"Who's got water?"
"Mr Adams and Mr Gamble brought water filters."
"You mean Mr Pigott"
"Ya, Mr Pigott and Mr Gamble"
"NOT Mr Gamble!"
"There is no Mr Gamble!"
...long pause...
"Who's Mr Gamble?"
MESMERIZED
Floating languidly along the
rugged base of these towering volcanic cliffs, you can hear the fast
moving river beating itself against the rocks just under the water's
surface. We steer clear to avoid "the rapids" as numerous flocks of
ducks, cormorants and even seagulls swoop and soar around us, riding and
then at times defying the warm wind that presses against our faces.
When they're sure they have our attention, they casually caress the
river's rippled face with their wingtips, as an apparent sign of
affection in this intriguing synchronized dance.
AMOEBA-PHOBIA
I keep hearing about the hot
springs, just a short hike around the next bend from our campsite. Many
a trekker has returned from the famed oasis, shimmering in droplets and
grinning as they rave about the benefits. Unfortunately for me, I
suppose, I'm not sold yet.
I'm haunted by the last words
of our canoe company's departing speech to us, "Enjoy the hot springs,
but don't immerse your head or rub your face. There is an amoeba that
lives in those waters that enters through your mucous membranes,
particularly your nose, and can cause some serious trouble. No one has
died yet, but further down river there have been some reports starting
to filter in. I don't know -- you decide."
So for now, I think I'll pass
on that popular experience. If I do work up the courage and chance
being assaulted by the little creeps (the amoebas, not the scouts), at
least we've got a port-a-potty and I'm not scrambling the hills and digging holes, like I expected.
ROUGHIN' IT ON THE RIVER
There's nothing like a
crackling fire under a starry sky, the low drone of hushed
conversations, and sheer exhaustion to send one off into the dreamy
depths of a good night's sleep. And sleep I did, clear through 'til
morning's soft glow began to rouse me from hibernation. Birds cheered
on the coming of the new day as the sun forced its way above the
horizon, as if defying gravity with a hearty morning stretch, until it
finally burst forth from behind the canyon walls. The enticing aroma of
Roger's bacon and the thought of a good hot cup of coffee did the job
of finalizing the fact that our second day on the river had officially
begun.
Funny how time seems to slow to
a halt if you sit in one place long enough. My spot for the day is the
rocky shoreline of the cove that serves as a dock for the teams of
canoes and kayaks that carry the brave souls up and down this great
river. My daydreaming mind really does thrive in this setting. Oh the
stories this earth seems to tell when one has the privilege of time.
Today, it would seem I have an abundant supply. Friendly people are
coming and going in a fairly steady stream, providing just enough
variety to prevent "death by boredom." The sun's warmth partners with
the cool breeze, and together with the sights and sounds of this
magnificently beautiful scene, creates a healing setting for my
battle-weary soul... and life is good.
MINI-BEARS?
I hear tell of mini-bears here
in abundance, but so far I've only seen one. Greg has stories of summer
camps where he was beating them off with a stick, so I'm considering
myself lucky. My lil' intruder is a chipmunk, no bigger than a hamster
and much less FLUFFY.
He caught my attention when he
first ventured into the middle of the well-warn path to check out a
baked potato or some other foil-wrapped refuse which had seen better
days than the recent trip to the campfire that evidently took its life.
Once Alvin found this edible
treasure, it became an absolute obsession for the lil' striped critter.
Much like facing those irritating moving miniature golf traps,
he challenged death over and over by dashing out to the charred foil
to stuff his cheeks in spite of the endless 2-legged parade that
trampled the scenery.
At one point, he froze for a
moment before his mad dash, noticing my watchful eye. Quickly deciding I
wasn't much of a threat, his curiosity drove him to abandon his dinner
quest and he did the "chicken thing" (you know, crossed the road to get
to the other side). To my delight, he foraged 'round my feet for a
while before flitting up the rocks behind me along the base of the
canyon wall, finally disappearing into a "Soul"... I mean hole. (you've
seen that commercial, right? ok, sad excuse for a joke... moving on!)
WISH YOU WERE HERE
Each time I have the privilege
of spending time with these boys, I'm deeply impressed upon by a strong
sense of how rare and precious these opportunities really are. I get an
insider look, not at the boys who whine when we ask them to do their
chores, but at young men rising to greet the challenges before them, and
really coming into their own. They fend for themselves, defend
themselves and take the consequences when they offend others. They're
good sports, good cooks and good friends. They're worth every moment we
can spend with them,
Now being a mom, I confess that
I'm treated differently than the dads. I always feel spoiled, which
says something wonderful about the character of these men we are married
to, and the young men we are raising. We all have reason to be proud.
Though I'm not "one of the guys", I am made to feel welcome, as if I
belong. In return, I purpose myself to step out of "mom-mode",
resisting the obvious temptations of that role. I am keenly aware that
if I "mother them" too much, they may never want a mom to go with them
again.
Instead I watch and I listen and I blog. And I do so with a
grateful heart, because I sure cherish these times. I want to remember
these moments and I want other parents to experience moments like
these. I want to encourage other moms, in particular, to "brave the
wild outdoors" so you can watch these boys interact with nature and with
each other in these "untamed and un-mothered" settings.
So grab your TP and shovel, and get out there with your boy on the
next Scouting Outing. He won't be a boy for long, you don't want to
miss this! :)
Thanks for letting me pour out my heart, and for sharing your boys with me.
Scoutingly Yours,
Mrs Red
