Way back in spring, we were invited on a San Juan River trip. And though we’re terrestrial types who don’t much aspire to leave the county, the multi-night river trip seems like a rite of passage for Durango children. The months sped by, as they do, and last weekend, we found ourselves rowing a friend’s 12-foot raft down the muddy San Juan.
While Rose’s highest goal for herself on the river trip was swim splash shriek snack, Col finagled himself into the rower’s seat within 10 minutes of setting off. First, he sat on Dan’s lap, small hands feeling his dad’s powerful strokes through the water. I snapped a few “how cute” pictures, the little guy fancying himself as boat captain. But, Col is quietly persistent, and in little time, he took the oarsman seat completely, rowing our boat while Dan reclined behind him.
In July, the desert heat is epic. The highs were close to 100 degrees. and the lows just below 70. There was a brief moment, just before dawn, all four of us sardined into a tent, where I felt somewhat comfortable. This lasted approximately 20 minutes. When we’d crack open a new water jug and find it was merely lukewarm, instead of hot, it was a pleasure of surprising proportion. Every now and then I’d see the fleece jacket I brought winking at me like a satanic joke.
And then, like an exercise in Zen Mind Tricks, in case anyone was dwelling in “complaining mind” over the heat that made you sweat at 10 p.m., a thunderstorm rolled in sideways. Lightning cracked open the sky – the very sky above our heads, and we parents plastered on our Everything’s Just Fine smiles while my nervous system wrung its hands and tried to remember if water is a conduit for lightning. Within minutes, we were drenched and shivering and dreaming of fleece jackets and campfires. (And sweating again by 10 p.m., fleece jacket grinning evilly from drybag).
And, yes, we had a really super time, but, no, we’re not transformed into river people (although I hear a certain 8-year-old boy is saving up for a kayak). My kids were happy and awed and playing games by headlamp well into the darkness of desert night while adults did adult things, which seemed like a good gig in itself.
As everything is communal on the river – rotating groups of families take turns cooking; we all begin and end our daily float together; if someone stops to gawk at big horn sheep, everyone stops; if hungry kids shows up on your boat, you feed them (Rose scored big on this one). It helps to let go of your own individual preferences and, if you will, “go with the flow.” In going with the flow, you can clear out the extraneous flotsam of your own mind and get on with loving life.
And rowing a boat through a mellow river is its own brand of bliss (Col occasionally let me take the oars), just the right balance of striving and progress, continually arriving and yet always having farther to go.
Like this dear life.
Reach Rachel Turiel at sanjuandrive@frontier.net.Visit her blog, 6512 and growing, on raising children, chickens and other messy, rewarding endeavors at 6,512 feet.
