BELOW THE RIVER BANK 237 



border of the mild water pepper (Polygonum hydro- 

 piperoides) that and nothing else. Its own lux- 

 uriousness keeps out all other weeds and alien flowers. 

 The current is the gardener who keeps the edge in line, 

 the beautiful sweeping line of the bend. There are four 

 hundred feet, perhaps, of this border, and it is twenty 

 feet thick. The pepper grows half as tall as a man, a 

 graceful plant with lance-shaped leaves, and in August 

 its level top is a delicate, creamy white, flushed with 

 pink, where the finger-like blooms droop gracefully 

 atop the stalks. No border could be more formal than 

 this, and yet none could be more utterly artless. As 

 you drift by in the low sun of a summer afternoon, hear- 

 ing the insects hum in the flowers, seeing the white flash 

 of a kingfisher down the tree-hung aisles of the river 

 ahead, listening to the distant chimes floating from the 

 village tower, you know the peace of gardens as you 

 scarce may ever know it in a garden made with hands. 

 But the shiftings of the river bed bring even more 

 secret delights. Often in the course of years an old 

 channel becomes closed, no sign of it remaining but a 

 little break in the bank and a bay of still water winding 

 into the woods. Sometimes the current has even laid a 

 sand bar completely across the opening, converting the 

 ancient bed into a swamp or stagnant pond. In some 

 parts of our country these old channels are known as 

 coves, in other parts as swales. As your canoe drifts 

 along they tempt you from the main stream, and they 



