Dad, should we run?

The last week of school for the boys brings with it the usual stress and short-timers disease seen in other families. As part of the last week the school is staging an in class “Camp”, including fake camp fires, smores, arts and crafts, letters from home and a little creative homework too. Gabe’s class tried to do a nature walk on the trails in the wooded area behind the school. The trails back there are the typical trails found behind most schools where the kids hang out. These trails, at least most of them, have been neglected for a few seasons and are thus very grown over with blackberries, salmon berries and stinging nettles. Gabe’s class found in impossible to continue past an old amphitheatre seating area no more than 150 feet into the woods. To this Gabe exclaimed, “My dad can make trails, he can fix this.” The news of impassable nettle invaded trails spread quickly among the teachers, reaching Jonathan’s teacher and then Jonathan’s ears to which he exclaimed, “My dad can make trails, he can fix this.” Now we have two teachers dropping hints to Cheryl who is volunteering in class, what a great idea. The husband receives news of the need that night, thinking, “How is it that I get volunteered for these things?” I speak with the boys and explain they will be an integral part of the process if we have time. We had time. A block of time opened up on the rainy weekend and we made our way to the school with limb saws, safety gear, a weed eater, and a shovel. I decided to pass on the machetes incase other kids were around. The graveled trails were designed as a loop, of sorts, and some old logs crossing the stream had long since become unsafe to use. We crossed a small metal bridge and made out way to the point where the trail became impassable and began to work; knocking down the big stuff to re-establish the route. Many trees had fallen last winter in the wind storms and provided interesting texture to the otherwise flat trails. Rounding a corner we reached the second stream crossing made of the old rotting logs and decided to retrace our steps and begin the weed-eating process of clearing a swath for travel. The boys were assigned to cut out most of the larger limbs blocking the trail while I swung the brush devouring weapon back an forth opening up an avenue about 10 feet wide. At this time I fully realized the amount of stinging nettles hidden in the brush. As the rotating strings shredded the plants, coating me with bits and pieces of green debris, the small chunks of nettles found bare skin around my neck and face releasing their stinging cells on impact. It was not enjoyable. We successfully cleared about a quarter mile of trail, including a spur leading away from the amphitheater area and dumping out on a back field edging private property. Upon completion of our task and feeling good about the progress we had made for the sake of Jon and Gabe’s classmates, we departed the woods in route for the parking lot only to view a county Sherriff blocking my car. He was talking to a woman who was standing next to his vehicle. We stepped onto the playground from the woods, spotted the officer and stood still for a short moment, just long enough for Jon to ask, “Dad, should we run?” Now most will find this funny, kind of cute, and well I did too. But then I thought, “Where did this come from?” “No, we are not going to run. We’re going to walk over there and find out what’s up.” As we got closer to the patrol car the boys walked farther and farther behind me. The woman talking to the officer look a little like the Principal of the school but as I got closer I realized is was not her. I’m sure I was quite the sight covered in tiny bits of freshly pulverized vegetation. “What’s up?” She turned to me and in a delighted and approving voice asked, “Did you clear all the trails back in there?” “Yup, we did.” Turning to the officer I awaited his response, “I was just checking your plates; it is not often we have a single car parked here. It came back as a Cadillac.” (I drive a 1996 Honda Civic DX coupe, nothing like a Caddy.) Interesting. He then explained the history of the plate prior to it being reissued to my little green Honda. The boys edged closer as the discussion became lighthearted. I think they realized we were not in any trouble. So what was really going on was the first minutes of an investigation into vandalism on the school grounds and the neighboring house belonging to the woman standing before me. We chatted about the spray paint and the possible events of the prior night. I stated there was no evidence in the woods, and we all went our ways. All in all an interesting event. The boys served the school and I learned a lesson about how I need to better teach my children. Baths and hot cocoa awaited us at home. Tony