Camping Adventure: Wormy

            What is it with boys and rocks?  Give my son an inexhaustible amount of rocks and a body of water – which does not have to be large, just big enough to make a splash and send water droplets flying helter-skelter in every possible direction – and he is ecstatic. 

Last week, we spent several days camping in the Catoctin Mountains in Maryland.  Before piling into the car and heading south, we made sure we had written out a rough itinerary of what we would do to entertain ourselves while we were away.  Hiking, one of my favorite activities, appeared multiple times on the itinerary – every day for at least an hour to be exact.  It was only one hour and it didn’t need to be anything strenuous or long, leisurely was acceptable provided we moved at a steady pace.  Yes, four year olds and moving at a steady pace are not compatible.  I know this. I  know this extremely well but there are moments when I forget, moments when I so desperately need to be doing something active that I think the past – multiple experiences, not just one or two - is nothing but a fluke. Repeatedly, I start out optimistically believing that we can hike two miles easily and twenty minutes later, when we’ve barely gone a hundred meters, it becomes painfully obvious that even a mile would have been way too ambitious. 

Disappointingly, the majority of our hikes – any over a half a mile - last week ended in failure.  My son dug his heels in, practically to the point of setting down roots, and no matter how hard we coaxed and poked and prodded he would not budge.  Not even chocolate would crack his resolve, and so we were left with no choice other than to abandon yet another hiking trail.  The one hike, however, that my son completed was the short loop that connected to our campsite.  After a day at the zoo we returned to our campsite and since it was too early to start dinner I suggested a light and easy walk.  Perhaps it was the term that muddled his stubbornness – walk instead of hike does sound like it requires less energy and effort – but whatever the reason, my son did not object.  In fact, he set off with an abundance of enthusiasm declaring, as always, that he had to be the leader.  Less than ten minutes into the walk we came to a crossroads.  We could have stayed straight and remained on the path or we could have turned left and followed a steep slope down to a small stream.  I chose the slope and my son eagerly followed.  Once at the stream, you’d have thought he arrived at an amusement park he was so excited.  Without wasting a moment, he reached down, picked up a rock and launched it into the water.  Plop!  He smiled.  Another rock and his smile grew.  For nearly a half hour he entertained himself while my spouse laughed and enjoyed his playfulness. 

Having momentarily tired out his throwing arm, he agreed to continue the walk only after I promised to return to that very spot once we completed the circuit.  The terrain was flat and even though my son had to stop and scrutinize every plant, insect and leaf he encountered along the way it still took less than an hour to end up back at the water’s edge. While throwing rocks was still high on his priority list of activities, he in no way limited himself.  In fact, I was rather intrigued watching him play.  At one point he gathered several leaves.  Slowly, he dropped them into the water one by one, clapping once they were set adrift.  He then carefully sat back on his haunches to watch where the current carried the leaves.  When one or a bunch got stuck behind a rock, he poked them with a stick until they started to move again. Why don’t they all go the same way? He pondered.  Why do some get stuck and others don’t? He questioned.  Is there a difference between green leaves and brown ones? He mused dropping them into the water together.  What struck me most was how patiently he sat in one spot and just watched the water running over the rocks. If I would have let him, if dinner didn’t need to be cooked and then eaten, I think he’d have happily occupied himself down by the steam all night. 

“Can we come back again?” He asked, as I reached for his hand to help him up the steep muddy slope.

“Yes, but not tonight.”

“Promise!” he stopped suddenly, finger raised, pointing at me as if ready to cast a mischievous spell on me if I didn’t.

“Yes, I promise.”

Since the following day consisted of a late afternoon at the lake, I was unable to fulfill my promise until the morning of our departure.  I woke my son early and together we made our way back to the stream.  He immediately picked up two rocks and handed one to me. “We throw together,” he instructed. “One, two, three!” I dropped my rock as he threw his which splashed into the water first.  “Again,” he cried already bending down for a second pair.  I lost count of how many rocks we threw but it was enough – I am sure – to have slightly altered the course of the water as drifted downstream.

Reluctantly, since it was getting late, he agreed to return to the campsite where we had to break camp.  Along the trail, he spotted a tiny earthworm curled up on the dirt.  Afraid that someone – I’m not sure who since there were so few people in the campgrounds and no one else on the trail – might step on him and squash him, he insisted on moving him to safer territory.  First he tried moving him with a stick, but the worm – who my son affectionately referred to as wormy – refused to cooperate.  Every time my son attempted to slip the stick under his belly he rolled off.  So instead of getting frustrated, he ditched the stick and picked him up with his fingers.  As the worm slithered across his hand he chuckled.  For several minutes, he played with the little critter, bringing his hand close to his face and observing the way he moved.  Finally, with a quick kiss – yes, it kind of grossed me out too, but that is what wet-wipes are for – he gently placed the worm on a safe patch of dirt and hand in hand he and I returned to camp.