PennyDaisy

This post is dedicated to all those crazy canoe-people and those of us
who love them (and sometimes join them). 
I know, Tarah–I was
tagged.  But that will have to wait.  I promised Leah this
post.

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Here’s mud in your eye…and mouth.

The story of my first swim in the Dickinson bayou…  

…maybe I should back up.

I had planned to paddle at the annual Derrick canoeing Christmas party; maybe get a little muddy or wet if we were
attacked.  I even had a change of clothes and shoes.  What I
didn’t plan on was an all out war. 

Mrs. Derrick divided us into
two teams–one to go out and plan to defend “Mud Island” and one to
attack it.  I was on the assault team–Stephen was our fearless
leader.  The plan was to send out two boats to portage to a
sneak-attack location and send the other four in a direct attack. 
(Of course the portage teams had to be made up of mostly guys.) 

Our
objective:  steal their boats and annihilate them with mud. 

I
was glad when Stephen put me in his boat–his skill with a paddle would
make up for my lack.  However, it wasn’t until we had the boat in the water that it occurred to me that I was behind the
lead assault man…literally.  They’ll go after him first and they’ll hit me every time…I’m toast! 

Stephen babied me a little at first…didn’t make me get out to gather
mud…wasn’t even going to make me throw mud.  But once the attack
started it was every man for himself.  We could hear the roar from
the
island even before we rounded the last bend.  And then, there they
were.  Boats tilted to form a baracade, mud-painted faces (and
chests), and hollering for all they were worth.  “Form a
line!” shouted Stephen, sounding strangely like Maximus.  He stood
up and took off his shirt and hollered back at them.  “Stand up and
taunt them,” he told us.  I started to laugh when our cheer came
out rather high-pitched.  Stephen had sent all his men away for the sneak
attack and only the girls were left. 

As we slowly paddled closer and the island started their
“cannons”, with mud balls and water balloons barely missing us and
splashing muddy water on me as they landed in the bayou next to our
boat, I had a sudden sympathy for ancient armies that marched towards
each other, cannons blazing, arrows flying.  Knowing that if you
stay where you are, you’re okay, but you’ll never take the island just
sitting here.  And I knew how those armies felt…We’re gonna
die.  And the closer you paddle, the less they miss. 

Originally, one person was to stay with each of our attack boats while
the rest went after islanders’ boats.  Stephen had told me to stay with
ours, but about the time I was ready to paddle off, he started
yelling, “Get the boat closer!” 

“When do I leave?  Stephen!  I don’t want to be
closer!”   But I saw all the mud he was using for ammo in the
bottom of our boat and I knew…I was never leaving. 

The worst of
it was, since I was still in the boat I was a sitting duck for every
weapon they had.  Do I sit here and take it, or risk the cold of the water? 
I hate being in cold water.  But my decision was made for
me.  Whether by accident or evil purposes, our boat was tumped and
I swam in the bayou for the first time in my life. 

Oh, but it didn’t stop there.  As I tried to catch my breath and
hold up the boat which had filled with water, breathing through my
mouth because it’s soooo cold, I looked up to call to someone…and got
it right in the mouth.  One glorious mud ball. 

Oh, that tastes as bad as it smells.  Water,
water…uggg, it’s bayou water.  Better than mud. 
Spit.  Yuck!  Think, think.  Just salivate a lot, and
keep spitting. 

Can’t see a thing; water and mud dripping
off my head.  My body is starting to shake with cold.  I
probably should have joined the fight if only to keep my blood moving,
but I was almost to cold to
move.  As I stood holding my paddle and trying vainly to defend
our boat, I noticed on the shore…the neighbors had gathered on their
driveways and docks to watch.  And the audience grew with alarming
regularity.  I could see one of the men pointing out to a new guy
the island and down the bayou the way we had come.  I can only
imagine what that story sounded like.  At least we all looked the
same; I couldn’t even find Stephen, of the infamous red hair–everyone
had brown
hair and skin.  When the fight was declared over, and we tried to
clean
ourselves and the boats off, I could barely wipe my face because my
hands were so numb
and shaking.   I wanted to duck under the water to get the
mud off like Jamie did, but I knew I’d never get myself back up. 
So I paddled back to the Derricks’ with mud still in my ears and hair,
and
grit in my teeth and eyes. 

It was amazing how quickly I warmed up paddling.  It was equally
as amazing how hard it got to hold up the paddle.  I missed
several strokes and nearly smashed my fingers between the paddle and
the boat once or twice.  I have a new respect for racers and all the training
they do.

The hose had such wonderful, clean water.  To my hands it felt
warmer than the bayou.  But the boys said I needed to rinse my
hair, said I had a nice little “headdress” right on top.  And that
water was cold on my head.  Oh, but it felt good to have clean
water on my face and in my mouth. 

Then I found a warm spot by the fire and waited for the girls’ changing
room to clear out a bit.  I finally got miserable enough to get in
line to have my turn.  I’d been hunched up and shivering for
nearly an hour-and-a-half;  my whole body was one big cramped muscle.  As I stood with some of the other
girls my hip flexors started cramping (that’s the muscle between your
hip and quad), and it was suddenly very hard to stand up.  And of
course, I made it sound funny, so we were all laughing, which made it
even harder to stay upright.

I thought I’d never get dry again, but I did.  Clean clothes on a
still dirty body–part of me rebelled, but it felt too good to be warm
and dry…I stopped letting myself think about it.  In the end I
was glad that I could say I’d done it, and I had plenty of
witnesses.  I suppose it is funniest to those of you who know
me, the “city girl.”  Several of you said you would have paid to see
it.  Flattering. 

I still don’t really enjoy dirt–especially wet–and no, I’m not
terribly inclined
to take up canoeing.  (And Stephen still doesn’t understand
why.  At least I can tell him I dipped myself “in the healing
waters of the bayou” like he’s been telling me to for years.) 
Still, I have to admit, in retrospect, it was
awesome.

As Brandy pointed out to me, “Well, at least you can tell your children you wore duck poop.”

Heh.  Yeah…I ate it, too.

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Edit (for Steph):  I forgot to say that, even though the island team won, our leader did take out theirs.