Summer is family vacation time so here is a reprint of a newspaper column that ran in 1995. It was written during my first marriage so Doc refers to my ex. The kids, however, are the same.
We have taken some memorable family vacations in our time, some of which stand out for how quickly we tried to forget them. There was the journey to the Amish country when Son and Daughter were very young and the Pennsylvania Dutch were suffering through the worst period of rain in ten years. This trip had me wailing at the kids on the way home that their next vacation would be their honeymoons. Doc, normally a tower of strength in situations like this, was conceding with despair that perhaps we’d been gone too long. It was Wednesday. We’d left Monday morning.
Another trip was a picture perfect example of life imitating art when we decided to go white-water rafting a la Meryl Streep and The River Wild. Before we hit the water, I had a few maternal stipulations: this adventure had to be taken seriously as there was danger involved; any camping to be done would have to include first-rate toilet facilities; nearby outlet shopping was a plus; and if the river guide looked anything like Kevin Bacon we were out of there.
We chose the Delaware River and a tour company that assured us of level one and two rapids – strictly family stuff requiring no major preparation. The timing with regard to our family dynamics was stellar. The kids had been separated all summer by sleepaway camp and were actively enjoying each other’s company. Neither one had picked a fight all week simply because the other one was “looking at me.” Raft on.
The first day’s trip down the Delaware was 10 miles long and it was estimated to take about four hours. There were turnoffs at five and eight miles but once you passed the eight-mile mark you were in it to the end. The day was perfection; sunny with a delicate breeze and the scent of a thousand things in the air which could only exist on a country river. Beavers bobbed by us close to shore and a family of ducks stopped their procession to watch us glide past. We paddled and talked, paddled and laughed, paddled and sang, and paddled and paddled and paddled.
We could see when a rapid was approaching by the little digs in the water up ahead. The raft would speed up and then the river would suddenly take charge, trying to spin our craft around against our paddles. There’d be a dizzying ascent into the air where the water would spray into our open, shouting mouths, “Keep it straight! Watch out on the left! We got it!” Then we’d come down with a thump, always off balance, but trying to stay even with the water and making sure everyone was still on board, only to find ourselves aloft again with the sound of the waves crashing in our ears.
At the eight-mile mark the other rafts turned off and we were alone on the river, the family against nature. My heart pounded with anticipation. Then all of a sudden the kids needed a snack break, followed by a rest break, then another snack break. Doc and I stressed the importance of paddling but the kids were more interested in who had the easier side of the raft. I sensed that the spell of the river was beginning to break and we had overstayed our welcome by at least a mile. The estimated four hours had come and gone and we were painfully shy of the finishing spot.
We pushed on until the final rapid was behind us and the river grew still. The kids were now squabbling to the point that they had gone overboard and were trying to pull each other’s vest off. Doc and I watched them in exhaustion wondering if there was really anything to be gained by pulling them back in. They had pretty much given up paddling and it would mean more snacks for us. But then I caught a glimpse of a combined $8,000 worth of orthodontia gleaming in the sun and we threw them a paddle.
We continued on in the broiling heat, now hoping to find Kevin Bacon so we could be put out of our misery. The kids had become raft ornaments, each stretched out on a pontoon with a limb hanging overboard like an anchor. They were bemoaning the fact that they hadn’t brought headphones.
Then Doc shouted that he saw the docking point several hundred yards ahead and suddenly all hands were on deck paddling with renewed passion. Hey, this is pretty great, I thought proudly. We conquered the river with time to spare. I bet those outlets stay open till nine.
Daughter’s recent trip to Costa Rica was All Kinds of Wild
baby monkeys
poas volcano
rainforest
this 200-foot drop is for you, mom!
the money shot