My Suburban Escapes

I have the best summer job ever…even though I’m way too old for summer jobs.  I get to be a camper…and get paid for it.  For six summers I’ve hiked and kayaked with teenagers, heading off for parts unknown in the morning and returning each afternoon with hearts full of confidence and toes full of mud.  Sleepy boys and girls of all ages, sizes and temperaments appear daily with the morning light at Rye Nature Center, clutching backpacks and waiting to awaken. They sleepwalk into our big passenger van like zombies. They don’t speak much until we arrive at our destination, waking up slowly as I do the Morning Mommy Caffeine Show and focus on “safety first”.  I subject them to all sorts of music from New Orleans funk to Croatian instrumentals and they torture me with pop and rap. Some days I drive the pickup truck towing the kayak trailer, feeling like a badass when I climb behind the wheel. We alternate hiking days with kayaking days, and I confess to occasionally forgetting mid-trip which vehicle I’m driving and where I’m going (kids in van/no trailer, boats on trailer/no kids, no trailers on parkways/kid van fine on parkways).  

There’s great adventure to be had within an hour’s drive of Rye, and we’ve found our share.  “We” consists of an awesome team of Rye Nature Center teachers: naturalists, and biologists who’ve also become lifeguards and kayakers for this program. And I? Well, I’m the resident Mom (actually a fourteen-year-old boy trapped in the body of a middle-aged woman…that’s my secret). But on paper I too am a badass. We have Lifeguard, First Aid, Epi Pen, CPR and Level 2 Kayak certification. Our territory includes the Long Island Sound to The Hudson River and many small lakes, rivers, brooks and parks in between. We connect the dots of water to land.  We explore the Hudson Highlands, Fahnestock Park, Ward Pound Ridge and Bear Mountain. We’ve walked the same paths as Revolutionary soldiers in the 1770s and learned the importance of the Hudson Valley to our victory over the British. They’ve listened to me read from all my sepia-toned history books and heard stories about Leatherman, a recluse who lived in caves and travelled the same circuit annually for years.

So when people ask “What’d you do this summer?”, I have to stop and think before answering. “Just camp” is the first answer that pops to mind. Then I realize just how much I HAVE done in my recent summers.

I’ve caught crayfish, frogs and sunfish….seen beaver dams made of felled trees with fresh teeth marks….found snakeskins, cicada husks, wasp nests and feathers.  We’ve cleaned trash out of brooks and found a Raccoon Balloon (dead and bloated and floating). We’ve discussed politics, zombies, zombie politics, architecture, travel, cooking, cultural differences, books, video games and rap music (old is better than new). We’ve found shelters and altars, lean-to’s and cairns. We’ve explored the quarry at Cranberry Lake from which the stone that built Kensico Dam was dug and we’ve painted over graffiti on its rocky cliffs in gray/brown spray paint to look natural again.

We’ve picked and eaten sun-warmed berries and made tarts with them when home. Had treats from the best sweet shops in the area (The Pie Lady, Moo Moo’s, Go Go Pops, The Blue Pig, Ralph’s Italian Ice) when thunderstorms scuttled our plans.  I’ve invented Dashboard S’mores (cooked in my hot car)….and licked a slug on a dare in the name of research to prove that native Americans numbed tooth pain this way (it worked).

We’ve talked to “through-hikers” on the Appalachian Trail who’d been on the road for months and brought them boxes of chocolates (“Scooby Snacks”). Watched fire ants wage war on black ants, stealing their babies and plundering their homes. Played in waterfalls, trudged our kayaks through overgrown water chestnut, heard the noon bells at West Point as their helicopters hovered over us during training.  Counted 147 cargo cars on a long snaking train headed south along the Hudson.  Seen a bald eagle fly right by our faces at the top of Anthony’s Nose.  Watched a hail and lightning storm from our van with the door open and the Rolling Stones blasting.  Dunked our heads and feet in cold streams.  Painted our faces and bodies in river mud for sunscreen and put Mugwort branches behind our ears to ward off mosquitos. Played soccer under weeping willows.  Rappelled in and out of a waterfall gorge.  Learned to read trail maps and charts the hard way – by getting lost and found. Found petroglyphs made by Lipan natives.  Learned that bullying doesn’t really occur in the outdoors (unless you’re riding shotgun and play “Despacito” AGAIN).

We’ve encountered our share of potential dangers: copperheads, thunderstorms and rock scrambles. Learned of bridge jumpers and hikers who had recently died on paths we walked, and of the stupidity of people who got out of their boats to walk to shore when stuck at low tide (wait for the tide to turn). We learned to be prepared and to THINK to elude danger, rather than be afraid.

So here’s what I’ve learned:  Mother Nature is a Great Equalizer.  I’ve watched kids from Greek, South American, Swedish, Italian, Vietnamese, Japanese, Indian, Irish, English and Scottish heritage bond together when facing Her. It’s a joy to see strangers come together and leave as friends. And I’ve learned that Nature trumps Covid.

It’s been a couple weeks since camp ended, and I’m almost my other self again after trips to the beauty parlor, nail salon and chiropractor.  I’m still too feral to sit at a meal indoors or make polite conversation with adults. Eight weeks is a long time to not hone your etiquette skills. Turns out it’s a different skill set than a fourteen-year-old boy.  I’ve still got it, but my teenage self will always reign supreme.