Crossing Creeks: Work And Play

Fearless Mother That I Am, I took both boys camping with me for four nights and five days, returning this afternoon. We had a lovely time, meeting up with other mothers and like-aged boys at a campground on the coast. Taking no chances this year after the Bear Encounter of last summer, we slept in the back of our stationwagon with the windows shut.

On day two, we took a hike to the beach. I refused to drive to the access point and proposed with that old 4-H spirit that we hike it in. The boys caught the whirlwind of my apparent excitement and agreed to this plan. We set off early on a six mile round trip hike across dunes and through the Rhododendron pine forests to our oceanic goal. I had not mentioned the creek crossing.

When we arrived at the edge of the creek, I told them that Ben said it was easy to cross, knee-deep at most. We walked the creek east for 40 feet. Chest deep in places, for sure. We walked back to our starting place and west for ten feet. Log jams created possible bridges, but still chest deep beneath.

My daypack was full. Snacks, discarded raingear, shoes, lunch, water for three. The dog eyed me squarely. "We can do this!" I cried, beaming unshakably.

"Okay!" said Sam. "I'll just test out this bridge." Off he went across the fallen logs. I left my pack and pants on the shore to follow him (turning my back with great alacrity on the apparently empty "viewing deck" over the creek and ocean). Traversing three different trunks, we got within four feet of the opposite shore. Sam paused and looked back, tentatively.

"I can throw you," I said, nodding. His eyes widened.

"Yes," he said. "That would work."

Trinidad giggled nervously. "Really, mom?"

"Sure," I told him. Sam pointed out that he could always swim if I missed. Then he instructed me around how to hold him so his feet would brace against my thighs, and he could add some extra spring. Trinidad stood watch over the pack, shoes and dog, biting the sleeve of his shirt.

It occured to me that this was the stuff of memory: our family working together to forge and cross bridges into unknown territory with courage, humor and faith in our own buoyancy. I cherished our focus, the tight weave of fabric that held us in this moment of joyful crisus while we pursued a shared goal. The "work" of a family united.

"One -- two -- three -- go!" Standing on the end of a mossy submerged log in only my underwear and a t-shirt, I lobbed my five year old son through the air, and he landed with a thud on all fours in the sand. Trinidad broke into hysterics. I joined him. Sam, recovering his composure, turned and chuckled deeply. We all stood, roaring with laughter, while the dog looked askance.

I returned for Trinidad, then the pack and shoes, and finally, I somehow made the distance dry, myself. The dog, sure that she was now to be left behind ("Come on, Stickeen!"), took a single-minded flying leap and missed her goal by six inches. After a few seconds, she surfaced, moppish, and regained her sense of humor only after a good shake on us all.

My boys ran the waves and the dunes for the next three hours, then, hot and tired, we began the long pack home. First milestone: the creek. This time, we found a trail that lead us to a crossing ten yards west of our first. The way was gentle and shallow -- just over the knee. Both boys peeled off their pants and jumped in, this time searching out the logs to jump from.

After a full-on submerging several times, Sam turned to me, grinning. "Which side were we supposed to get out on?" he asked.

So this is play. Unfocused, creative, alive and connected. More memories of our family together, crossing creeks as a canvas, work and play to color it whole.