A true story
"The mind of man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps."
In his song, “Slip-Sliding Away”, Paul Simon asserts that, “God only knows; God makes His plan; the information’s unavailable to the mortal man.” A rather pessimistic attitude, since the information is not entirely unavailable at all...and besides, who wants to know it all? It is the small surprises, whether pleasant or unpleasant, that add spice to life.
Take, for instance, the well-planned trip my wife and I took down the Brazos River in Texas, in 1993. We were to spend the up-coming Summer, from June 26 to the middle of August, with six children (all under age sixteen) so we decided that we would take an advanced well-deserved mini-vacation of our own.
Since my wife Lynnea had canoed down the rivers of New York State as a child and wished to share that rich experience with me, we took pains to find the ‘right’ place to go. We called the canoe rental place to insure that one would be available on the mid-week day, we sat down and carefully composed an itemized list of every conceivable comfort we may desire while on the river, we farmed out the kids, put extra food down for the dog/cat/guinea pig...and we were off.
From the moment we left our driveway the vacation spirit prevailed. Even driving westbound LBJ Freeway at 7:45 am on a weekday could not shake my sense of freedom or my anticipation of solitude and undisturbed fellowship with my beloved wife. We laughed, sang songs, joked about how we should have made a sign for our car window for all the rush hour traffic to read, saying “I’m on vacation, where are YOU going?” Yes, it was a wonderful morning!
When we reached Castle Canoe Rentals, located about five miles West of the Western edge of Mineral Wells, the temperature had climbed to about 89 degrees. The humidity made it feel more like 99, and by midday the actual temperature would be close to that. But nothing, absolutely nothing, had the power to snatch our festive mood from us. We paid our money, watched the young man hook up a trailer laden with upside-down canoes to the back of his Blazer, and listened carefully as he told us to look for a board painted pink and hanging from a tree, marking the end of our six hour trip and our pickup place. Then we climbed into the back of his truck with our Igloo, towels, and overnight case containing suntan lotion, snake bite kit, allergy meds and pocket knife, and he took us down to the banks of the nearby Brazos River. As he drove away I watched his retreating license plate and thought, That’s it. For the next six hours, nothing but the quiet of the river, the coveted company of my wife, and our sandwiches and Dr Pepper. I felt my shoulders relax. After helping each other apply #15 sunblock, we shoved off the land, climbed into the canoe, and floated to freedom...and destiny.
The first three and a half to four hours of our trip were just as we wished them to be. Uneventful. We discussed whatever came to mind, teased each other when our paddling got out of synch and our canoe turned around backwards, munched a sandwich and braved the precarious balance of the vessel as we handed Dr Pepper cans back and forth.
Having deliberately left our watches behind, we estimated the time to be approximately 1:30 (we had started at 10:00 am) when we looked up and saw a pink board hanging from a tree. Since we had chosen the six hour trip instead of the four hour trip, we surmised that this must be the four hour pickup spot rather than the six hour spot, and were lightly perturbed at the rental guy for not telling us that we were to look for the SECOND pink board hanging from a tree. Yes, the thought did occur that we may have reached the six hour spot, but we concluded that if we had, we had been ripped off, and did not want to sit there until 3:30 waiting to see if he would show up. After about ten minutes of deliberation we agreed that we must be at the four hour spot, and continued down stream.
After enjoying another estimated two hours of paddling, cheerful banter, and basically drawing closer to my wife and best friend, I began to wonder if indeed there was another pink board. So did Lynn. Each time the subject came up however, our conclusion was the same; that we could not have reached the six hour spot in only three and a half hours; and we continued on.
By now the sandwiches were gone, the grapes were greatly diminished, empty Dr Pepper cans littered the floor of the canoe, and I was working on the ice. For some reason my thirst had become virtually unquenchable. The sun, beating down relentlessly on my forehead had given me what Lynnea aptly calls a ‘banger’, and my arms and shoulders were long-since past being simply tired from paddling. Occasional comments from Lynn confirmed that we were sharing these experiences also.
After what we now know was approximately seven and a half hours, we had stopped doing two things; having fun, and looking for that stupid sign.
It had been around an hour to an hour and a half since we had seen any sign of civilization, and that had been a house so far up on top of a cliff that the goats in the yard looked like house cats. By now I had grown so weary that either walking and towing the canoe, or sitting and paddling seemed equally impossible to do anymore. As we drifted around yet another bend in the river, brains baked, cotton-mouthed and out of ice, strength and patience, my courageous mate pointed to the top of the cliffs to our right, at a small house jutting out at the edge, and declared, “I’m going there!”
Deserting the now despised canoe on a grassy ledge about eight feet above the water level, we picked up our little bag of emergency items (eg, sunblock which we should have reapplied about four hours earlier) and started up a deer trail that snaked its way back and forth up the steep incline. Talk was infrequent now, since my tongue had swollen to roughly the size of a regulation football and Lynn was calculating which fortunate family member would end up raising our kids. I don’t know how far we climbed in terms of miles or yards, and my vocabulary is too limited to describe the physical misery, but we did eventually reach the top, and that’s the important thing, right?
As the terrain leveled out, we saw evidence of a jeep trail that seemed to go in the general direction of the cottage we had spied from the river, so we took it.
Approximately three hundred yards and ten years later that trail ended at a more frequently used dirt road, and again, we turned in the direction of our goal, hoping all along that these people were kind and willing to render aid, and that they didn’t have Dobermans in the front yard.
That road took us to what appeared to be their driveway, and indeed, after another ten minutes or so of trudging along, we spotted the house through the trees. We also spotted the empty car port. I knocked on the front door, not really expecting a response, and then valiantly fought back the urge to kick it down. We sucked on the garden hose until the pipes started breaking the surface of the ground, and then plopped down on their patio furniture for a much needed rest.
At one point I looked up and saw Lynn crying. The ‘fearless male’ in me took over and I started listing to her the reasons why she should ‘buck-up’. Waste of energy, pointless worry...you guys know the routine. But I was cut off in mid sentence, when in mild anger and through her tears she informed me that for her crying was simply a way to relieve stress and that she was not losing control. I didn’t understand then as I do now, but I respectfully retreated to my chair determined to allow her to handle the situation in her own way. I had held my wife in high esteem before that day, but the manner in which she conducted herself through that ordeal makes my heart fairly burst with pride when I think of it even now, years later. Neither of us has any doubt that our adventure on the Brazos river cemented the foundation of our relationship in a way that has carried us through many a trial since.
After twenty minutes or so, and afraid that if I did not get up I’d fall asleep, I went to the windows and found a clock that informed me it was 8:10pm. Our choices now were few...were two. Kick the door, or start walking. We opted for the legal choice.
They had a really long driveway.
Let me shorten the story slightly. The reason their driveway was so long, apparently, was that they shared it with nearby property owners. We climbed over three gates, and the dirt roads between the gates were very long also. By the time we reached what appeared to be a county road, there was barely enough light left to see that it was gravel and not just dirt. At this point I knew that the direction we took on that road could make a great deal of difference in how soon we found some help, but there was no sign anywhere to give me any guidance. In the last few steps to the roadway I asked a short, silent prayer. “Lord, choose for me, I don’t know which way to turn.” Then I turned left and Lynn followed. Simple as that; the choice had been made.
All talk had ceased now. We held hands and concentrated solely on putting one sore foot in front of the other.
Time meant nothing anymore, so I’ll never know the duration of our time on this particular road, but it was moonlight that let me see the white archway of the entrance to ranch property on our right. Over a small knoll at the property’s edge I could make out what appeared to be the top of a trailer and the top half of a window...and there was light coming from it. I said as much, but Lynn, being shorter, could not see it and thought I was hallucinating. She did not respond. I quickened my pace so that I was a few feet ahead of her, and stopped in front of the archway to let her catch up. I’ll never be able to describe or duplicate the cry of relief that escaped her throat when she realized I was not seeing a mirage. We made our way up the drive to the trailer and were greeted by a very attractive young lady who cheerfully welcomed us in, served us bottomless glasses of ice water and let us make a long distance call to the canoe place. The much-relieved canoe rental guy took directions from our hostess, and spent the next forty-five minutes driving there to pick us up.
That forty-five minutes gave us time to get acquainted with the folks living in the trailer. Remember in the beginning, I mentioned the little surprises that add spice to life? Well, we had been getting those all day, but one I will never forget was to be found here. They were caretakers for a deer ranch. The deer were raised there and sold to government agencies needing to restock areas of wilderness where the deer population was waning. The most amazing discovery for us, was that they had several baby deer in their trailer! They kept them like children in a nursery until they were old enough and strong enough to live out on the ranch property. So we listened and chuckled occasionally, while they told us of 2am feedings, and the pitter-patter of little hooves around the house. For a while our ordeal was all but forgotten, as we learned of the very unusual life-style of these very unusual people.
Headlights finally swept across the windows at the front of the trailer. The canoe rental guy brought his brother and his brother’s girlfriend, so we climbed wearily into the back seat of the Blazer (no canoe-laden trailer this time), offering profound thanks to our generous hostess, and settled in for the trip back to Mineral Wells and our car.
We sat in silence, listening to the light-hearted chatter of our driver and his company. The route they took was back the way we had come, and I noticed as we went that I did not see lights from houses or any other sign of civilization until we were within a mile or two of Castle Canoe Rentals. So the Lord had guided us, even in our ignorance. Had we turned right instead of left on that county road, we would have slept with the armadillos and by morning the search parties would have been out. I offered silent, heart-felt thanks for that answer to prayer. “The mind of man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.“
At some point during the trip Lynnea dozed off, but not before I felt compelled to lean close and whisper in her ear the sentiments of Tolkien’s lovable character, Bilbo Baggins on adventures. “Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner!”
The three young people in front glanced back briefly, looking puzzled at Lynn’s laughter, then went on with their own conversation. They wouldn’t have understood anyway.
END NOTE: By midnight we were enjoying the comforts of what is probably the sleaziest motel in West Texas. For reasons unknown to me I awoke early from my exhausted sleep, and, not wanting to disturb my bride’s rest, went to the car to see what time it was and perhaps go for a cup of coffee. I sat down, turned the key to the ‘on’ position, saw that it was 7:20am, stood up still half asleep, and locked the keys in the car.
But that is another story...
