Project Administrator:
Doug Snedden (dougsnedden@hotmail.com)
Last Updated: July 23, 2025
Mississippi River Status [Link]
"A clean river is more than just a local issue; it’s a reflection of our community’s commitment to a healthier environment and a legacy for future generations."
Introduction
A personal commitment to improve the environmental health of the Mississippi River.
Since 2005, this self-funded initiative has resulted in the removal of over 110 tons of non-biodegradable waste, including plastics and metal barrels. Despite these efforts, approximately 288 tons of waste still remain in the river, underscoring the need for continued action. This project is not just about cleaning a river; it’s about fostering a deeper sense of community responsibility and encouraging environmental care and preservation for future generations.
Key Achievements
* Over 110 tons of various pollutants have been removed from the river, significantly reducing environmental and health risks.
* 514 volunteer days and 3,760 hours of clean-up work in the water.
* Estimated value of the cleanup to date, if done commercially, exceeds $650,000.
The Mississippi River is vital to Carleton Place, providing both a natural connection for the community and a source of clean drinking water. The ongoing cleanup efforts not only help restore the ecological balance of the river but also increase awareness of environmental issues, creating a stronger, more engaged community.
Wildlife Recovery: There have been significant improvements in local wildlife habitats, particularly benefiting fish and bird populations.
Community Engagement: The project has inspired greater local interest in environmental conservation, turning this individual's actions into collective responsibility.
Primary Job Description
The role involves overseeing all aspects of the cleanup, from equipment management to ensuring safety compliance: Equipment Management: Ensuring tools are ready and in good working condition.
Blog Updates: Keeping the community informed through regular progress reports.
Scouting and Coordination: Identifying waste hotspots and organizing cleanup logistics.
Safety Compliance: Ensuring all activities are carried out under strict safety standards.
Special Acknowledgments
Before 2018, several local political leaders helped support the project financially, covering some of basic medical and safety expenses. This early support was crucial initially, though the project has largely relied on personal resources and volunteer efforts.
Conclusion: A Call to Action
The dedication to cleaning the Mississippi River can serve as an example of what can be achieved through individual commitment and community support. This effort has not only removed waste from the river but has also nurtured a culture of environmental responsibility. Continued community involvement is essential to ensure that the river remains a source of pride and health for Carleton Place and beyond, leaving a legacy of collective action for future generations.
References
The progress and impact of this initiative are well-documented in local news sources, where volunteer contributions have been featured in several articles, including the recognition with the 2017 Community Builder Award. The Mississippi Valley Conservation also continues to highlight the project’s influence on the broader watershed community.
Mississippi River in Carleton Place (Spring)
Mississippi River in Almonte (Spring)
200 gallon oil tank one day out of the river
town garbage barrel
two deer
tractor trailer tire
two barrels two tires in two minutes
ten foot steel drill shaft
cleaning up the river one piece at a time
truck liner removed from river
empty wallet
another ten foot steel drill shaft
aluminum siding
three more ten foot steel drill shafts
six inch cast iron pipe
one boat load
fifth load today
typical load
big day
one week-end
computer keyboard another barrel
curling club sign
paint can
shopping cart
three more ten foot steel drill shafts
ski-doo frame
aluminum kettle
tv
two spectators
behind Cardel
window frame
more tires more plastics
computer monitor
more ten foot steel drill shafts
duct work vent boot top right
industrial door counter weight lower right
office chair
mag rims
trailer hitch top center
foundry ?
white walls
campaign sign
wheel cover
newspaper box
giant tire
old mallet
bicycle wheel
cast iron pipe
motorcycle tire
couch cushion
coffee cups - again and again and again
stop here on red signal sign
vacuum cleaner
four more ten foot steel drill shafts and a wagon wheel
copper kettle
for sale sign
Tires represent a serious environmental concern on many fronts, especially discarded tires in our river system. Tires that are thrown in the river instead of recycled can cause serious environmental problems when the chemicals they contain are released into the water environment -- the breakdown of tires releases hazardous waste. Tires contain oils that contaminate the river basin; they also consist of heavy metals such as lead.
Rubber tire materials contain toxic compounds including oils rich in polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons (PAH), so-called highly aromatic (HA) oils, as well as other reactive additives used as antioxidants, antiozonants, and vulcanization accelerators. The toxicity of rubber tire leachates to aquatic organisms is deadly.
Controlled environment fish studies have been conducted with two types of tires: a tire containing HA oils in the tread or a tire free of HA oils in the tread. After 1 day of exposure, an induction of cytochrome P4501A1 (CYP1A1) was evident in all exposed groups of fish, measured as elevated ethoxyresorufin-O-deethylase (EROD) activity and increased CYP1A1 mRNA levels. After two weeks of exposure, EROD activity and CYP1A1 mRNA were still high in fish exposed to leachate from HA oil-containing tire, whereas the effect was somewhat lower in fish exposed to leachate from HA oil-free tread tire. Compounds in the tire leachates also affected antioxidant parameters. Total glutathione concentration in liver as well as hepatic glutathione reductase, glutathione S-transferase, and glucose-6-phosphate dehydrogenase activities were markedly elevated after two weeks of exposure in both groups. The responses were greater in the group exposed to leachate from HA oil-free tread tire. Vitellogenin measurements did not indicate leakage of estrogenic compounds from the tires. Chemical analyses of bile from exposed fish revealed the presence of hydroxylated PAH as well as aromatic nitrogen compounds indicating uptake of these compounds by the fish.
Special Note: On one short stretch of the Mississippi River in Carleton Place between Arklan Island and the Highway 7 Bridge, there has been approximately 992 tires documented and removed from the Mississippi River since 2005.
Environmental Impact Of Plastics In Our River System
Plastic debris not only causes aesthetic problems but also presents a hazard to marine life. The quantities and effects of plastic debris in natural terrestrial habitats and in fresh water is staggering. Most plastics (polymers) are buoyant in water, and since items of plastic debris such as cartons, bottles and plastic bags often trap air, substantial quantities of plastic debris accumulate in concentrations in certain areas on the Mississippi River. Despite their buoyant nature, plastics can become fouled with marine life and sediment causing items to sink to the riverbed.
Phthalates and BPA affect reproduction in all fish and animal groups that depend on the river for food. Development is also impaired in crustaceans and amphibians. Molluscs and amphibians appear to be particularly sensitive to these compounds. Most plasticizers appear to act by interfering with hormone function. BPA concentrations in aquatic environments vary considerably, but can be very high in freshwater systems and concentrations in sediments are generally several orders of magnitude higher than in the water column.
Special Note: On one short stretch of the Mississippi River in Carleton Place between Arklan Island and the Highway 7 Bridge, there has been approximately 32,000 non-biodegradable waste pieces (over 18,000 pieces of broken glass, pieces of metal, and plastic fragments included) removed from the Mississippi River since 2005.
Environmental Impact Of Metal Pollution In Our River System
All heavy metals, including those that are essential micronutrients (e.g. copper, zinc, etc.), are toxic to algae at high concentrations. One characteristic feature of heavy-metal toxicity is the poisoning and inactivation of enzyme systems. Many of the physiological and biochemical processes, viz., photosynthesis, respiration, protein synthesis and chlorophyll synthesis, etc., are severely affected at high metal concentrations.
Heavy-metal pollution causes reduction in species diversity leading to the dominance of a few tolerant algal forms. The primary productivity also decreases after metal supplementation. Several factors affect and determine toxicity of heavy metals to algae. At low pH, the availability of heavy metals to algae is greatly increased, as a consequence of which pronounced toxicity is evident. Hard waters decrease metal toxicity. Some ions, e.g., calcium, magnesium and phosphorus, can alleviate toxicity of metals.
The presence of other metals can influence toxicity of a heavy metal through simple additive effect or by synergistic and antagonistic interactions. Similarly, other pollutants can influence heavy-metal toxicity. The toxicity of heavy metals depends upon their chemical speciation. Various ionic forms of a metal characterized by different valency states, may be differentially toxic to a test alga.
Heavy-metal toxicity largely depends upon algal population density: the denser the population the more numerous the cellular sites available, leading to decreased toxicity.
Special Note: On one short stretch of the Mississippi River in Carleton Place between Arklan Island and the Highway 7 Bridge, there has been approximately 191,700 lbs. gross weight of slid non-biodegradable waste documented and removed from the river since 2005.
For many years, our area has been known for its use by large numbers of waterfowl. The marshes provide important staging habitat for significant numbers of several different species of waterfowl during migration. Our wildlife area and river provides birds with a safe haven from hunters and recreational boating as they migrate south each fall. Up to 1000 ducks can pass through in a day during fall migration, with American Black Duck (Anas rubripes), Blue-wingedTeal (Anas discors), Green-winged Teal (Anas crecca) Hooded Merganser (Lophodytes cucullatus), Mallard (Anas platyrhynchos), Wood Duck (Aix sponsa), and Ring-necked Duck (Aythya collaris) being the most common.
Waterfowl species reported breeding in our area include Mallard, American Black Duck, Wood Duck, Blue-winged Teal and Canada Goose (Branta Canadensis). Several species of marsh dependent waterbirds have been recorded, including American Bittern (Botaurus lentiginosus), Virginia Rail (Rallus limicola), Swamp Sparrow (Melospiza georgiana), Sora (Porzana carolina) and the federally threatened Least Bittern (Ixobrychus exilis).
Waterbird species reported breeding in our area include the Common Loon (Gavia immer), Marsh Wren (Cistothorus palustrisi), Virginia Rail, Black Tern (Chilidonias niger), Pied-billed Grebe (Podilymbus podiceps) and Common Tern (Sterna hirundo).
There is limited information on land bird species and use of our upland habitats. However, recent bird surveys reported over 50 species of land birds using a variety of habitats (i.e., upland forest, old field, meadow and wetland). Land bird species reported include warblers (e.g., Yellow-rumped Warbler [Dendroica coronata] and threatened Canada Warbler [Cardellina canadensis], thrushes (e.g. Wood Thrush [Hylocichla mustelina]), sparrows (e.g. Swamp Sparrow [Melospiza georgiana] and raptors (e.g. Osprey [Pandion haliaetus]). The majority of landbird species reported are migratory species and will use our area as a stopover and possibly breeding habitat. Land bird species confirmed breeding in our area include the Northern Rough-winged Swallow (Stelgidopteryx serripennis), the Belted Kingfisher (Megaceryle alcyon), Hairy Woodpecker (Picoides villosus), Rose-breasted Grosbeak (Pheucticus ludovicianus) and the Eastern Kingbird (Tyrannus tyrannus).
The Mississippi River and Lake area are also home to a variety of mammals including the Short-tailed Shrew (Blarina brevicauda), Masked Shrew (Sorex cinereus), Meadow Vole (Microtus pennsylvanicus), Deer Mouse (Peromyscus maniculatus) and the Eastern Chipmunk (Tamias striatus) (EC-CWS, 1980). The marsh areas provide habitat for several species of fur bearers including North American Beaver, River Otter (Lutra canadensis) and Muskrat. Black Bear (Ursus americanus), Red Squirrel (Tamiasciurus hudsonicus), Raccoon (Procyon lotor), White-tailed Deer (Odocoileus viginianus), Eastern Cottontail (Sylvilagus floridanus), Snowshoe Hare (Lepus americanus) and Porcupine (Erethizon dorsatum) can also be found in our area.
Fourteen species of reptiles and amphibians have been reported in our area, including seven species of frogs and toads (e.g., Green Frog [Rana clamitans], Tetraploid Gray Tree Frog [Hyla versicolor], American Bullfrog [Rana catesbeiana], Northern Leopard Frog [Rana pipiens], Wood Frog [Rana sylvatica], Northern Spring Peeper [Pseudacris crucifer] and Eastern American Toad [Bufo americanus]), two snakes (Eastern Garter Snake [Thamnophis sirtalis] and Northern Water Snake [Nerodia sipedon]), three turtle species (Midland Painted Turtle [Chrysemys picta marginata], Eastern MuskTurtle, also known as Stinkpot [Sternotherus odoratus] and Snapping Turtle [Chelydra serpentine] and one salamander (Northern Redback Salamander [Plethodon cinereus]). Our area has been identified as an important habitat for American Bullfrogs, and studies reported an abundant population. However, bullfrog surveys in 2001 and 2003 suggest a decline in American Bullfrogs. In 2003, the population could not be estimated due to a small sample size. The American Bullfrog population has not been formally surveyed since 2003 due to poor habitat suitability; however, the species was found within our area in 2008, 2009 and 2012.
The Mississippi River and Lake are a popular site for sport fishing, supporting both warm and coldwater fish species. Nineteen species were recorded with Yellow Perch (Perca flavescens) being the most abundant, followed by Pumpkinseed (Lepomis gibbosus), Smallmouth Bass (Micropterus dolomieu), Bluegill (Lepomis macrochirus), Northern Pike (Esox lucius), Rock Bass (Ambloplites rupestris), Log Perch (Percina caprodes) and Walleye/YellowPickerel (Sander vitreus). Some of the creeks passing through or entering our river system provide spawning areas for Walleye, Northern Pike and Largemouth Bass (Micropterus salmoides). Walleye, Largemouth Bass and Black Crappie (Pomoxis nigromaculatus) are all introduced species in Mississippi Lake. In the past, Mississippi Lake has been stocked with Smallmouth Bass, Walleye, Lake Trout (Salvelinus namaycush) and Lake Whitefish (Coregonus clupeaformis). Fish stocking was discontinued in 1980, but the lake is managed by a self-sustaining fishery.
Invertebrates
The area wetlands produce numerous flying insects, which insectivorous bird species consume to fuel their spring and fall migrations. Field visits and surveys have reported several species of dragonflies, damselflies and butterflies. The Monarch butterfly (Danaus plexippus), listed as a special concern species, has been reported in our area. Monarchs use our River and Lake area as migratory and stopover habitat during late summer and early fall, stopping to feed on plants or roost in trees on their way south to their wintering grounds.
Ten species have been reported at risk in the Mississippi River and Lake areas, including the endangered Butternut, threatened Eastern Musk Turtle, Canada Warbler, Golden-winged Warbler (Vermivora chrysoptera), Least Bittern and special concern Broad Beech Fern (Phegopteris hexagonoptera), Monarch butterfly, Snapping Turtle, Redshouldered Hawk (Buteo lineatus) and Rusty Blackbird (Euphagus carolinus). In addition, the Barn Swallow (Hirundo rustica), Bobolink (Dolichonyx oryzivorus), Eastern Meadowlark (Sturnella magna) and Wood Thrush, assessed and designated as threatened, and Eastern Wood-pewee (Contopus virens), assessed and designated as special, have been observed in our area. The Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) and Black Tern are provincial species at risk also classified as special concern.
The Mississippi River is a tributary of the Ottawa River in Eastern Ontario in Canada. It is 200 kilometres (120 mi) in length from its source in Upper Mazinaw Lake, has a drainage area of 4,450 square kilometres (1,720 sq mi), and has a mean discharge of 40 cubic metres per second (1,400 cu ft/s). There are more than 250 lakes in the watershed. Communities along the river include the village of Lanark, the towns of Carleton Place, Mississippi Mills (including towns of Almonte and Pakenham), and Galetta. Here it enters the Ottawa River.
From its headwaters at Mazinaw Lake to its confluence at the Ottawa River near Fitzroy Harbour, the river drops 323 metres (1,060 ft) in elevation. It begins on the Canadian Shield (mostly gneiss and marble), and then, after Carleton Place, flows through limestone and clay plains. At Carleton Place, there are rapids with limestone cliffs. This area supports the largest stand of hackberry trees in the region.
Most of the upper landscape is temperate deciduous forest dominated by sugar maple, American beech, and red oak. At one time, the forests had much more eastern hemlock, but this was logged out to produce bark for the tanning industry. Now, large hemlock stands are uncommon. Most forests are less than a century old.
The irregular terrain of the watershed arises out of an old mountain chain which was once higher than the Himalayas. It has since been eroded to mostly gneiss and marble hills, with occasional outcrops of granite. Lower in the watershed, there are younger limestone rocks. Most of these are covered by clay deposited when this area was covered by the Champlain Sea.
Occasional large wetlands occur along the river. One of the largest is the Innisville Wetlands, a provincially significant wetland that is also designated an Area of Natural and Scientific Interest. Another large wetland is the Appleton Silver Maple Swamp. These wetlands depend upon the seasonal cycles of the river. High water periods in the spring flood large areas creating wetland soils and large areas of marsh. As water levels slowly fall, conditions suitable for swamp forests occur. This natural seasonal alternation between high and lower water levels is essential for creating the natural diversity of wetlands along the river.
Upstream, in Lanark County, there are two sections of the river that are important for their plant communities. The first section of interest includes the east end of Dalhousie Lake and the swamp - and marsh-lined portion of the Mississippi River from the lake almost to Sheridans Rapids. Shallow lakes and adjacent river make up the provincially significant McCullochs Mud Lake Wetland. The second portion of interest is the rocky, rapid-filled section of the river from Sheridans Rapids down to just past Playfairville. Here there are small populations of unusual species including Parnassia glauca (Grass-of-parnassus), Platanthera flava (Tubercled Orchid) and Spiranthes lucida (Shining Ladies'-tresses).
Downstream, where the Mississippi enters the Ottawa River, there are several important shorelines and wetlands, including the Mississippi Snye, which has a rich aquatic flora over marble bedrock, and has recorded observations for the musk turtle.
The river originally powered textile mills. Today, it provides hydroelectric power. Such power dams, however, have all but eliminated American eels from the river. These eels were once an abundant source of food for aboriginal populations, as well as providing a source of food for great blue herons, otters, and other animals.
There are many important natural areas along the river. Purdon Conservation Area supports Canada's largest native colony of showy lady slipper orchids, comprising about 16,000 plants. The Carleton Place Hackberry stand, and the Innisville Wetlands, have both been mentioned above. In drier areas, there are several provincially significant alvars, limestone plains with exposed rock and many rare plants. These include the Burnt Lands Alvar and the Panmure Alvar.
Public Notice - Release Form
I, Doug Snedden, acknowledge that participating in any aspect of a Mississippi Cleanup Project (MCP) river cleanup or activity involves an above average risk of personal injury to me and my property, and I knowingly and voluntarily agree to the terms and conditions outlined in this CONSENT, WAIVER AND RELEASE FROM LIABILITY.
In consideration and exchange for participating in an MCP river cleanup action or activity, I agree to the following:
I am in good health and have no physical conditions that affect my ability to participate in the cleanup and have not been advised otherwise by a medical practitioner. I am covered by my own medical coverage. I agree that before I participate in any portion of an MCP river cleanup activity, I will inspect the related facilities, site, and or equipment. If required, I will immediately correct any unsafe condition that I observe. I will not participate in any river cleanup action or activity until all unsafe conditions have been remedied. I will abide by any and all safety guidelines available or applicable to this project.
I assume full responsibility for all risks associated with my participation in an MCP cleanup and the risk of injury or damage caused by the condition of any property, facilities, or equipment used during the project, which may not be foreseeable by anyone at any time. I hereby release, waive, discharge and agree not to hold liable or sue the participants, sponsors or in-kind donors in any or all MCP related river activities or cleanup for and from any injuries, death, losses, damages, liabilities, or expenses that are caused or alleged to be caused by their negligent acts or omissions, or the condition of the property, facilities or equipment used for an MCP related event or activity.
I agree to indemnify, defend, and hold harmless all participants in any and all MCP actions or activities from and against any claims, causes of action, damages, judgments, liabilities, fees (including attorney’s fees), costs and expenses incurred by anyone or organization as a result of my unlawful actions or failures to act during an MCP cleanup action or event.
! agree to wear appropriate safety equipment, as may be established by industry or community standards and common safety practices, during all related MCP activities. In connection with any injury or other medical conditions I may experience during an MCP activity, I authorize medical treatment deemed necessary by medical personnel if I am not able to act on my own behalf. I agree not to sue any applicable medical practitioners who may provide medical treatment to me for malpractice.
This publicly posted waiver and release is a legally binding agreement and will be construed broadly to provide a waiver and release to the maximum extent permissible under applicable law. Any provisions found to be void or unenforceable shall be severed from this agreement, and not affect the validity or enforceability of any other provisions. The provisions of this agreement shall apply to any and all MCP actions or activities past, present and future.
I hereby release, waive, discharge and agree not to sue any related person, organization or supporter of any and all MCP actions and activities for and from any injuries, death, losses, damages, liabilities, or expenses that are caused or alleged to be caused by their negligent acts or omissions, or the condition of the property, facilities or equipment, related to any and all MCP actions and activities.
I agree that if there should ever be a dispute of any kind between myself and MCP or other sponsors or organizers then any such dispute will be decided by binding arbitration pursuant to Ontario law. This agreement shall be enforced and construed according to the laws of the Province of Ontario.
I HAVE READ THIS DOCUMENT AND I UNDERSTAND ITS CONTENT. I UNDERSTAND THAT BY SIGNING BELOW, I HAVE GIVEN UP SUBSTANTIAL RIGHTS. I HAVE VOLUNTARILY SIGNED THIS RELEASE. I AGREE THIS DOCUMENT IS NOT ONLY BINDING ON ME BUT WILL ALSO BE BINDING UPON MY PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES, EXECUTORS, HEIRS AND NEXT OF KIN.
Signature of Participant Date
July 23rd, 2025
Printed Name Date Address
Doug Snedden - June 23rd, 2025 Carleton Place, Ontario
dougsnedden@hotmail.com
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𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘆 𝗠𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗶: 𝗔 𝗥𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗦𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗪𝗶𝘀𝗱𝗼𝗺
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In the tender embrace of Eastern Ontario, where the earth hums with the memory of ancient hills and the air carries the faint scent of pine and frost, the Mississippi River unfurls its silver thread. Not the grand torrent of the American south, but a quieter kin, a gentle vein pulsing through the Canadian Shield, it winds from the shadowed depths of Upper Mazinaw Lake to the wide arms of the Ottawa River. Two hundred kilometers it stretches, a ribbon of liquid light, dropping over a thousand feet in a slow, deliberate dance with gravity. Its waters whisper secrets—of gneiss and marble, of limestone cliffs and clay plains, of a world sculpted by time’s patient hand. Beneath the canopy of sugar maple and red oak, where once the eastern hemlock stood proud before the logger’s axe claimed its bark for tanneries, the river flows as both witness and storyteller, its current a hymn to the seasons that shape it.
Stand at its edge in the hush of dawn, when the mist rises like a lover’s breath from its surface, and you will feel the weight of its presence. The air bites with the crispness of autumn, or perhaps the stillness of winter, when ice armours its flow and the snow-laden branches bow in reverence. Here, the river is no mere waterway—it is a living thread, stitching together the lives of those who have knelt at its banks. The Anishinaabe named it Misi-ziibi, Great River, or perhaps S'ni'miko'bi, beaver creek, their voices echoing in the rustle of leaves and the ripple of water over stone. Pictographs on Mazinaw Lake, etched in hues of earth and blood, murmur of a time when the river was a lifeline, its bends and rapids sacred ground for hunting, fishing, and the quiet communion of spirit with land. The Iroquois, too, roamed its southern reaches, their footsteps mingling with the deer and the bear, their laughter swallowed by the wind that still sweeps the valley.
Then came the settlers, their axes ringing through the forest, felling the white pine of the Ottawa Valley to feed the sawmills that sprang like mushrooms along the Mississippi’s shores. At Morphy’s Falls, now Carleton Place, the river’s rapids churned with purpose, powering grist mills that ground the grain of a fledgling community. Blakeney rose at Norway Pine Falls, its name shifting with the tides of history—Snedden’s Mills, Rosebank—before settling into itself, a testament to the hands that tamed the wild water. Almonte, too, wove its tale in wool, its textile mills humming with the river’s strength, a symphony of industry that faded only in the shadow of modernity. These were not mere acts of survival, but a binding—a covenant between human and river, a promise to live not apart from the land, but within its embrace.
The river remembers. It carries the weight of their stories in its silt, the echoes of their voices in its rush over limestone cliffs. At Carleton Place, where hackberry trees stand as rare sentinels, their gnarled branches reaching for the sky, the rapids sing of a time when the lumbermen clashed in the feud of 1882, birthing Canada’s Navigable Waters Protection Act—a law born of conflict, yet rooted in the desire to honour the river’s sovereignty. Further upstream, in Lanark County, the Mississippi cradles wetlands like the Innisville and the Appleton Silver Maple Swamp, their marshy edges trembling with life. Here, the seasons play their eternal game—spring floods swelling the banks to birth new soils, summer’s slow retreat nurturing swamp forests, each cycle a breath in the river’s ceaseless rhythm. Rare orchids—Parnassia glauca, Platanthera flava, Spiranthes lucida—bloom in secret along Sheridans Rapids, their delicate petals a quiet defiance against time’s erosion.
Beneath the surface, the river teems with the unseen. Painted turtles bask on sun-warmed logs, their shells a mosaic of earth and sky, while the musk turtle—threatened, elusive—hides in the Mississippi Snye, its marble bedrock a cradle for rich aquatic flora. Once, American eels writhed in abundance here, their sinuous bodies a feast for herons and otters, a gift to the Anishinaabe who fished these waters. Now, the dams that harness the river’s power for hydroelectricity have silenced their migration, a loss felt in the stillness of the current, a wound in the fabric of the ecosystem. Yet life persists. Yellow perch dart through Mississippi Lake, a remnant of the Champlain Sea, their scales glinting like coins in the sunlight, while migrating waterfowl—mallards, black ducks, teal—wheel overhead, finding sanctuary in the marshes of the Migratory Bird Sanctuary. The least bittern, small and threatened, calls from the reeds, its voice a fragile thread in the chorus of the wild.
To live beside this river is to be part of its community—not merely the human souls who fish its depths or paddle its bends, but the broader kinship of beaver and muskrat, of warbler and kingfisher, of the very stones that line its bed. It is a community forged in the crucible of time, tempered by the courage to stand against the wind, the loyalty to protect what is fragile, and the commitment to honour the land as a living partner. The Mississippi Valley Conservation Authority watches over it now, a modern steward of an ancient pact, ensuring the wetlands breathe, the forests endure, the waters run clear. But stewardship is not the work of institutions alone—it is the quiet labour of those who walk its shores, who teach their children the names of the birds, who pause to listen when the river speaks.
What does it mean to belong to such a place? To be Canadian is to know this river, not as a line on a map, but as a vein in the body of the nation—a source of freedom, of pride, of sovereignty rooted in the soil. It is to understand that community is not a gift bestowed, but a garden tended, its roots sinking deep into the clay of the Champlain Sea’s legacy. The river teaches us that freedom lies not in dominion, but in harmony—in the courage to live lightly, to leave the water cleaner than we found it, to pass the stories forward like ripples on its surface. It asks us to be loyal, not to flags alone, but to the heron’s flight, the turtle’s slow crawl, the orchid’s fleeting bloom. And it demands commitment—to a country that is not merely land, but a living tapestry of water and wood, of memory and hope.
In the stillness of a winter morning, when the ice gleams like a mirror and the snow hushes all but the river’s faint murmur, there is peace. It is the peace of knowing one’s place—not as conqueror, but as kin. The Mississippi flows on, its current a thread through the heart of Ontario, carrying the past into the future, binding us to each other and to the land. It is a mirror, reflecting not just our faces, but our souls—our capacity for wonder, for care, for love. To stand at its edge is to feel the pulse of something greater, to hear the wisdom of the ages in its quiet song. And in that moment, we understand: this river, this home, is ours to cherish, to honour, to hold close. It is Canada itself, flowing through us, a reminder that we are never alone, but always part of the endless, beautiful stream.
The Mississippi moves through the seasons as a poet moves through stanzas, each turn of the calendar a verse in its endless song. Spring arrives with a rush, a crescendo of meltwater breaking the ice’s hold, the river swelling with the urgency of rebirth. The wetlands—Innisville, Appleton, McCullochs Mud Lake—quicken with the flood, their edges softening into marsh, their surfaces trembling with the first green shoots of sedge and cattail. The air hums with the chorus of northern spring peepers, their voices rising like a prayer from the thawing earth, while the wood frog, resolute in its quiet courage, slips from hibernation to join the awakening. Along the rocky stretch from Sheridans Rapids to Playfairville, the tubercled orchid unfurls its pale petals, a fleeting jewel against the gneiss, as if the river itself has exhaled beauty from its depths. The current surges, carving new paths through the clay plains, its voice a roar that drowns the silence of winter, a reminder that life, once stilled, cannot be contained.
Summer drapes the valley in a softer light, the river’s tempo easing into a languid sway. At Mississippi Lake, where the ghosts of the Champlain Sea linger in the silt, the water mirrors the sky—a vast, unblemished blue broken only by the ripple of a canoe’s paddle or the leap of a smallmouth bass. Dragonflies—emerald and sapphire—dart above the surface, their wings a shimmer of captured sunlight, while the monarch butterfly, a wanderer of special concern, pauses on its southward journey, sipping nectar from milkweed along the banks. The forests of sugar maple and American beech lean close, their leaves a canopy of whispering green, though the absence of hemlock haunts the older groves, a silent testament to the tanneries that stripped the land a century past. Children laugh from the shores of Carleton Place, their fishing lines taut with hope, while ospreys wheel overhead, their cries piercing the stillness as they plunge for perch or pike. The river, in this season, is a cradle—a place of rest, of play, of communion between the human and the wild.
Autumn paints the Mississippi in hues of fire and gold, the maples blazing against the marble hills, the oaks rusting into crimson. The river’s surface catches the falling leaves, carrying them downstream like emissaries of the forest, their journey a quiet surrender to the cycle. Waterfowl gather in their thousands—blue-winged teal, hooded mergansers, ring-necked ducks—staging in the marshes of the Migratory Bird Sanctuary, their wings a thunder against the sky as they prepare for the long flight south. The muskrat weaves its lodge in the reeds, the beaver fells a sapling with patient teeth, each creature etching its mark on the river’s edge. The air grows sharp, scented with damp earth and decaying leaves, and the river’s pulse slows, as if it, too, feels the weight of what is to come. At Purdon Conservation Area, the showy lady slipper orchids—sixteen thousand strong—have faded, their pink and white splendor yielding to the frost, yet their roots endure beneath the soil, a promise held in trust.
Then winter cloaks the valley once more, the river retreating beneath a shell of ice, its breath rising in wisps of vapour where the current resists the freeze. The snow falls soft and relentless, blanketing the alvars—Burnt Lands, Panmure—in a stillness that feels almost holy. The snapping turtle burrows into the mud, the black bear curls into its den, and the river’s companions draw inward, their lives a quiet hymn to survival. Yet beneath the ice, the Mississippi moves—a secret pulse, steady and unyielding, carrying the silt of a billion years, the echoes of a mountain chain older than memory. Standing at its frozen edge, the wind cutting through the layers of wool and skin, one feels the river’s patience, its wisdom. It does not rage against the cold, does not mourn the silence. It simply endures, knowing that spring will come, that the ice will crack, that the cycle will turn again.
This rhythm—the ebb and flow of seasons, the dance of flood and drought—is the river’s gift to those who dwell within its reach. It teaches us that community is not static, but fluid, a living thing shaped by time and tide. The Anishinaabe understood this, their lives woven into the river’s bends, their pictographs a dialogue with the land. The settlers learned it too, their mills and towns rising where the water offered strength, their survival tied to its bounty. Today, the canoeists who glide its length, the anglers who cast into its depths, the conservationists who guard its wetlands—they are all part of this tapestry, their threads bound by the river’s ceaseless flow. And beyond the human, there is the broader kin—the otter sliding through the shallows, the Canada warbler trilling from the underbrush, the bullfrog croaking its deep lament. Each voice, each life, is a note in the symphony, a ripple in the current.
To belong to the Mississippi is to embrace this interconnectedness, to see oneself not as master, but as member. It is to walk the shores of Lanark or Pakenham and feel the weight of history—the lumbermen’s feuds, the woollen mills’ hum, the quiet pride of a nation carved from rock and river. It is to stand at the confluence near Galetta, where the Mississippi surrenders to the Ottawa, and recognize that even in its ending, it is not lost, but transformed, its waters mingling with the greater whole. This is the essence of Canadian life—a sovereignty not of conquest, but of coexistence, a freedom born of respect for the land that sustains us. The river asks us to be brave, to protect the fragile beauty of the Innisville Wetlands or the rare alvars, to speak for the eels silenced by dams, the turtles threatened by encroaching roads. It calls us to loyalty—not to ourselves alone, but to the generations past and yet to come, to the heron and the orchid, to the very pulse of the earth.
There is a spiritual depth here, a resonance that transcends the mundane. The Mississippi is a mirror, reflecting not just the sky or the trees, but the soul of a people. It whispers of resilience—of a river that flows through flood and freeze, of a community that endures through hardship and change. It speaks of renewal—of waters that rise each spring, of forests that regrow after the axe, of lives that find strength in the quiet of winter’s pause. And it offers peace—a balm for the restless heart, a reminder that we are part of something vast and unbroken. To love this river is to honour it, to understand that our place within its watershed is both gift and responsibility. It is to kneel at its banks, as the Anishinaabe did, as the settlers did, as we do now, and feel the current’s pull—not as a force to resist, but as a call to join.
In the hush of a summer evening, when the loons call across Mississippi Lake and the last light gilds the water, or in the stark clarity of a winter dawn, when the ice groans and the world holds its breath, the river is there—steady, eternal, alive. It flows through us, as it has flowed through those who came before, as it will flow through those who follow. It is Canada’s heartbeat, a vein of silver threading the land, binding us to each other, to the wild, to the timeless dance of existence. And in its presence, we find not just a river, but a home—a place to understand, to embrace, to cherish with all the courage and commitment we can muster. The Mississippi moves on, and so do we, carried forward in its gentle, unyielding embrace.
The river bends, and in its curve lies the shadow of lives long past, their whispers carried on the wind that ripples its surface. There is a woman, her hands roughened by years of tending the grist mill at Morphy’s Falls, her eyes tracing the rapids as they churned the wheel that fed her family. She stood there in the autumn of 1820, when the settlement was little more than a clutch of cabins, the Mississippi her companion in a world still wild. Her name is lost to the archives, but her presence lingers in the limestone cliffs, in the rhythm of the water that powered her days. And there is a boy, decades later, casting a line into Mississippi Lake, his laughter mingling with the splash of a walleye breaking the surface, his father’s voice calling him home as the sun dipped below the pines. These are not mere anecdotes—they are the river’s heartbeat, the human notes in its ceaseless song, their joys and sorrows sinking into the silt like seeds awaiting spring.
I imagine, too, the Anishinaabe elder, kneeling at Mazinaw Lake where the pictographs glow against the rock, his paddle resting beside him as he offers tobacco to the water. The Mississippi was his teacher, its currents mapping the hunting grounds, its banks a gallery of stories etched in stone. He knew the beaver’s lodge, the eel’s glide, the heron’s patient stance—knew them as kin, as threads in the web that held his people. The river gave him fish, gave him passage, gave him a mirror for his spirit, and in return, he gave it reverence, a pact unbroken until the mills rose and the eels vanished. His voice echoes still, faint but insistent, in the rustle of the reeds, in the cry of the loon that splits the dusk. To walk the Mississippi’s shores is to walk with him, to feel the weight of his wisdom, the ache of his loss, the strength of his love for this land.
The river is a keeper of losses, too—a ledger of what has been taken, what might yet be reclaimed. Once, the American eel threaded its way from the Sargasso Sea to these waters, its journey a marvel of instinct and endurance, its flesh a sustenance for otter and heron, for the Anishinaabe and the settlers alike. Now, the dams—stoic sentinels of progress—stand as barriers, their turbines humming with the power that lights our homes, their concrete walls a tomb for the eel’s migration. The great blue heron stalks the shallows still, but its beak finds fewer prizes, its flight a silhouette of longing against the sky. The musk turtle, too, clings to the Mississippi Snye, its numbers dwindling as the beaches where it nests give way to roads and docks. These are wounds in the river’s flesh, scars borne silently, yet they are not the whole story. For even in loss, the Mississippi persists—its wetlands cradling the Blanding’s turtle, its marshes sheltering the least bittern, its currents nurturing the yellow perch that flash like sunlight beneath the waves.
There is triumph here, too, a quiet resilience that speaks of hope. The Purdon Conservation Area blooms each June with the showy lady slipper, sixteen thousand orchids unfurling in a chorus of pink and white, Canada’s largest native colony standing as a testament to the land’s capacity to heal. The hackberry trees at Carleton Place, rare and steadfast, stretch their branches over the rapids, their roots gripping the limestone as if to anchor the river itself. The Mississippi Valley Conservation Authority labours with steady hands, planting trees, monitoring the watershed, coaxing the wetlands back to life after decades of strain. And the people—those who paddle its length, who fish its depths, who gather at its banks—carry forward the river’s legacy, their voices raised in advocacy, their hearts tethered to its flow. The river teaches them, as it has taught all who came before, that survival is not a solitary act, but a shared endeavour—a dance of give and take, of mourning and mending.
To stand at the Mississippi’s confluence near Galetta, where it pours into the Ottawa River, is to witness a surrender that is not defeat, but union. The waters mingle, the smaller stream swallowed by the greater, yet its essence remains—its silt, its stories, its spirit carried onward to the St. Lawrence and beyond. This is Canada in miniature—a nation of rivers and lakes, of forests and plains, its identity forged not in isolation, but in connection. The Mississippi is no mere tributary; it is a vein in the body of this land, its pulse a rhythm of pride and belonging. It speaks of a sovereignty that is not loud or brash, but deep and enduring—a freedom rooted in the courage to live with the land, not against it, a loyalty to the wild that sustains us, a commitment to the future we bequeath. It is the quiet strength of a people who have learned to listen—to the wind in the maples, to the frog’s chorus, to the river’s ceaseless murmur.
In the stillness of a fog-laden morning, when the world is reduced to shades of gray and the Mississippi moves like a dream beneath the mist, there is a clarity that pierces the soul. The river is not just water—it is time, flowing through the gneiss of the Canadian Shield, through the clay of the Champlain Sea, through the lives of those who have called it home. It is a mirror, reflecting the faces of the Anishinaabe, the settlers, the children who splash in its shallows today. It is a teacher, showing us that community is not a boundary drawn on a map, but a bond forged in shared reverence, in the act of tending what is precious. To love this river is to understand that we are its stewards, its kin, its voice when the dams silence its song. It asks us to be brave—to protect the orchid and the turtle, to mourn the eel and the hemlock, to plant the seeds of renewal even when the harvest is not ours to reap.
And so we gather at its banks, in the blush of spring or the hush of winter, and feel its pull. The Mississippi flows through us—through the farmer who tills the clay plains, through the poet who pens its praise, through the child who skips stones across its surface. It is Canada’s quiet hymn, a melody of resilience and grace, of loss and redemption. In its waters, we see not just a river, but a home—a place to stand, to breathe, to belong. It is a thread of silver weaving through the heart of Ontario, binding us to the past, to each other, to the earth that cradles us all. And as it moves toward the Ottawa, toward the sea, it carries our dreams, our promises, our love—a current that never ceases, a gift that endures.
The river bends again, and we follow, our steps soft against its shores, our hearts open to its lessons. In the rustle of the beaver’s wake, in the flash of the kingfisher’s dive, in the silence of the snow-covered alvar, we hear it still—the Mississippi’s voice, ancient and ever new, calling us to remember, to cherish, to live with the courage and loyalty it demands. It is ours, this river, not to possess, but to honour—a sacred trust, a timeless embrace. And in its flow, we find peace—not a fleeting stillness, but a deep and abiding calm, the certainty that we are part of its story, that we, too, will rise with its waters, carried forward into the light of a new day.
There is a moment, etched in the amber of memory, when the Mississippi became more than a river to me—it became a companion, a quiet confidant in the chaos of youth. I was ten, standing on the dock at Mississippi Lake, the August sun spilling gold across the water, the air thick with the scent of pine and wet earth. My father, his hands gnarled as the hackberry trees, handed me a fishing rod, its line trembling with possibility. The walleye struck, a flash of silver beneath the surface, and as I reeled it in, he spoke of the river’s patience—of how it had fed his father, and his father’s father, how it asked nothing in return but care. That day, the Mississippi was not just a place—it was a lineage, a thread tying me to the soil, to the hands that had cast lines before mine. Now, years later, I hear its echo in the lap of water against stone, feel its pull in the ache of my own hands, and know that it has shaped me as surely as it has shaped the limestone cliffs of Carleton Place.
The river holds such moments for countless others—fragments of lives scattered like leaves along its banks, each one a ripple in its vast expanse. There is the girl in Almonte, her fingers stained with wool dye, who watched the mills hum with the Mississippi’s power, dreaming of a world beyond the valley. There is the canoeist at Lanark, his paddle slicing through the dawn, the mist parting like a curtain to reveal the heron’s solitary dance. There is the conservationist at Innisville, her boots sinking into the marsh, her heart swelling as the bullfrog’s call breaks the silence—a sign that life, though diminished, endures. These are not solitary tales, but a chorus, their voices blending with the wind, the water, the rustle of the beaver’s tail. The Mississippi gathers them all, its current a cradle for their hopes, their labours, their quiet joys, weaving them into the fabric of its being.
Yet the river’s story is not ours alone—it belongs to the wild that thrums within its watershed, a symphony of lives too often unheard. The snapping turtle, ancient traveler of these waters, buries her eggs in the sand near Pakenham, her shell a map of survival etched by time. The Canada warbler, threatened yet defiant, flits through the underbrush, its song a thread of gold in the forest’s tapestry. The monarch butterfly, fragile monarch of the air, rests on the milkweed at Mississippi Lake, its wings a testament to journeys vast and perilous. These creatures are not mere inhabitants—they are the river’s kin, their fates entwined with its flow. The dams that silenced the eels have wounded them too, the roads that carve the banks stealing their nests, yet they persist, their resilience a mirror to our own. The Mississippi whispers their names—Blanding’s turtle, least bittern, rusty blackbird—each a prayer for their survival, each a call to us to listen, to protect, to love.
This love is not passive—it is a fire, a commitment that burns through the complacency of modern life. The river demands it of us, as it demanded it of the Anishinaabe who fished its depths, of the settlers who harnessed its strength, of the generations who now paddle its bends. To love the Mississippi is to kneel in the mud of the Appleton Silver Maple Swamp, to feel the pulse of the wetland beneath your palms, to mourn the hemlock lost to the tanneries and plant a seedling in its place. It is to stand at the Burnt Lands Alvar, the wind whipping through the limestone plains, and marvel at the rare plants—broad beech fern, grass-of-parnassus—that cling to life in the cracks. It is to teach a child the cry of the pied-billed grebe, to show them the beaver’s dam, to tell them that this river is theirs to cherish, not to conquer. The Mississippi Valley Conservation Authority is but one voice in this choir—every hand that clears a snag, every heart that guards a marsh, sings in harmony with its call.
And what is this call, if not the soul of Canada itself? The Mississippi is not the grandest of rivers, not the widest or the wildest, yet in its quiet strength lies a truth that defines this land. It is a nation of rivers—of the Ottawa, the St. Lawrence, the Fraser, the Mackenzie—each a vein in a body vast and breathing, each a mirror to a people who have learned to live with the land, not against it. To be Canadian is to know this river, to feel its current in the marrow of your bones, to see in its flow the courage of those who came before, the loyalty to those who will follow, the commitment to a home that is both fragile and fierce. It is a sovereignty of spirit, a pride not in dominion, but in belonging—a freedom that blooms in the act of tending, of honouring, of standing as one with the wild.
In the hush of twilight, when the sky bleeds violet and the Mississippi reflects the last embers of day, there is a stillness that speaks louder than words. The river flows on, past the rapids of Sheridans, past the mills of Almonte, past the wetlands of Innisville, its waters a silver thread through the heart of Ontario. It carries the silt of a million years, the songs of a thousand seasons, the dreams of all who have touched its banks. It is a vessel of time, a keeper of memory, a beacon of what it means to live with grace. To stand at its edge is to feel the weight of the world lifted, to hear the murmur of the eternal in its gentle rush, to know that we are not apart from it, but within it—part of its story, its breath, its endless becoming.
The Mississippi rises in spring, rests in summer, blazes in autumn, and sleeps in winter, only to rise again—a cycle as old as the hills that birthed it, as new as the dawn that gilds its waters. It teaches us that life is not a straight line, but a circle—a dance of rest and renewal, of loss and return. In its flow, we find the courage to face our winters, the loyalty to hold fast through the storms, the commitment to bloom when the ice melts. It offers us peace—not a fleeting escape, but a deep and abiding calm, the certainty that we are held by something greater, that our ripples matter, that our love endures. The river moves toward the Ottawa, toward the sea, and we move with it—carried forward, not alone, but together, in the embrace of a home we are privileged to call our own.
So let us walk its shores, dear friend, with open hearts and steady steps. Let us listen to its song—the otter’s splash, the warbler’s trill, the wind’s sigh through the maples. Let us honour its lessons—of resilience, of community, of a freedom that lies in unity with the wild. The Mississippi is ours, not to possess, but to cradle—a sacred trust, a timeless gift. And as it flows, as it has always flowed, it carries us into the light of tomorrow, a river of silver, a river of soul, a river of Canada, forever and always.
“𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦, 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘱𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸—𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘥𝘰𝘮.”
