As the final weeks of the school year approached, I couldn’t wait until the freedom of summer would officially arrive. But my summer always arrived a little earlier than the other kids, because as far as I was concerned, it started the second I walked through that rainbow gate at Clearwater’s Great Hudson River Revival.
My first year at the festival was about eight years old, and my mom, a midwife, got roped in by her mentor, to help run the Hudson Valley Birth Network tent. I’d help set up the tables, stickers, and (anatomically correct) posters, and then be set loose!
As a city kid, there were not a lot of opportunities to roam free with or without friends, talk to friendly adults, and wander back to my parents at my own pace. The festival was a rare time of healthy and safe independence -an experience more kids should have more often if you ask me. I’d carefully dole out my stashed-up allowance and birthday money as the weekend went on, collecting a little more tie-dye and hemp jewelry than I strictly needed. As I got older I took to sneaking a swim at the rocky beach on the far side of the park, insisting on taking my yearly dip even in the most inclement weather.
Clearwater was a rare place where I knew that I was home. I was in a place where my elders cared for me and my future, and I cared for them. Where mothers and babies have a quiet place to grow and nap, and song comes easy, to the heart if not the voice.
And though this organization has changed since the festival, this fall I discovered that the spirit of it continues. After hitting a few bumps in my professional and personal life, and finding myself adrift, I decided to volunteer aboard the Sloop Clearwater for the first time. It was all I had hoped for and more, so much so that I decided to stay a second week!
It felt simultaneously brand new and familiar. I’d never been on a boat like it before, in fact, I’d spent a lot more time on the subway than boats up until this point in my life. I’d never done any of the boat tasks asked of volunteers and crew, nor had I peed in head buckets with such frequency. But I have spent time in communities of smart, like-minded young people sharing a common goal for ourselves and the world we live in. I have lived and worked cooperatively in spaces where we successfully balanced logistical and safety needs while simultaneously maintaining a supportive and non-hierarchical, egalitarian community that meets everyone’s needs. 
I, like many young people, find the internet is inescapable. Our jobs are online – the job search is online even if you don’t have one! Our schools are too, sometimes with truly no other alternatives (Covid Zoom school, I’m looking at you). The online-ness of everything certainly has its perks, but it is not a condition I feel I freely choose all the time. So the real, physical nature of life on the boat was refreshing beyond words. It is unfortunately a rarity and luxury for many of us to be able to log the heck off!
It shocked me how quickly my body and mind realigned when I was given a purpose for the day and all the mental labor of constantly organizing life and my email-centric worries no longer mattered. Teach kids about fish and land. Tie off the fenders. Scrub the deck. Easy. We’d spend our evening playing cards and playing music and go to bed that good kind of tired.
The culture on board is a beautiful and radical way of life, one where we put our labor towards a common cause and support each other in those efforts. Where hierarchy is functional and not social, and our unique skills and experiences are valued and put to the best use of the group and the boat whenever possible.
Clearwater has touched my life in so many ways and has always shown me something about how I think humans are supposed to live: with kindness, dignity, and presence. It reminds me of our agency and interdependence with family, community, land, and water. Its music takes our disparate selves, our lonely tributary lives winding their ways around sharp things, and channels them all in the same direction. The direction of love, of care, of protection for the future, and honor of the past. The boat reminds us that when our bodies are nurtured and our minds are free we are our best selves – people capable of standing up for those we love and fighting for a just future that nurtures, protects, and frees ourselves and our children.
Although I never knew Pete Seeger personally, I am deeply grateful for the community he worked so hard to build and maintain, and the impact he made on my life. I remember one Revival closing ceremony about a decade ago; Pete was frail and shaky, but jovial as ever. He sang The River That Flows Both Ways and I feel so lucky that when I look at the river I call home, I often hear his voice.
Gabbie Spielberg is a native New Yorker, freelance journalist, and Clearwater board member. She is passionate about building a sustainable and equitable future at scale, and is a Jem and The Holograms superfan.
For three generations, Clearwater has nurtured a deep and abiding love for the Hudson River because of the generosity of donors like you. Help us keep the Clearwater magic alive and the sloop sailing for the next generation.
