A Week at Walker Creek

Today I dropped Truman off for a week-long outdoor education adventure 80 miles from home. One would think that by my third kid, I’d approach this task like a pro, give him a big kiss, and send him on his way. That’s mostly what happened...except that I gave him about 10 kisses and one extra-long squeeze, trying not to make a scene. I hope that I projected an outward sense of calm, masking my inner twitchiness that comes with the title of “mom.”

“Walker Creek,” as this week is affectionately known around town, has become legendary on Davis school playgrounds. Students from just about every sixth-grade class in town spend a week there. Nearly every kid returns feeling triumphant and independent, sharing stories of solo hikes, astronomy lessons, skits, and campfires. They rave about the food and discuss life in the cabins with 11 other classmates and a few brave high schoolers, returning to relive their experiences of Walker Creek, this time as cabin leaders. The kids look forward to the day-long hike to Walker Peak, which ends with views of Tomales Bay, Mount St Helena, and the Pacific Ocean. And on the final night at Walker Creek, everyone gets down at Barnyard Boogie, the highly anticipated barn dance celebrating the end of an epic week.

Parents who drove in the caravan transporting kids today were invited to stay for the welcome ceremony and for the first hike. Our group took Turkey Vulture Canyon Trail. Soon after we began, and as if on cue, a giant turkey vulture landed on top of a nearby tree. Our hike-leading naturalist, Paws, took the opportunity to teach the kids the “Quiet Coyote” hand sign, signaling all to silence themselves and focus their attention, in this case, on the huge buzzard after whom our trail was named.

During the hike I watched the wildlife, but also watched my boy. Apart from sleepovers with buddies and grandparents, Truman has never spent a night away from home without one or both of his parents, so this is a big step for him. We all have eagerly anticipated this long experiment in independence. In typical Truman fashion, our boy began packing and preparing weeks ago. As I told him, “This is a week you’ll always remember – you’ll have the time of your life.” To record his adventures, Truman brought a new journal and a disposable camera. I demonstrated how cameras worked before digital photography: winding film and charging the flash for those evening cabin photos. While I talked our ambitious reader down to bringing just five novels to read this week, he obviously plans to mix some writing in with his reading. His stamps and envelopes indicated his intention to write home “because I know how much you’re going to miss me.” I’m sure the missing goes both directions this week.

Last night, just before loading Truman’s suitcase into the car, and as I hid a note for him to find later, I noticed that he had packed a small, framed family photo, placing it on top of his clothes. I smiled as I imagined his face reading my message:

Dear Coolie,

I couldn’t resist sneaking a letter into your suitcase for you to discover after your arrival at Walker Creek (you’ll receive a couple more from Daddy and me at mail time). As I write, you are downstairs busily checking that you have everything ready for tomorrow. And I’m upstairs listening to music that you and I both love and thinking about how lucky I am to be your mom.

I’ll miss hearing your saxophone melodies fill our home this week. I’ll miss your coming to my bedside each morning to check if I’m awake. I’ll miss playing badminton with you after school. And I’ll miss your laugh and your hugs. But for every moment that I miss, I’ll feel thrilled thinking about you having a grand adventure in such a gorgeous area of California. I can’t wait to see you at the end of the week and hear all of your stories. I hope you know how proud I am of you. Have a GREAT time, my sweet boy! I couldn’t possibly love you more.

Love, Mommy

I do miss him already. Whereas my car on the way there had been filled with the noise of four excited boys, my drive home was peaceful and quiet. I took in the beauty of the countryside with its rolling hills, its canyons, and its valleys. I thought about how it seems just a moment ago that I dropped Truman off for his first day of nursery school. How quickly it all passes! I wondered if he’ll be warm enough during night hikes or if he’ll have trouble falling asleep. I wondered what nature name he might choose for himself this week, something that might complement his sister and brother’s names, for they have Moon and Forest on their birth certificates. But mostly I smiled, thinking about the exciting adventure that awaits my boy.

Words We Live by

While touring my son Truman’s classroom the other day, I came across this self-portrait he had created entirely out of words which describe the way he sees himself or which hold significance for him. 

Upon close inspection, I notice that the words the saxophone and family outline his frontal lobe. He uses artistic and bookish to form his left ear. I see Beloit College in the right ear and am reminded how much he wants to hear from his big sister. He includes Wisconsin, where his sister now lives, London, where his dad and I met, and Muir Woods, the beautiful old growth forest, a sacred place where his dad proposed to me four years later. 

Disneyland, Universal Studios, and amusement parks receive honorable mention. The boy spends a lot of time thinking about happy family adventures and planning our next trips. 

At first, I can’t make out one word until I recognize that he has misspelled Morocco. He was thinking of Casablanca, a film we saw as a family in the theater last summer. I had wondered if it would hold his interest. He loved it! 

He uses books, reading, and poetry, all of which make me proud. Roald Dahl appears as a favorite author, each of his novels read and reread.

His inclusion of brave and True makes me tear up. His use of history, hilarious, and understanding make me smile. Creative, inventive, and music warm my heart.

Interestingly, he places communicative on the left side of his head, over his left brain, the side that controls language, a fact he has not yet learned. I think about the importance of that word, as communication dominates much of our family’s focus and energy; his brother has no use of verbal language. And yet words are big in our home as we express ourselves creatively through writing, public speaking, and performing. I often feel struck by the special poignancy of two writers creating two more writers and one wordless son, and the ways in which the silent boy teaches us. It’s no wonder that compassionate appears in Truman’s reflection. Perhaps this is my favorite word of all.