Today we chose canoeing as our adventure. We paddled from Peaks Island to a few islands nearby in Casco Bay. We explored an old military fort on one and strolled through a summer community on another. Pretty tame by Oakley’s standards, but lovely to be out on the water none-the-less. As we wrapped up our morning, Oakley seemed a bit nonplussed.
“Oakley, let’s cut through here.”
“No mom, that is someone’s back yard!”
“There is no one here. It is just a little short cut. They won’t care.”
“Mom! No! Stop! I am not coming.”
“Oakley, do you not know how to sneak? Be quiet. Stop yelling.”
“No! I am not following you!”
Stealthily, I continued, making a wide berth through the backyard of a large clapboard summer house on Great Diamond Island. Oakley and I have taken a wrong turn and to get back to our canoe, we either needed to backtrack or take a quick short cut across this backyard and along the side of an inlet covered in salt marsh grasses. It is a race: back to the canoe before the tide comes in and takes it. I opt for the short cut. I know Oakley will follow, so I don’t give his grousing any more attention.
When I reach the end of the yard and step onto the mud that covers the inlet, I feel victorious. The owner of the home did not appear and we have shaved 10 minutes off our hike back to the boat. Sure enough, Oakley steps up behind me. “See,” I say smugly, “Much shorter.” Oakley grunts in return.
We move across the muddy flat, jumping from one grass clump to another to avoid rivulets of water running down from the shore to the sea. As we travel, the clumps get farther apart and the rivulets turn into small streams. I can see a solid land bridge that we can walk on just ahead so I keep hopping, despite the growing difficulty. “Mom, this isn’t going to work.”
“Sure it will!” I say with a pathological optimism. To prove my point, I jump onto what looks like firm mud in front of me, intending to skip ahead, but there is no skipping. There is only sinking. “Oaks!” I shout as I lurch forward trying to outpace the grip of the pluff mud quickly encircling my toes, then my foot, then my ankle. “Oaks!”
Too late. He has also left the safety of the salt grasses and is ankle deep in his own muddy mire. Somehow though, he is hopping through it with the spring of a cat. I try to emulate him and pull my feet up out of the sucking mud. No go. First I lose one shoe, then the other. I have no choice but to reach down and dig them out. Mud now covers me from foot to knee and hand to elbow. I hold my shoes and continue on barefoot.
Now Oakley is laughing. He is up ahead on a small beach and has waded knee deep in the ocean to rinse off his sneakers, socks, and pant legs. “I told you it wasn’t a good idea! You should have listened! You never listen!”
When I reach him, I, too, wade into the water in my pants to wash off. This mud has a pungency that we will carry with us until we find a soapy shower. It smells of salt and decay, clams and kelp, fish and sand. Much better than what our computer screens at home smell like.
With wet britches and gnawing hunger, we head to our canoe and paddle the rest of the way home under a beautiful warm October sun.
Sounds like something I would’ve tried. 🙂 Good you all made it thru okay!!
Fun! Would love to do that!
Come borrow our canoe anytime!
what an adventure! and it’s fun to hear you two talking. and the drama around will oak follow, or not? that push n pull between you two (that we have come to recognize) is still there, it seems. i like it when the clumps get further and further apart so the marsh tide starts to become little rivulets surrounding you. this was a really nice read. looking forward to next. keep going!
ur fan,
j.
And they say a cat has 9 lives!