They call it the Hudson River because of Henry Hudson, the son of a bitch who explored its waters on a mission for the Dutch East India Company. That was 400 years ago, in 1609. Sitting on the upstairs deck of my sister’s house in New Baltimore, 400 years doesn’t seem like much. The water is swirling in the thin late-summer light. A thousand years could have passed just now. A million creatures could have died and been born along the shores. A hawk bullets down and shrieks at the water, “Give me fish.” The water doesn’t care. A barge ambles into the scene, all red rust and splashy wake. Huge. Bigger than seems possible. The river and the trees and the houses say one scale, the barge says another. But the river holds it. The river passes… More…