Turning over stones along a crooked river
A kid who hasn’t had a chance to poke around in a creek bed finding interesting stones, rolling over rocks and checking under logs looking for little critters hasn’t really experienced life. The same goes for adults. It’s never too late.
We were three generations of stone-skipping, rock-flipping critter-catchers spread out across a quietly babbling tributary of a once-again beautiful river as Kristin and I, along with our daughter Charlotte and her kids, cooled our feet in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park last weekend. Ankle deep and clear, it was the perfect spot for all of us to run a little wild.
James, the 5-year-old engineer, sought to ascertain the optimum amount of ballast to stabilize a plastic container as it navigated through the riffles. Max, the 3-year-old bull calf, worked to determine how large of a rock he could hoist into the air and subsequently how large a splash it could make when dropped. Baby Sadie spent her time pondering shiny, paw-sized stones and eventually trying to eat them. The grown-ups worked damage control at arm’s length, allowing plenty of room for fun.
Eventually, the focus turned to things living under the rocks—a particular fascination of my own—and we turned up several salamanders and eventually one small crayfish that did the backward dash right into our net. The plastic container became an observation tank.
The boys were thrilled with the “mini lobster” and weren’t afraid to pick it up by the sides of its hard body once I’d demonstrated the proper technique.
“So, Papa, would it hurt if he got us with one of those claws?” James asked.
“Well, it would certainly pinch a little bit,” I explained. “But if you stay calm and dip him back in the water, he’ll let go.”
As an extra note of caution, I told the boys about the first time their grandmother and I went to the ocean together nearly 40 years ago. Sitting on the beach watching the sunset, Kristin and I had suddenly found ourselves in the company of thousands of small crabs that seemed to pop up from the sand in every direction. To demonstrate my prowess as a soon-to-fledge college-educated biologist, I’d caught one by the carapace just as I would a crawdad back home, only to find, in dramatic fashion, that the little monster could still reach over his back and clamp down on my finger! I screamed like a little girl and flung the crab free, and in doing so, sacrificed a tiny flap of my own skin. I bled like a stuck pig! Our romantic sunset ended with a first aid kit!
“So the key here, boys, is do not panic if the critter clamps down on you!” I added.
There’s something about little boys that directs them to danger, and from those perilous trips to the edge, they learn, sometimes the hard way.
James asked if he could hold the crawdad in his open hand. I told him that two things might happen. The critter could tail-flip himself back into water, or he could clamp down on whatever little wrinkle of skin he could find. The boy persisted nevertheless, and when the crawdad responded by latching on with both claws, James screamed as loud and as long as I had, but did not fling him! The beast released, the boy kept all his blood and a lesson was fully learned!
Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.
