Part 1
We like to walk along the creek that runs around the north edge of our development. Mill Creek. The climate at the creek is always more temperate than whatever is going on away from it. Just enough cooler if the day feels a bit too warm. The air just that more still on a windy day. Yesterday was cool, almost cold if the breeze picked up, but the path was just the right temperature, and I don’t remember the wind blowing at all.
We started our walk with a ziplock bag of rocks collected the afternoon before, and because of that rock bag, the kids stopped every chance they could and asked if this was a good spot to throw rocks or to try skipping rocks. At our first stop, we taught Saxby to step into his rock throwing instead of standing still. Wow! He shouted with joy at the newfound far-ness, and his face shone with excitement. I do not speak in hyperbole.
Elizabeth threw rocks, too, often not even reaching the water. But her excitement was no less loud or sincere.
Saxby next found a spot where we could climb down to the level of the water and stand on some flattish rocks. Well, actually, I sat on some exposed tree roots. Saxby and Elizabeth started throwing rocks again, with Saxby frequently instructing me not to give any rock skipping rocks to Elizabeth. That would be a waste.
The first attempts at skipping rocks were unsuccessful, just like every other attempt on every other day. We talked about how he shouldn’t throw only with a weak flip of his wrist. He needed to use his whole arm in a flat, sweeping motion.
Then he asked for the big (and best) rock skipping rock. Are you sure? Yes.
I handed it to him and made sure his dad was also watching, too, as if I knew what was about to happen.
That’s right. Saxby threw his rock, and it skipped. Only twice, but that’s still more than once, which means it was good enough to produce immediate cheering and shouting. A real cause for celebration.
Try as they might after that, the kids did not find another spot from which to throw their fresh batch of rocks, collected faithfully by mom and son while dad and daughter went on ahead.
It was not for lack of trying, as I said. Saxby’s mud-covered shoes and mud-smeared hands and legs were evidence of that. If my heaven voice had reached him two seconds sooner, he might not have slipped in the thick mud masquerading as solid earth.
Part 2
Saxby and Elizabeth wanted to ride on their bikes after we got home. We ignored the chill in the air and walked up to the corner where it’s flat, where they feel safe enough to practice riding.
We’ve gone up to the corner more frequently the last few days. I think Saxby really wants to be more confident on his bike, although he doesn’t say so.
Up on the flat section, we have a bit of a routine already. Saxby has training wheels. He rides to the stop sign. Stops. Turns his bike around and rides back. Over and over. At a snail’s pace, I might add. Elizabeth has a balance bike. Saxby’s old balance bike. She walks herself around for a few minutes, tires of it and asks me to put her bike on the grass. Then she and I will race Saxby. I don’t have to run to beat him.
Yesterday, Elizabeth tired of her bike almost immediately and took it upon herself to put the bike on the grass. It took some doing, but she did it. Of course.
After a few minutes, she got on her bike again.
I was standing near the far curb. Saxby was near the drive that goes back to two houses. Elizabeth was just about in the middle of the road facing Saxby’s direction.
An older couple came walking up from the direction of our house. Before they were close enough to say hello, a young man on a motorized bicycle (not a motorbike) came zooming up to the corner and weaved his way between my kids before revving the right handlebar and speeding off. On his bicycle with a motor.
I looked at the couple. They looked at me and commented on how they were worried he was going to hit the kids. I said I was impressed at the ease with which he maneuvered. Saxby marveled at the coolness of the bike he just saw. Elizabeth started talking to them as they kept walking past.
They were about 20 feet past her when they stopped to listen to her tell them about her bike and that she’s riding it and that she can go, go, go like this on it. She demonstrated a sort of run hop and makes little sounds with each foot fall.
They smiled, kept responding. And she kept talking.
I told her that they were going to keep walking and invited her to say goodbye.
“But… but…,” she lamented, “I just need some friends.”
“Yes, you do,” I said. “We all do.” And I wondered, again, how she knows so much.
From Wonderland to Hinterland 