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Title : A Trip to the Woods. . . And a Small Crisis Averted. . .
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A Trip to the Woods. . . And a Small Crisis Averted. . .

Honestly, those of you who live with heat for months and months of the year, sunhats off to you!

I'm sweltering in our version of a Heat Wave (official Environment Canada website gives a Heat Wave Warning, seriously! 25 to 30 degrees at the coast, higher inland, and no rain in the near forecast.

 But we did get up to the woods where our daughter's family was camping.

 The air is so different just those ninety minutes out of the city, and the temperature so much more bearable under the trees. . .

 I love seeing these city kids get into the woods, seeing how comfortable they are there, even as they explain seriously to me that we have to put all the food and dishes and cooking supplies into the car before we go swimming because we don't want bears to come to our tent. . . .

 I love to see them clambering on a natural playground. . . .

 And I love the green. . .

 and the filtered sunlight

 the fragrance of forest floor and fir needles and resin warming in the sun and the musky smell of ferns and decaying logs. . . and mysterious smells that stir the atavistic brain. . .

 Do the children sense some of that as well? We point out the graceful arc of a vine maple, stretching its slender 30-foot trunk into what my granddaughter sees as a rainbow shape -- she loves the daintyness of its small leaves, more familiar as she is with its larger cousin, the big-leaf maple. We laugh together at the effrontery of a young fir growing from the five-foot-high trunk of a tree chopped down decades ago.

 But mostly, I try not to talk too much,

 I take my cue from this guy. . .

 Watching and wondering. . .

 Let me break that reverie, though, with a little anecdote of a near-crisis, happily averted. . .

The beach was around the lake from the campsite, so we enjoyed the walk there, and then my stalwart son-in-law was dispatched to do some fetch-and-carrying of towels and sand toys and shade tent, etc. that we hadn't wanted to haul on our walk. While we waited, Paul and I got warm enough to take a quick dip and the Littles and their Momma joined us after a bit. By the time Rob had dropped off the shade tent and headed back for one last bundle, we'd dropped our sandals and our little backpacks, my purse, our towels, etc., inside and around, claiming our territory as you do in these situations.

By the time Rob came back with the last load, Paul and I were done swimming and ready to head back to the city before the bridge traffic got nasty. Rob changed into his swimsuit, joined his family in the water for this photo, which I took before we headed to the change rooms, last stop before our car.

At the change room, Paul realized he'd left his towel behind. He held the backpack out for me to grab my clothes from it, so that I could start changing while he ran back. Instead, I offered to keep the pack and handed him his dry pants from it -- he'd already put his shirt on. Not until I'd changed did I notice there was still a set of keys in the pack -- and I didn't recognize them as Paul's. He confirmed that when he got back, and realizing they were Rob's, we both also realized that IF Paul hadn't had to retrieve his towel and had hung on to the pack, simply handing my clothes over to me, from it,  he was much less likely than I to have noticed the keys down at the bottom, and much more likely to have tossed the supposedly empty backpack in the trunk of our car. . . .

In which case, as my son-in-law quickly calculated, as I dangled the keys above him on the beach a minute later, in which case, he and my daughter and the two littles would have been ninety minutes from home, in the woods, locked out of their car which had all the useful stuff (remember that bear-proofing) securely and tantalizingly stowed beyond their reach.

"But really," I reassured, "the inconvenience would mostly be ours -- Paul's really, as he's the one who would likely have to drive the keys back when you phoned to tell us we must have them, that you must have put them in our black pack instead of yours."
To his protest that his phone was locked in the car, safe from beach sand and water and thieves, I nodded, "I know, but you'd be able to call from that park administration kiosk we passed on the way in."
He was already shaking his head against that possibility, but waited patiently as my daughter interrupted that they wouldn't need to do that -- she just needed to charge her phone for a few minutes. . . and then. . . Oh, right, charge it in the car? That's not going to work. . .
So Son-in-law explained why even a borrowed phone wouldn't work, turning to my daughter to ask, "Do you know your parents' phone numbers?"

So I'll stop here to let us all think, for a minute, about what recourse we might have in a similar situation. I think I have some of my kids' numbers written down somewhere, but not somewhere I carry around with me. And even then, I'd probably have locked it in the car, in my purse. . . .Remember looking up numbers in phone books? Remember having them memorized because we dialed them so often? Or even those times we had to get an operator to look the numbers up for us and ask her to call them collect? Quaint, right?

Paul's quite sure that he would have noticed the keys once we got home, because he has a habit of unpacking his wallet, sunglasses, etc., from the small backpack when he puts it away -- and as soon as he noticed them, he would have headed right back to the car, the drive not nearly so pleasant the second time 'round. I'm skeptical, because he'd also brought his leather bag (we don't call it a man-purse in our house!) and his wallet and all the et ceterae were in that.
Rob figured that they could have sought out someone who'd let them borrow a laptop or phone to go online and leave messages for me on social media. . .

And really, they might also have discovered the kindness of strangers.
But just as well that discovery can be saved for another day, right?

So, in the comments today, I'd love to know your favourite place to escape from summer heat (if you're as lucky as I was for twenty-some years, you have only to walk out your door for a swim or to sit in the shade of your garden -- try not to gloat, okay? ;-)
AND/OR you might share your story about a crisis averted -- or not, perhaps there was a dramatic rescue instead -- or your tales about the limitations of modern communication technology and its lack of system backup. . . . 

Thus articles A Trip to the Woods. . . And a Small Crisis Averted. . .

that is all articles A Trip to the Woods. . . And a Small Crisis Averted. . . This time, hopefully can provide benefits to you all. Okay, see you in another article post.

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