I've spent quite a lot of time around rivers over the years.
Walking alongside them, paddling on them, filming them, and sometimes just sitting quietly beside them and watching the water go by.
And recently, I found myself wondering about something that sounds quite simple.
Are rivers alive?
Now, if you asked a scientist, the answer would probably be quite straightforward.
No. A river isn't a living organism. It doesn't breathe, it doesn't have a heartbeat, and it doesn't reproduce.
But I'm not sure that's the whole story.
Because when you've spent as much time around rivers as I have, it's difficult not to feel that there's something alive about them.
Take the River Darent, for example.
It's a river I've walked beside many times, and it's one of those places where, if you slow down and actually take notice, there's far more going on than you might initially realise.
You can stand beside the water and think you're simply looking at a river.
But look a little closer.
There's movement everywhere.
The water is flowing over stones and around bends. Plants are growing along the banks. Insects are moving above the surface. Birds are feeding in and around the water. Fish are moving beneath it, even if you can't see them.
And then there are all the things that we don't see at all.
Tiny organisms living in the water and sediment. Roots growing into the riverbank. Decomposing leaves becoming food for insects and other creatures.
It's an entire little world.
And the river is at the centre of it.
I've always enjoyed being outdoors, whether I'm walking, cycling or getting out on the water in a kayak.
And I think kayaking has probably changed the way I look at rivers.
When you're walking beside a river, you're looking at it from the bank.
When you're sitting in a kayak, you're actually part of it.
You're sitting just above the water, moving with the current, and suddenly you notice things you might otherwise miss.
The speed of the water.
The reflections.
The way the current changes around a fallen branch.
The little ripples that you wouldn't notice from the bank.
And sometimes, you can paddle along a stretch of water and barely see another person.
It's just you, the river and the countryside.
Those are the moments when I think rivers can feel almost like another living presence.
Of course, I know they're not alive in the biological sense.
But perhaps that's not really what I'm asking.
What I'm really asking is whether something has to be technically alive for us to have a relationship with it.
Because rivers have character.
Some are fast and energetic.
Some are slow and peaceful.
Some change dramatically after heavy rain.
Others can become little more than a trickle during a dry summer.
And they are constantly changing.
Visit the same river in spring, summer, autumn and winter and you'll see four very different places.
In spring, everything is coming to life around the banks.
Summer brings lush vegetation and insects above the water.
Autumn fills the river with fallen leaves.
And then winter comes, and suddenly you can see the structure of the landscape that was hidden beneath all that summer growth.
The river hasn't changed its identity.
But it has changed its appearance.
And that's another thing I find fascinating.
A river is never actually the same river twice.
The water you're looking at today won't be there tomorrow.
It will have travelled downstream, perhaps eventually reaching the sea.
And new water will take its place.
The river is constantly moving through the landscape.
And perhaps that's where the idea of a river being alive becomes interesting.
It has movement.
It has change.
It reacts to what happens around it.
Rainfall changes it.
Drought changes it.
The seasons change it.
Human activity changes it.
And, perhaps most importantly, it supports life.
That's something we sometimes forget.
When we look at a river, we tend to think of the water as the river.
But the river is much more than that.
It's the banks.
The trees.
The plants.
The insects.
The fish.
The birds.
The mammals.
The microscopic life.
Even the people who walk beside it, paddle on it or live near it.
All of those things are connected.
And rivers have shaped our history too.
So many towns and villages grew up around rivers because rivers provided water, food, transport and power.
Look at somewhere like Farningham.
The River Darent isn't just something that happens to pass through the village.
It's part of the reason the village is what it is.
The river helped shape the landscape, supported the mills and influenced where people lived and worked.
And when you walk through an old village like that, it's worth remembering that you're not simply looking at old buildings.
You're looking at a landscape shaped by water.
People have been walking alongside these rivers for generations.
They've crossed them.
Worked beside them.
Fished in them.
Built mills beside them.
And depended upon them.
And the river just keeps flowing.
Long after individual people have gone, the river remains.
It continues its journey through the landscape.
That, I think, is one of the things I find most fascinating about rivers.
They give us a sense of time.
We tend to think about our own lives in years and decades.
But rivers operate on a completely different timescale.
The river was here before us.
It will, hopefully, still be here after us.
And when I'm walking beside one, particularly somewhere quiet in the countryside, I sometimes find myself thinking about all the people who must have stood in exactly the same place hundreds of years ago.
They would have heard the same sound of flowing water.
Seen the same valley.
Perhaps watched birds on the river.
And then gone about their lives.
The river simply carried on.
So, are rivers alive?
Technically, no.
But perhaps I've come to realise that isn't really the question I want to ask.
Because when I'm standing beside a river, I don't really care whether it meets the scientific definition of life.
I care about what it makes me feel.
The sense of movement.
The sense of history.
The wildlife.
The changing seasons.
The quietness.
And sometimes, simply the feeling of being somewhere away from the noise of everyday life.
Perhaps that's why I keep coming back to rivers.
Whether I'm walking along the Darent, exploring somewhere new, or sitting in a kayak with the water gently carrying me along, there's something about rivers that makes you stop and think.
They remind us that everything is moving.
Everything changes.
And yet, somehow, the river remains.
So maybe the answer to the question "Are rivers alive?" depends on how you look at it.
If we're talking scientifically, then no.
But if we're talking about a constantly changing environment that supports countless forms of life, carries history through the landscape, and connects one place with another...
Then perhaps the answer is a little different.
Maybe rivers aren't alive.
But they certainly give life.
And after spending so much time around them, I think that's close enough for me.
