Communion by a Creek
My little girl ran to the back of the campervan, crying. She rolled onto the bed on her belly, and like a ninja in slow motion, she glanced at me to ensure I wasn’t following. I stood my ground, and she stood up and ran. But she couldn’t escape. She was cornered in the back of the van. I raised up her swimsuit, and she shouted, “NO!”
It’s a hot Friday afternoon, and we arrived at Ellery Lake, a first-come, first-served campground, praying for a spot. We wanted to get here earlier, but a bear swiped my pre-made dinners and forced me to re-pack late into the night. Plus, with toddlers in tow, a 4-hour car ride easily turns into 7 hours of nagging, “Can we go fishing yet?”
Somewhere in my mom-toolbox rests a trick for handling situations like this, but I’m too exhausted to recollect. Instead, I slipped one of my toddler’s legs into her suit while she used her other leg to kick me in the gut. The stomp of her foot shook the camper van, and her shrill scream covered the canyon, but she’s dressed.
Thankfully, dad appeared, so I disappeared. In camp, trees crouched nearer and barely let in the light. Finally, my head cooled, and I wondered why I did that? My husband handed me a fishing pole and said the thing he always says to get me out of a slump, “Let’s go fishing. It’ll be good for all of us.”
We meandered into Tuolumne Meadows, where tall green grasses waved and murmured. Their quiet motion held small whisperings. A red-tailed hawk followed us down the trail, and when it perched in a tree near the water, we decided to follow it. My family found their place among swirling eddies, floating foam lines, deep pools, and, in my daughter’s case, muddy banks.
I cast toward the inside seam and listened to the water roll on, and my daughter giggle in dirty delight. Two casts in, I lost my fly and perhaps the last of my pride. I plucked a Purple Haze fly from my fly box. It resembles my go-to generic brown bug pattern – a Parachute Adams. But a Purple Haze shimmers purple and has a reputation for being the Yosemite high country hero.
While sitting and twisting a size 6X tippet fishing line around a size 18 hook, I forgave myself. Every day, I try to teach my kids that it’s okay to feel angry, sad, or embarrassed. However, some behaviors associated with those emotions are not okay. And today, I didn’t tell my daughter, “It’s okay to feel angry, but it’s not okay to kick me.” Instead, I forced a swimsuit onto her. I could’ve walked away, but I didn’t.
Deep breath, cast again to the same inside seam, drift, and hook set. Thanks for understanding, Yosemite. I guided a 7-inch brook trout into my net. It’s the first brook trout I’ve ever caught, so it felt special. After releasing him, he hung by my feet for a few seconds in suspense, completely camouflaged next to the dirt and stones. Soon, his slow wiggle side to side turned into a mad dash away from me. With relief, I headed for the mud pits.
My daughter is naked, smiling, and doused in mud from her hips to her toes. She formed a ball of mud into a flat disk. I offered her some crushed-up, vanilla-scented pine needles and suggested they’d make excellent sprinkles. She extended her mud pie, and I added my sprinkles and howled, “Daughter, I am so sorry, I should have listened to you and trusted you. I shouldn’t have lost my temper on you. Can you forgive me?” This time, I am the one crying. With her tiny muddy hands, she squelched my cheeks together, locked her eyes with mine, and said, “It’s okay, Mommy, don’t cwy. I wub you.”
We played in the mud until the setting sun radiantly transformed earth, air, stone, and water. First, golden colors, then pinks and purples, until darkness edged in. With many threads gathered up and relationships rounded, we’re ready for the many adventures planned for tomorrow.
