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SAILING THE WARTA |  |
By
the River Warta
I know the Warta from childhood.
I was born by its shores. I remember its broad, grey flood waters
in early spring, soaked meadows gilded with marigolds, the smell of drying
mud, the clamor of birds, croaking of frogs and the sea of forget-me-nots.
From the windows of my home or even better from the attic, it was possible
on a good day to see how it swells its waters clean away from our fair
town of Ląd. From the other side of the attic there was less to see, for
beyond the old wooden bridge the river turned sharply. I used to like
going to places where the Prosna joined and look at the boiling, swirling
waters that threatened. Sometimes I fished with a rod that I had made
myself. I managed to hook a small perch or roach, most often though small
bleaks or troublesome buttercups which I threw back into the river. I
scrubbed the fish I caught, baked them and ate them myself. Mum didn't
want to hear about such messing with food, thinking anyway that these
are leftovers filched from the fishermen.
From
St. John's day on it was possible to bathe. First, according to tradition,
it was necessary to float a wreath. Mine was always beautiful but I had
no luck - either it drifted away somewhere or someone immediately fished
it out. Once I tried to retrieve it so that God forbid, prophesy wouldnt
come true that some candidate for husband would fish it out.
Sensing the discomfort of adult life I never wanted to be grown up.
The storms over the Warta were fascinating, especially when they approached
from the southeast. The river fought back. I observed the raging elements
with my nose pressed to the window. These skirmishes often ended in fires.
In
autumn the water took on the colour of trees established on its banks.
Evening I opened the window wide and sat down at the piano. Music carried
over the water. Sometimes one of the children ferreting about on the other
side of the river shouted: "Mariola, Mariooola, play some more".
I also remember mother playing Schubert's serenade and still recall the
boats sailing the autumn or maybe spring river. Then the wait for the
first ice float and kilometers of ice under ice-skates. And the fairy
world seen through the ice chrystal of small plants and sometimes, if
the ice thickened quickly, flowers and midges on the floodwaters. Then
spring again and the smell of willows and willow twigs sprouting the first
flowering spikes for Easter.
The
Warta has changed many times since then. Last year I shared my idea for
a cycle of publications on the River Warta in our monthly with director
Przemysław Goner. This idea was accepted with joy and this year in fact
we will embark on this. The Province Fund for The Protection of the Environment,
in the person of Mr. Goner, is overseeing this project and on our side
we have the Bureau of the Province Executive Officer, Bank Ochrony Środowiska,
Scenic Parks as well as The Province Inspectorate of the Environment.
We wish to show the present state of the river, the chances and possibilities
(maybe not all lost), state of the environment, mutual effects, towns
large and small as well as villages placed along the Warta, and its history.
I
encourage all to take part together in this program which we have named
"Sailing the Warta".
We have in mind five editions, beginning with this one, through to Konin,
Śrem, Poznań, Sieraków and Międzychód.
Hoping that we meet in future editions, I remain yours respectfully.
Mariola Zdancewicz
For all Wielkopolska folk and friends from childhood Mariola Netter