The field trip goes off without a hitch. No kids lost to the nettle patch or the mighty, ever-threatening Willamette River. Everyone had a lunch, everyone completed their nature craft. Not a single hobo to be seen on the entire loop.
Lots of pointing when we came in sight of the osprey nest. The female poked up her head and the male came swooping in from the direction of the river. Bobbi, the group’s guide, held a much-prized buzzard feather over her head, which she’d informed everyone, was the designated sign for silence and undivided attention.
The hike was roughly a mile in length, so there were tired dawdlers to contend with. Groups of girls were prone to break into song, while the boys mostly tried to either bust past Bobbi’s outstretched arms or push each other into the occasional puddle in the trail. Strangely enough, the entire group grew silent as they were forced into a single-file line in order to pass through a part of the woods Bobbie told us would be “the bird song” part of the tour.
The birds, no doubt, saw us coming.
And then onto a secret, hidden pond, down another trail, where there was only room enough for half of the class at a time. Who would go first? It came down to that age-old battle of Boys vs. Girls, of course. Numbers were chosen. Who would be closest? Everyone wanted to know. A tense moment for the entire class!
“Six,” said the girls’ representative.
I secretly gloated. She’d committed herself to the high numbers. But would the boys be smart enough to play the odds?
“Seven,” the boy said. My heart sank.
“No, wait! Five!” Hurray! The number was four. The boys! The boys! There is much hooting and hollering and the class quickly breaks into two parts. Seeing all the boys together, bouncing off each other, I suddenly felt sorry for them. For me. For everyone. I’m not sure what’s at the end of that trail, but may God have mercy on it’s soul.
Off to the pond, where something was spotted immediately, floating dead in the water. How exciting for the boys! A beaver? A opposum? Someone guesses a rabbit, but is immediately shut down by the others. The excitement is impossible to contain, and I’m afraid the boys’ noise over the floating carcass may very well have caused one or two lesser insect species to go extinct. Bobbi’s buzzard feather is nearly powerless to stop the commotion, and she waves it over her head so fiercely that for a moment there, I was afraid she might actually take off. Mysticism often flies right over the heads of young men, I’ve found, whereas a good tap is sometimes just the ticket. Okay, okay, a touch. I didn’t actually knock anyone’s head off. Take it easy.
Then onto sack lunches, a scavenger hunt, and arts and crafts, where we were supposed to create bookmarks with a piece of card stock, bits and pieces of whatever nature we could gather, and a sticky rectangle of clear contact paper. Is it even legal to hand kids contact paper and expect them to handle it without mishap? And I won’t even tell you what percentage of Oregon’s third graders think they can fit a giant maple leaf onto a one inch wide bookmark.
Then another bus ride, where once again, the girls busied themselves with their paper puzzles, trying to figure out who loved who. They broke into song, and at every sharp corner, the boys would scoot their butts, trying to knock someone out of their seat.