A December Morning on the New River - God’s Good Creation

The cold might nip at your fingers and toes, but the serene beauty of the river is something that warms the soul. It did for me.

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We’re told by geologists (what do they know!) that the New River is the second oldest river in the world, ranking just behind the Nile. I bet you didn’t know that.

Also, I bet you didn’t know the New River has a bit of an identity crisis. You see, the New River is like the runner-up in a ‘World’s Oldest River’ beauty pageant, where the Nile strutted away with the crown, leaving the New to graciously accept the silver medal.

Picture this: the New River, stretching its waters through ole Appalachee, telling its river friends, “You know, I was almost the oldest river in the world, but then the Nile showed up with its pyramids and pharaohs.” It’s like being the second oldest sibling in a family where the oldest gets to boast about being born during a historic event, and all you’ve got is, “Well, I was born on a Tuesday.”

The New River, with its misleading name, seems to be stuck in a perpetual state of existential irony. It’s as if ‘Mother Nature’ named it ‘New’ as a cosmic joke, fully aware that this river has been meandering through ancient landscapes since dinosaurs roamed the earth. (I know it was early American settlers, but that’s not as funny.)

It’s the river equivalent of a person named Tiny who happens to be six and a half feet tall.

So, while the Nile basks in the glory of its ancient status, surrounded by deserts and pyramids, the New River humbly accepts its runner-up position, offering stunning Appalachian scenery and a tranquility that the busy Nile might envy. After all, it’s not all about age; sometimes being ‘new’ (in name, at least) has its own charm!