The Wilderness

Sitting quietly at the staff tables, I enjoyed a couple cups of coffee, a heavenly warm Danish and cup of fruit salad, as I reviewed the paperwork, maps, and schedule we'd be discussing soon. Slowly the staff girls began to stumble in, heading straight for the coffee urn before joining me at the table in subdued silence. I smiled, their vivaciousness of the previous night gone. Recognizing the girl from the bunk next to mine, I got a half-hearted smile and, "Ugh! We normally don't do that....... or at least not too often".

I smiled back, "Well, it was Saturday night, right? It was a gorgeous evening, and the guys are cute. What's a girl to do?!", as I shrugged. This earned me a smile from the assembled girls, sealing my cred as one of the Sisters. Obviously, they had been concerned that the "old lady" in their bunkhouse might cramp their style.

After breakfast, I returned to the now empty bunkhouse to run a brush through my hair, brush my teeth, and grab my backpack before proceeding to Dave's office.

Walking into the office, I found Bo standing by the desk alone, speaking on the office phone, his back to me. I didn't recognize the language, assuming it to be some dialect from his native country. However, over the phone I could hear a strident female voice, from the tone obviously a mother castigating her son in some way. Noticing me, he interrupted her, quickly bringing the call to an end.

Hanging up the phone, he noticeably breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at me, collapsing into the couch.

"Me mum. I usually ring home on Sunday's, as its almost Tea-Time.....sorry, supper.... for them. She was angry with me that I haven't been keeping in touch with a lass from home I'd been stepping out with. Even from half a world away, my mother and sisters spend their days trying to marry me off!"

"Well, I'm glad I could be helpful", I said lightheartedly.

Succumbing to normal female curiosity, I continued,

"So, have you met someone here?"

Smiling, he replied, "No. Not really. Yes, there are some lovely birds at Uni and here at camp, but nothing serious. We have a laugh, but I don't yet know what I'll be doing with my own life. So how can I think seriously about marriage now?"

Looking at him, I realized he may not be every girl's cup of tea, so to speak, but I was confident that lots of women would be enamored by this exotic, handsome and intelligent man.

After a moment of reflection Bo continued, "In truth, I feel rather stuck between two worlds. Coming to America a few years ago, it was a big adventure. Apple stores. New York Yankees. Hollywood. McDonalds. Live music festivals. Big American cars."

Pausing he looked at me with a pained look and continued,

"Now, I feel that home is here. I don't see that London or Lagos are anymore. My parents think I'm coming home after my studies. So, how can I be with a lass who expects to be near her family in Nigeria? Or, for that matter, how can I be with an American girl? No offense, but most of them can't even find the continent of Africa on a map, let alone would consider living there. These are questions that I've been struggling with over the last year as my time here comes to an end".

"Embo, I think you are right. Those are very serious questions. But don't view it as a no-win situation. Just the opposite, it shows your maturity and respect for yourself....and the other people in your life.....by fully considering them now and not making any rushed decisions you might come to regret later. It's WAY better to hurt a few feelings now, than make life-changing commitments that will force bigger problems in the future."

"I'm afraid you're facing the biggest questions in life we are all seeking. Who Am I? What do I want from my Life? What is my future? Don't Worry. Ultimately, your parents want only your happiness. They know Nigeria and the UK best, so its normal to believe that your path to happiness is along that route. But as you've seen, the world is a big place with many options. You need to find your own way. Believe in yourself. Be strong and walk the path that seems right to you. You will be fine", I declared with authority, privately admitting my confident advice rang hollow in my own life.

"Yes, my life is complicated enough at present. And so, in answer to your question, none of the women I might be interested in having a serious relationship with have been ready to broach such topics. I don't blame them."

Much to my surprise I noticed a hitch in Embo's voice, and his eyes begin to mist, clearly struggling to keep himself under emotional control. Initially a little embarrassed by this intimate display from a person I'd only just met, the mentor/teacher/mother in me kicked in and I sat down next to him and wrapped my arms around him to comfort him.

As I tried to encircle my arms around the large body towering beside me, I recalled a saying my mother often repeated, 'Men, no matter their age or size, are just lost little boys at heart'. This boy's mother was thousands of miles away. Maybe I could be a motherly friend he needed at this time.

We sat in silence. Surprisingly, the physical contact did not feel awkward. It was just a moment when one human being needed the reassurance and touch of another human being.

After a minute of comfortable silence, we heard the footfall of heavy steps coming down the hallway and Embo quickly stood, turning away to compose himself and wipe his eyes. Davey entered moments later, pausing briefly to assess the atmosphere in the room and giving me a questioning look, before staring at his friend's back. Forcing a jovial tone, he said.

"Ok! Are we ready to get this party started?!?!"

Embo turned, matching the mood with a brilliant smile, and offering me his arm to escort me like a gentleman, his best upper-crust British accent melodious as he addressed me.

"Madame. Shall we go?"

We followed Davey out the door to one of the covered picnic pavilions, now cluttered in canoes and a mountain of gear on the tables. Standing amongst the pile was Grandpa Dave, mumbling to himself and holding, to my utter amazement, an iPad, clearly electronically ticking items off a list. Obviously not the Luddite he professed to be.

Thus began an intensive day of gear checks, packing lists, itemizing food and safety supplies. Leaving me in capable hands, Grandpa Dave quickly excused himself and I was relieved at the organized and professional manner with which Davey and Embo began working through the lists and sorting gear. Despite their youth, their experience showed, and I was increasingly relieved that this trip would be a breeze, with little asked of me.

Still caught up in our planning hours later, Mary appeared bearing a mountain of sandwiches, chips, and drinks, having noticed we had missed lunch. Looking at the boys with melodramatic concern, she claimed to have thought a disaster had befallen us, as Davey and Embo NEVER missed a meal! Often, they were the first in line, only to appear again right before closing time, for another "quick snack". Leaving us to our victuals, we sat silent in warm camaraderie, as they stuffed their faces. Some might have found their boyish gluttony off-putting, but the soon-to-be-mother in me smiled, taking pride in what I increasingly considered to be "my boys". As I sat, I hoped the next three weeks would be as calm and comfortable.

Over the next many hours, we continued to toil as described, the intimidatingly long list of To Do's steadily being checked-off as the three of us got to know one another better.

Despite differences in age, gender, and stage in life, I found myself having surprisingly open conversations with these "men" as, based on their work ethic and maturity, I felt they had earned the right to be treated. Getting to know one another, I didn't go into inappropriate detail about my life out of respect for my husband, but I suspect it might have been to most candid and honest conversation these young men had ever had with "a girl". In some ways the difference between us meant they didn't need to posture or impress.

As a teacher, I've seen boys struggle with how society viewed girls, too often relegating us to nothing more than a life support system for breasts and a vagina. Hearing my opinions and stories, I hoped they would more fully appreciate that here was a real Person, equal to them, with similar rights to dreams and struggling with my own life questions, not too different than their own. I just happened to be a female.

Interestingly, Embo quickly returned to discussing the quandary of his future and pressures from home. Davey was clearly surprised that he would share these private thoughts outside of their close friendship. Obviously, I wasn't offended by hearing their observations from a guy's point of view. Listening, I became increasingly convinced that they were desperate for a woman's opinion, without fear of judgement or ridicule at embarrassing questions. I got to better understand the internal struggles of young men, realizing that women can be just as guilty of assuming and judging their motives without fully understanding the issues.

No topic was off limits. Our discussions took some surprising candid turns. Not crude or inappropriate, instead recognizing that all people have private questions and fears that are sometime considered impolite to discuss in public. I guess I had halfway expected questions that would probably make me blush, as we joked about what men "think about every seven seconds", but in truth I found them sensitive, vulnerable, and perceptive. Certainly, more open than any discussions I'd had with my own husband, I was sorry to admit.

Increasingly I noticed an open attitude and easiness develop between us. More than just comfort with telling jokes as "one of the guys", but a deeper understanding, mutual respect, and blossoming friendship, despite the obvious physical and social differences. Without much effort, "Me" started to feel like "Us" and many of the natural social rules and hesitations faded.

As if to prove my point at our comfortable comradery, I noticed myself once absentmindedly reaching into my sports bra to scratch my breast. I would have normally never done such a thing, even in the company of women I'd just met. Another time, I was sitting on the ground in my shorts as I sorted lifejackets, repeatedly leaning onto my back, legs spread wide for balance, as I reached around behind me for different safety equipment. Nothing improper was revealed, but it wasn't very lady-like. On both occasions I caught myself quickly looking to see if Davey or Embo had even noticed. Focused on their respective tasks, the answer appeared to be no. I hoped this openness and ease would serve us well, both in terms of our teamwork over the next few weeks, but also later in their lives and relationships.

By Sunday evening, we were mentally and physically exhausted. With 90% of our task list complete, we called it 'good enough' when Grandpa Dave came down to tell us Mary had saved us dinner. After a surprise steak dinner in the now empty dining hall, we trudged back to the staff compound to find a small bonfire going, three chairs adorned with plates of chocolate brownies and hot chocolate. Mary again!

We collapsed into the chairs, catatonic, staring like zombies into the crackling flames. As most of the staff returned from Movie Night in one of the main pavilions, I noticed curious stares and whispers amongst the girls from my cabin as they walked by. Davey and Embo were oblivious. But I noticed. A woman knows.

CHAPTER 4

The next morning, the three of us were fresh and bright-eyed, working on last minute details when three passenger vans, emblazoned with my school's logo, pulled into the parking lot, disgorging a small army of excited teenage girls and already-weary looking mothers after the overnight drive. I immediately recognized some of my students, who ran toward me screaming "Miss Wilson! Miss Wilson! What are you doing here? Are you coming too!?!?"

After a chaotic 15 minutes of greetings and introductions, Grandpa Dave summoned his best General Patton voice and ordered everyone to a nearby pavilion ready with breakfast treats, juice, and coffee. Everyone now silenced by mouths full of donuts and pastries, Dave launched into an hour-long briefing. At the conclusion of this, there would be a parents and trip leaders' meeting. Shove-off was scheduled for 1:00pm, after a light lunch.

As the Parents/Leaders briefing started, it became obvious that the plan had changed, yet again. It was clear that the school organizers had come up with their own Plan B, hiring a professional canoeing guide to lead the trip and recruiting another mother and former EMT to act as the medical officer.

After some less-than-tactful discussions, it was suggested that Davey, Embo and me, the 'Camp Team', would effectively be limited to a support role; Namely setting up and tearing down the camp kitchen at every portage and overnight stop. I could tell that Grandpa Dave was getting a little angry, as he insisted that the Camp Team was infinitely more qualified than just serving as maid and meal service.

However, whispering amongst ourselves, it became clear from the haughty arrogance of the parent's group that we might be better off setting pride aside and letting them do their own thing, and we'd do ours. We'd act as the support canoe, proceeding ahead of the flotilla, setting up camp and evening meals in advance of the group every day. I'd still be available in the unlikely event of a serious injury.

In truth, I was relieved. Despite my magnanimity and open-mindedness of the last few days, I confess I was feeling increasingly catty and bitchy toward the 40- and 50-year-old wannabe sororities sisters that comprised most of the chaperone mothers. They were barely civil or polite, even on Day One. What would they be like in a couple days when sunburn, bug bites, poor sleep and unshaved legs overwhelmed them, far from the closest Starbucks or nail salon? Once Davey was assured that we'd still get paid on the original terms, we secretly rejoiced at the easy money and comedy of the inexperienced group.

"This is going to be a shit-show!", muttered Davey under his breath, barely contained glee washing over us.

Since the afternoon departure of the group would be a shake-down cruise of only two miles to acclimate the girls and new mothers to the rigors of canoeing, it was decided that they might go on ahead of us. Ever the hero, Mary offered to make them a picnic dinner, so that Davey, Embo and I could transfer all the gear and food into a much larger Freight Canoe. Since we did not need to shadow the group anymore, it would be easier for the Camp Team to travel together as one and leapfrog ahead to the next campsite.

The freight canoe was a monster. Over 25 feet long and weighing almost 300 pounds before people and cargo, the three of us would paddle together with the almost a thousand pounds of food and gear. It would take the evening to repack, so the three of us would stay one more night in camp and catch up to the group tomorrow afternoon.

After a two-hour delay, the group of nine canoes finally set off, excited and singing, as most of them drifted uncontrollably in different directions amid roaring laughter. The whole camp came down to the shore to watch the chaotic spectacle of Le Grand Depart. After 30 minutes, the arrant canoes finally grouped together and rounded the bend in the shoreline, laughter having given way to frustrated yelling by the hired guide from Canada. Looking out after them, Grampa Dave turned to us to said,

"Boys and Girls. I think you just dodged a bullet!".

Later that evening, I politely declined another fireside cocktail, instead deciding on one final lengthy telephone call with Paul and a lazy evening of indoor plumbing at Mary's private cabin, luxuriating in her full-sized bathtub, exotic shampoos and conditioners, cozy terry-cloth robe, soft full-sized towels, a hair dryer, and the decadent extravagance of a flushing toilet, before setting out into the wilderness for three weeks.

The next morning, I donned what was likely to be my outfit for the next three weeks; Rafting sandals, ponytail pulled up through a sun-hat, a two-piece bathing suit under quick drying nylon shorts and a long-sleeved sun shirt.

Arriving lakeside thirty minutes ahead of schedule, I found the guys had already finished loading the large canoe, now sitting alarmingly low in the water. Dramatically, Grandpa Dave was looking at his wristwatch with a scowl on his face. The guys were laughing as I unconsciously began to run down toward them, fearful that they were waiting on me. A good laugh was had by all when it was clear "waiting on the woman" was the joke of the morning.

Gallantly, the guys suggested I take the middle position in the canoe, leaving the hardest paddling positions of front and rear to them. I insisted that I would be pulling my own weight on this trip, but secretly appreciated the respite to get back into paddling shape.

We started to paddle for 10 to 15 seconds, apparently to no effect, until this behemoth slowly began to move forward. I reminded myself that I'd need to consider this momentum issue when my turn came to steer from the rear Coxswain position. We'd not be turning on a dime, nor stopping quickly with this load. This thing handled like a dump truck. Not a sports car.

Over the next hour we settled into a routine, finding a natural padding tempo that could be sustained by all of us......ok, me. Quickly, what had been a cool but sunny morning had heated up as our physical exertions forced us to abandon our shirts, leaving me in my bikini top and the guys bare chested.

I confess that I was briefly self-conscious as my bathing suit top wasn't really the best choice for my sizable breasts in these physical conditions, especially since I noticed them swaying wildly as I dug in deep with each paddle stroke. At that moment I was reminded that I was the only girl amongst these guys. Despite our comradery of the previous days, I did feel a little vulnerable, but the majestic beauty and silence of our environment took my breath away, the only sound being the rush of water as we pushed our paddles to their task.

Even though we were only a few miles from the camp, it began to feel like we were hundreds of miles from civilization. I reminded myself that my companions knew every body of water, tributary, and creek of this lake system. I was comfortable placing my trust....and my life.... into their hands.

Despite our greater expedition experience, we also decided to go easy the first day, pulling into a cove for our packed lunch only a couple hours into our trip.

Grinding the bow up onto the gravel shore, stepping out I almost stumbled headfirst into the water, my legs stiff and cramped, unwilling to work properly after hours kneeling in the canoe. The guys had jumped out gracefully with greater alacrity, while I essentially fell out. No one said anything, but I was desperate to avoid a similar mishap in front of my new friends. Not so much out of personal embarrassment, but wishing to instill in them the same level of confidence in my skills as I had in theirs.

The area forests having been heavily logged a century before, the beaches were strewn with large logs that had escaped the massive floating 'log rafts' that had once taken them downriver to sawmills. These massive arrant logs had washed ashore over the decades from storms or winter freeze-up heaving them onto the beach. Now perched high on the shoreline, bleached white from decades in the sun, they made the perfect wind-shelter or improvised seating. Picking a comfortable looking log to lean against, we sat on the beach eating in silence, no one willing to disturb the majesty of the scene surrounding us.