The source of the Meuse, the river I grew up next to, lies on the side of an asphalted road in rural northern France. Cars rush by the small grey stone monument that marks the watershed of the river. It is raining, exactly what I had hoped for. All these raindrops are the true source of the Meuse. Rain that falls here ends up in the North Sea, everything that falls just south of here flows via the Saône to the Rhône into the Mediterranean, and raindrops that fall a bit more to the west will contribute to the Marne, flow into the Seine and through Paris, and end up in the Atlantic.

The barely ...

 

There are approximately 410 more words in this article.

To read the rest of this article, please buy this issue, or join the Resurgence Trust. As a member you will receive access to the complete archive of magazines from May 1966.

Buy Issue Join Us

If you are already a member, please Sign in