Mud Puddle Wishes
It was an ordinary day until it wasn’t. I had juggled my Friday responsibilities until they were put away for more promising missions. It was adventure time and myself and my seven-year-old counterpart left the confines and comfort of Pawpaw and Nana’s home for adventures outdoors. This odyssey was neither planned of scripted, but Just a couple of guys looking for a journey and some new memories.
As we headed down the drive, he placed his small hand in mine. I know this won’t last forever and I cherish the moments where some comfort comes from holding to a fellow with forty-five more years of experience. My mind drifts ahead to a time, should God grant me the opportunity, when my hand slips into his and our roles change. Maybe he will steady my gait on some new task as he becomes mightier and the miles take a toll on me.
Early into our walk he begins to spot flowers that can be plucked from their stems on the way home for a bouquet for Nana. We talk about deep topics with some shenanigans interspersed. Pranks that require the other to turn abruptly to see something that doesn’t exist are always welcome. “Look a giraffe” or some other creative ruse, are shouted from time to time. The Pawpaw always plays along to a cacophony of giggles from the prankster.
The gravel road is canopied with trees but have allowed some of last nights rain to pool up in shallow holes along our path. Puddles are popular with boys of all ages. A barrage of rocks are hurdled into these tiny ponds with great delight, then the challenge of making a wish comes up. Despite my advanced years, I was unaware that rocks into puddles grant wishes much like coins in the proverbial well.
The wildlife is plentiful. Squirrels and a variety of birds keep us company. My fellow traveler gives his best wolf howl, which awakens a neighborhood dog. I join in. Then, we meet a couple of goats. A mom and her kid. I ask if we can name the little one Billy. Isaac says that is a common name for a goat from his YouTube education. We settle on Dilly for the mom. They are fed, petted, and bid goodbye. Then a couple of horses and a mule, all which are properly monikered. The angus cows appear after our next turn. The numbered tags save us from naming them. “Hello 24” and so on. Some are just out of range for us to read their ear tags, so we shout out random numbers, surmising that the one who looks up must know their numerical call sign. Number 82 seems particularly friendly. We are constantly on the lookout for Bigfoot, but he’s keeping his distance on this fine summer day.
We make to the Illinois River, pausing to peruse the rapids of the Siloam Springs Kayak Park. The park is closed with very clear no trespassing postings. There are rumors of a violation of this particular rule, but I am sworn to secrecy on this infraction. Over a mile from home, like all expeditions, the explorers must head home traversing the same roads. Besides, text updates from home base indicate it’s time for a bath. He asks how far home. I say thirty minutes and then follow with “Do you know how long thirty minutes is?” He doesn’t miss a beat with his retort. “Thirty minutes is just thirty minutes, Pawpaw.”
The mentally marked locations of a variety of flowers guide us back as we carefully select each for a bouquet. A cattail, some sunflowers, and a burst of purple blooms make the grade. We discuss the reaction from Nana once presented. The road seems a bit longer home and we grow tired, but soon arrive clutching our colorful gifts in search of a vase. A love you note is attached and Nana is pleased. We deem the mission successful.
Oh, I almost forgot. The wishes? Apparently, these mystical favors are not rendered useless if said aloud, so it is OK to share. Mine was to have an epic adventure. His was to be even better buddies.
If you get a chance to make a wish in a dirty mud puddle, I suggest that you pick up a rock and do so. It’s been my experience that they come true.