Quest for the Swing (or Tim the Trailblazer)

It was a hot day in Milton, so hot in fact that I opted for shorts...when I should have worn pants. With but few delays Tim, Cassandra, Sam, Grace, Isaiah, Strider, Scooter, and I trotted gleefully through the front yard toward adventures unknown, although certainly imagined. So began our quasi-hike to find the "watering hole," as Tim called it. Through the dust and gravel we made our way, e'er so slowly (as I said, it was a hot day). It took nigh a minute for the young ones to trek off course, as this trip was a very difficult "Follow the Leader" expedition. I myself found it an arduous task, as we rounded the first bend and took off into a former construction site. "Where are they putting the house?" a genuinely curious Isaiah asked. A question that rang too true. According to Tim (again), they had run out of money, a sad story that I fear inside we shan't dive at the present moment. We came upon our first dead end (one of oh-so-many), as our fearless leader Tim attempted to scale a pile of logs, with the children close behind. A snap of a branch and down went our stumbling trailblazer. Was he hurt?

No, Tim was just resting for a bit, although the path selected was one of folly. We would have to find another way. Fighting through the spider webs and various underbrush, we made our way down the hill to find a dried-up creek bed. No tears were shed, friends, for our troop's steadfast resolve held in the spirit of our courageous forefathers who had once traveled this lonely creek. My confidence began to wane soon after, though. As I watched, helpless at the time, Tim hopped back and forth from one shore to the other, trying to lead us along this forgotten stream. I watched as each young face melted into agony as the poorly chosen steps of our leader occured, sealing each of our own fates. Alas, we trudged ahead, through water, boulder, mud, trees, poison ivy, fern and the thousands of ticks that eagerly awaited a new flap of skin of which they took hold (just ask Cassandra...).

As we made our way through the woods, blazing new trails (as Tim would have us believe) for those to come later, we were forced by the thick foliage to finally cross (for the seventeenth time) to the other side of the creek bed. At this point friends, one wee little tear did begin to form as I looked upon the steep embankment as Tim fumbled his way up. Grace was right behind and as Tim tried to help her along, the ground gave way. Screams erupted from all around and in a slow-motion manner I saw the blood drain from Grace's face as she looked upon her doom. Both she and Tim began to slide down, down, down, into the creek. I now look back, and I don't know if it was shock or some twisted reverence or awe for the power of nature, but we looked upon Tim as he came crashing down. The dust and mud finally settled, and so did my thoughts of Tim as our leader. I would follow this joker no more. I would blaze my own trail.

Cassandra sought out my counsel and wisdom as we kept Tim in sight but followed a much easier, much more accessible and timely path. After what seemed like hours, we finally came upon the end of our journey at long last. The tears now openly flowed as we looked upon a five by five foot long and three feet deep section of the creek that contained approximately ten tadpoles and one very small fish. "Welcome to the Watering Hole," muttered Tim in a smug, condescending tone. "You can see the remnants of the dam here, but somehow the tree for our swing is now bent in the opposite direction." What supernatural forces must be at work here, thought I, to have set the tree not only upright, but bent in the exact opposite direction from the creek. There was no swing, there was no swimming, there was no joy. Oh, the dogs had a good time. I hope you had fun, Scooter. I hope you had tons of fun.

In short, I blame Tim. Next time, I'm in charge. Because when I am in charge, I create laughter and glee, not shame and tears.

(We all had a really good time and it was neat to run around in the woods for awhile. We were sad we didn't get to swing, but Sam got to sit on a bench that belonged to the neighbors. Other than that, nobody got bitten by snakes, and that in itself is reason to celebrate.)