Choppy waters

This past weekend, camping stories came up with a group of friends and my husband and I shared one. My friend thought it was really funny and insisted that it needed to go on the blog. And so, here it is.  

When I started the blog, my husband was happy to see me write again, but asked me to keep him out of it. I suppose I have somewhat respected that. But again, we’ve been married long enough for him to know that I don’t always listen (yeah yeah… it’s all work in progress). But till I get there, I might as well recount this story - and he figures in it.

Many years ago, a group of us set off on a camping trip in the Everglades. We had rented an island for the night. Yes, you read right – our own island for the night. And while I could continue sounding very grand, I will go ahead and burst the bubble – these islands are really just small patches of land to camp on. And very rustic in that. And the only way to get there is by canoe. And you have to carry everything – including water. (As I recounted the story, a friend asked what happened if you needed to get back to shore in the middle of the night - get in the canoe and start rowing? I realized then that I had not even considered this thought till that moment – nor had the dozen odd people who hopped into canoes. Sigh…20-somethings just roll with a different energy and spirit I suppose.)

So we set off in our canoes – people, tents, camping gear, food, drinking water – with eyes on our own ‘water map’ that showed directions to ‘our island’. But nature had other plans. As had the choppy waters and the Gulf of Mexico. Our feeble aluminum canoes seem to bob about helplessly on the big waves of a growling ocean.

The folks renting the canoes warned us that it was going to be difficult – but we had spirit and an island waiting. So we heaved and rowed and rowed and rowed. Wait, did we only move 50 feet - in what seemed like half an hour? And were the canoes actually moving backwards each time we stopping rowing?? (!!)

Now my husband has done rowing and skulling in college and is fairly athletic. I on the other hand…sigh… But given that we were now rowing mates, we battled valiantly against the surging sea (as did our friends – except one couple who were quickly becoming a dot on the horizon and who the coastguards went in and rescued - thankfully.)

My husband’s energy was relentless – his optimism and rowing skills made him believe we could actually reach the island. Or maybe medals won for rowing and skulling were taunting him. In any case, he was not going to admit defeat yet. And he didn’t want his wife to do so either.

His wife, on the other hand was ready to jump off the canoe and swim to shore if she heard one more instruction. Instructions his coaches had once doled out: “that’s not a spoon – it’s an oar”. So not funny in that moment. And other teachings and techniques that fell on deaf ears. But given that his wife’s swimming skills were not far better than her rowing skills, she stayed put.

Now all this happened way before Life of Pi. Else both, my husband and I would have recounted our own versions of Life of Pi and how it is to be stuck with a tiger in a canoe… sigh…

Yes, waters have been plenty choppy in our life since - and it has often seemed like that day long ago in the Everglades when we tried to brave a feisty ocean in a feeble canoe.  

And we have done so, as we did in the canoe many years ago – grumbling (mostly me), encouraging (mostly him), putting in all his energy and optimism (him), wondering if there is any sense in the whole thing (me), glaring, threatening to toss the oar in the water (yeah yeah, no prizes for guessing which one of us)… Yes, we’ve gone through life in our rickety canoe as differently as two very different people would. We’ve glared and grimaced, we have failed to recognize differing energies at different times, we’ve failed to understand one another, we’ve bickered and encouraged, we’ve laughed and lightened up situations… we’ve continued to paddle on together… and we know the other one will always be there to stick the oar in (grumbling or not), and paddle away together…

(Not so sure my husband reads these blogs; but if he complains, this one may have to come down… so read it quickly!)