OK. It wasn’t St. Petersburg, Missouri or the Mississippi River. And Tom Sawyer, the Widow Douglas and Jim weren’t there.
It was Hale’s Location, New Hampshire and a tiny tributary stream… perhaps stemming from the Saco River. And two of my grandchildren, Taylor and Andrew, and their Mom, Nicole, were there.
Here…
This tiny stream high up in the White Mountains of New Hampshire was begging us for an adventure.
And we obliged.
Taylor and Andrew would lead…
Young, daring and sure-footed, over rocks left bare in the the harsh sun of the 2011 summer, the kids led us upstream to the cool, crystal-clear water…
Andrew found himself a walking stick from a fallen branch, and Taylor, Nicole and I quickly followed suit.
And we adventured.
We found tadpoles and dragonflies. We saw birds and clouds and tall green grass. We discovered an abandoned hut and imagined all kinds of stories to go along with it…
All the while using our walking sticks knee-deep in stream adventure.
We found shade. We felt the sun. The wind danced around our hair.
We heard the sounds of the rushing waters of the stream and we heard the sounds of silence.
We whispered. We laughed.
We adventured. Onward and onward. For what seemed forever…
Then it was time to head back.
We found a short-cut back that wasn’t a short-cut at all.
So with our walking sticks we plunged back into knee-deep water that would become dry rocks again…
Adventures are like that.
Beginnings and endings.
And middles so simple, yet so exquisite.
The sounds of memories in a tiny stream way up in the mountains of New Hampshire on a sunny summer’s day.
Being Huck Finn.
What a wonderful day and adventure. Such a great memory for you all.