 other grandchildren. For us, my grandparents were the center of the universe, and Nonni, as we called her, was the sun.