As I hustle through my back-to-school life, I realize I actually missed having a deadline and a reason to write. Of course, good writing takes quality time and thought which can both dribble to nothing when faced with multiple personal crises, which happens to the best of us.
However, this summer has been glorious despite some unplanned – and planned, physical changes of venue at home and at work. When you take your life apart physically in both of those essential arenas, you find out what’s really important and necessary.
For example, in my classroom, I asked, “Do I have to keep those fifty folders of old teaching ideas from ancient workshops?” Or as I shuffled through my closet at home, I questioned how often I’ve worn that sweater or if I really need those ten out-dated scarves that hang there. It’s good to clean out your life; but how many times, I wonder, will my furniture make the move? Unhappily, I discovered how tough it was to part with some pieces – like family almost.
Balancing the movin’ blues, however, was a summer full of wonderful short trips here and there. Sometimes it’s helpful to just walk away – or fly, perhaps, to get a better perspective. During a 10-day journey to New York, I found the view from the top of Niagra Falls really helped to clear away a few spiritual cobwebs! The beauty and force of Nature never fails to re-charge my faded outlook; and boy, did my camera get a major workout. I wanted to take it all home with me. Funny thing was, the most exciting and rewarding part of the trip was when my camera almost didn’t make it out of the Niagra River Gorge.
Fair warning: this could be one of those stories where you just had to be there, but it needs telling. I learned two things in this particular crisis: one, my faith in humanity is restored once again; and two, Canadians rock!
After a long and somewhat exasperating attempt to find a good trail down to the river’s edge, we were finally able to drag and scrape across some of the giant boulders to get close to the river. It was pulsing with jet boats blasting upriver over huge, white rapids and around swirling vortexes. We were not alone; many hikers swarmed over the trails and boulders nearby.
I started to unzip my case and pull my camera out for yet another picture, but hesitated and decided to move over another foot for a better view. Bending over to crawl across the rough slate surface, I helplessly watched as my camera slid out through the unzipped cover and clacked down between the piled-up boulders under my feet. I won’t repeat here the expletive that also escaped my lips, and I didn’t whisper it either.
In fact, three young men hiking nearby at that moment heard my exclamation and were immediately at my side asking, “What happened – are you all right, ma’am?”
Strapping and bare-chested, the two who were perhaps near thirty years old insisted that they could help. A younger boy with them hung back but followed their every directive. After a few acrobatic stretches down between boulders and a few scratches, their efforts proved fruitless. I was willing to forget it, to leave behind my newly-acquired mementos of a wonderful trip. But, they were not.
Sean and Larry took on their roles of brave knights on a Quest. Whether to prove something to themselves or to impress us, the two young Canadians from St. Catharine’s, Ontario refused to give up. My camera was going to re-surface from beneath the boulders come hell or high water.
After holding each other upside down to reach under the rocks, then cutting a branch from a nearby tree to extend their reach, they decided they could move small boulders which blocked their efforts. Valiant tries notwithstanding, victory still was not theirs – or mine; and I once again insisted that I could live without it. They should relax and enjoy their day on the river. But, no…
After many heave-ho’s and loud grunts, my hero Sean, covered with colorful tattoos and several stabbing scars, jumped down off the rock into the shallow water. He began his first foray trying to go under the boulders; moving smaller pieces of rock, he was able to see my camera resting on gravel up out of the water beneath me.
“Serge, come here!” he yelled to the smallest, perhaps ten or twelve years old. “Serge can squeeze right under – I know it’ll work!” New energy raced into Sean’s face. He was not going to quit. In fact, he told me if I wanted to leave without my camera, he would stay until he found it anyway. They don’t make ‘em like this anymore, we agreed later on our way home.
Little Serge wiggled and stretched through the water and gravel. We heard a muffled, “I got it!” It took another squeezing effort to get himself back out exactly the way he’d gotten under. The older men cautioned him to carefully exit the way he had entered commenting to me that his mother would be upset otherwise. Duh! I was just picturing the headlines…and I was near a stroke, myself!
My joy, relief, and astonishment almost left me speechless. What could I do to repay this?! My small cash rewards didn’t seem enough. This did not happen everyday, and people in our society don’t work this hard to help a stranger! It was definitely above and beyond the call of duty.
So, boys, this column is for you. At least the good people here in Mendocino County will know of your good Samaritan efforts, your indefatigable attitude and know the world is a better place with folks like you in it! Thanks for making my summer!
