My boys love the creek. 30 miles long, it curves around certain parts of the countryside, nearly all of it thickly forested and isolated. We have two or three favorite spots for visiting. The king of those spots is at the preserve which boasts a very wide section of creek, rock beds, bridges, nature trails, biking trails, and the cherry on top…you get to ford the river in your car. Ultimate entertainment.
We enjoyed another great visit yesterday on my Mom’s last day in town. We played with a little crawdad, caught a frog (which Cubs held on to for a good while), watched a cluster of whirligig beetles synchronized swimming, picked flowers, waded through the creek and spent some time playing with rocks patterns and formations to divert the flow of smaller creek streams.
I really love seeing the boys in this spot. Whenever the move starts catching up with me or when they really start to miss home and ask for their great-grandparents or their old room, I can toss them into the car and head down to the creek. Its easier to talk to them there about these big life events. Somehow, in the open space, in the movement of rocks and building of tiny ant bridges and bug forts, we can say deeper things to one another. At times with our words or as with most toddlers, with our play.
The Bear loves having things to manipulate with his hands, even if its just digging a large mud pit of “lava.” He usually devotes his time to building a damn out of rocks and watching the water collect and pool deeper until HE decides to release it all back into the collective flow. This is therapeutic for him, this gives him a measure of control in his life. The creek has become his creative sanctuary where he can mold and make what his mind needs to express. He is always watching and observing, so much like his Daddy. I sometimes wonder if he will bide his time, observing and analyzing everything for an entire year before delivering his thoughts on our move.
Cubs needs the space to stomp around and just be a boy. He can get his crocs extra muddy and play with frogs. He can splash in the water and yell as loudly as he likes. He stands on the rock bed and chooses only the heaviest, largest stones to heave over his head into the water. He may be effecting the erosion of the shoreline this summer. I am not surprised to see him want to do physical battle with nature. Of all our children, his adjustment has been the most visibly difficult. He lashes out the most. His tears are the most common. He challenges his boundaries and rules every second he gets. He is defiant at every turn. This is more heartbreaking than infuriating at times, because I see the question in his eyes behind every act of disobedience. Do you still love me? Is it still the same? Are we still a family? Are you still in charge? Are you still protecting me? Are you still taking care of me? He sometimes hurls the stones with a growl in his voice as they fly through the air and then before they land with a heavy sucking gulp into the stream, there is an echo of giggles there to embrace it. More therapy.
Babe seems to be taking everything in at face value. If Mama is ok then he is ok. The creek is without a doubt his favorite past time. As soon as we strap him into the car he is all ready begging for “The Keek! Mo’ Keek!” He has flourished this past month. His vocabulary is astounding and growing by leaps and bounds. I assumed that since our second born took his sweet time in the words departments, that our third born would follow suit. Not so. He is ever determined to catch up with his brothers and has no trouble expressing his wants, needs or feelings. More often than not, I know more of his thoughts than of the three year old’s thoughts. Babe loves to perch on the larger stones, his new green crocs splashing in a few inches of water, his hands fisting smaller stones to toss in alongside his brothers. He loves wading in the stream and watching the water striders dance about the surface. He giggles at the passing butterflies and always reaches out his small hand to me when its time to move on. “Hold hand?” he’ll ask me, his big brown eyes drinking everything in. He is fearless when he holds my hand. He is instantly four years old and ready to take on the world like his brothers.
I soak at the creek. Not only my tired feet but my heart and soul. I am a sponge in need of peace and as much rest as three preschool aged boys will allow. I take stock of what has changed around us since our first visit. The poly wogs we chased with nets ten days ago have long since sprouted their front legs and hopped off to greater destinations. The large branches and trees felled by the violent storm a few weeks ago have changed. Their once green leaves now withered and brown and decaying. The trunks beginning to grow small mushrooms alongside the other small forest organisms latching on and taking command. My own ever growing belly, commandeered by a smaller being, changing.
We drive slowly out of the preserve some 90 minutes later. Looking down at “the whole world” from our mountain perch before spilling out into the valley again. I almost always catch their sigh as we pull out onto the main road, all feeling a bit more able to handle whatever the next day might bring and wondering when we can play at the creek once more.
No comments:
Post a Comment