by Karen J. Weyant Maurice Rausch The Clarion River always seemed to struggle for breath. ​Its sluggish waters moved at a slow crawl, lazy ripples slurping the muddy shores. Even after a hard rain or a spring melt, the brown water seemed stagnant, thickening into dark pools before laboriously flowing south. ​The kids in our small community spent our summer evenings standing on the bridge watching the river that divided our northern Pennsylvanian town in two. Sometimes, we loo