Rolling Down The River

When my husband Harry and I took our kids on a canoe trip one weekend, we learned that one of them was very different from us.  Our older daughter Emma and her little sister, Pinkie Lee, were three and a half and seven years old. Harry had decided that he was going to do all the planning for this trip and show me that he could manage such things. I never really had doubts; only a few when he told me we could take breaks at the espresso bars they had stationed along the riverbanks.

Once at our campsite, we were surprised that we were so close to the highway. When cars sped past some little pebbles would fly onto our smore ready melted marshmallows. Ah well, nothing to fret. We simply turned the tent around and made the camp site a bit cozier. When morning arrived, we were up and at ‘em. It seemed as though Harry had found a special place without many other visitors.

Seven AM, only the four of us on our merry way down the river that had just enough flow to move us comfortably down the water way. Nancy Drew and Tom Sawyer all grown up taking their offspring on yet another adventure. WHOMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Our canoe hit a large stump that was big enough to stop us but not high enough for us to see it before it caused us to bump into and capsize. Luckily there was a small mound near us so we were able to get Emma and Pinkie onto the land while Harry and I turned the boat over to get the water that had accumulated in it, back into the river. When the boat was dry enough, Emma and Pinkie (who were not happy and could not understand why Harry and I couldn’t stop laughing), suspiciously got back into the boat with me, while Harry waded through the water until he could find a spot where it was deep enough to float.

“It’s more fun when the Dad is in the boat!” a passerby yelled out from her smoothly sailing boat. Another quote that Harry and I would save up for dinner table stories.

Harry did get back in the boat and we continued down the idyllic river. Still a little cloudy, we all started to get chilled in our wet clothes.
“Look”, Harry said, “there’s a nice sandy beach area. Let’s take a break and dry out in the sun.” There were no other boats in the river and the beach was empty. We pulled our canoe onto the shore to a place where the sun was beginning to shine on us.

“Emma,” I said. “It would be good to take our clothes off and get dry. If we wear wet clothes we’ll get sick. Let’s dry our clothes on the branches and when they’re ready we’ll put them back on and get back into the boat.”

“I don’t want to be naked outside,” Emma whimpered.

Pinkie Lee, already naked was lying in the sun.

“Emma, look, we are the only people around for miles. It feels so good; no one will see us.” I spoke in my most convincing, it will be good for you, you’ll like it, mother voice.

Emma slowly peeled off her wet clothes and I was in hippie heaven; me and my brood lying naked on a California beach. We had been the only canoe on the river for at least forty five minutes, and then after fifteen minutes of naked on the beach, the unthinkable happened.

In the near distance, we could see an armada of canoes approaching us. Canoes filled with what seemed like every Boy Scout troop in the nation were approaching our “private” beach.

“You told me no one would see us!” Emma screeched as we all scrambled to put our damp clothes back on!

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t think this would happen!” Of course, I’d apologize to my children many more times. After this debacle, any hope of public nudity was extinguished.