Reflections on the Thirteenth Week of Summer – Addy’s Big Adventure Part 2

Addy and Janet Unload Apples while Grandma Cindy Watches - photo by Spence

I ladled homemade applesauce into paper cups and distributed them to the Wells family in the great room. While everyone quieted and dipped spoons into their dessert, I collapsed into the Adirondack chair. With the warm cup in my hand, I took my first spoonful. The smooth sauce tasted sweet-tart―worth the effort for the Wolf River apple harvesting adventure that involved all nine of us at the traditional Wells Wood Labor Day gathering.

Addy, our three-and-a-half-year-old great niece, gobbled her applesauce and licked her spoon. She had unloaded apples from the apple picker, ridden the tractor that hauled the apples, watched grown-ups cut and cook apples, and eaten numerous slices of fresh apples. But she didn’t call the apple event an adventure. Addy loved adventures. Because grown-ups had said, “Later, Addy,” she waited for the three adventures she’d planned.

Addy’s nineteen-month old sister, Amelia, lifted the applesauce cup Patrick, her daddy, had set on the coffee table. She peeked inside the cup. Then she stuck her hand in the cup, rubbed the edges, and licked her fingers. She set his cup on the table and toddled over to pick up her Aunt Sarah’s. Amelia repeated her hand-scraping, finger-licking tactic and moved to the next abandoned cup.

Folks drifted outside except for Addy’s grandma and me. We packed left overs and cleaned the kitchen. On the deck Amelia toddled between her grandpa and daddy. Addy’s aunts chatted on the love seat. Spence and Addy set out on a small adventure across the north field.

Their destination? As Spence would report in detail later, they walked to his gravel pile because Addy had studied gravel by the grill while he’d lit the charcoal. When they reached the mound of gravel, Addy threw her arms wide and squealed, “A gravel mountain!”

She rushed to the gravel mound, took one step, and slid back to the grass. She ran and slid. So Addy lowered her hands and crept up the mound like a four-legged daddy longlegs. When she reached the top, she threw her hands above her head, slid down the side, and crawled up―again and again.

The sun fell behind the trees in the woods. The sun fell to the top of the woods’ trees. Spence swung his arm in the direction of the log house. “Let’s go back so we can gather people for the big adventure.”

Addy slid down her gravel mountain, jogged in the direction of the house, but halted at the edge of the garden.

“We can walk through there.” Spence stepped over the chicken wire fence.

Addy scowled at the fence. “How can I get over?”

“With a little help.” Spence grabbed her by the waist and lifted her over the fence to the black plastic controlling the weeds. Addy walked between pole bean plants towering over her head and tomato plants drooping from heavy fruit. She pointed at a green tomato. “Can I eat this?”

“It’s not ripe.” Spence picked a tomato further down the row. “Here’s a red one.”

Addy gobbled the cherry tomato, took a few steps, and shouted, “Here’s another one!” She pulled it off the vine and gobbled the second tomato.

Addy traipsed through the plant corridor, and Spence lifted her over the garden fence. She ran to the house and asked each of us, inside or out, “Do you want to come on a big adventure?”

Addy’s big adventures involved ambitious walking. After a day of preparations, the apple adventure, and kitchen cleaning, I couldn’t walk as far as the mailbox without aggravating my knees or hips. So, when she looked up with her shining brown eyes and invited me, I said, “I’d like to, Addy, but I’m too tired.”

She nodded and dashed off to join the gang gathering on the gravel driveway. Only Addy’s grandpa, who napped on the deck, and I stayed behind. Spence filled us in on what we’d missed when he returned.

Addy’s big adventure began with Addy asking Spence, “Where are we going?”

He said, “You’re the leader.”

Her eyes doubled in size. She turned in a circle to survey the possibilities then dashed to down the slope to the grill below the porch. Spotting the path between the white pines, she raced into the woods.

From time to time, she stopped on the path and turned around to see if folks followed her. Spence and Patrick kept close. Her Aunt Laura followed with Amelia. Addy’s Aunt Sarah walked at the end of the procession with Addy’s grandma. Satisfied, Addy dashed ahead. When she reached Deer Creek, she shouted, “Let’s go in!”

Spence stepped down the two foot bank, lifted Addy, and set her in the creek. Patrick followed. Sarah and Laura helped Amelia in. The group walked upstream while Addy’s grandma watched from the bank.

Addy took several tentative steps on her own then moved at a walking pace. “I walked in the other river.” Earlier in the summer, Addy’s family had camped by the Clarion River. “I can walk in this river too.” When her confidence increased, she splashed and giggled. She ran-slipped-fell-got up, ran-slipped-fell-got up, and ran-slipped-fell-got up again.

Laura set Amelia in the creek.

Amelia - photo by Sarah

Holding tight to her Aunt Laura’s hand, Amelia took careful steps through the water. At her toddling pace, she didn’t fall.

Stooping, Spence selected a stone from the rocky creek bottom. “I’ll show you how to skip stones, Addy.” He flicked his wrist, and the stone skipped twice through the smooth upstream water.

Addy tossed a round stone. Plunk.

Spence stooped for another stone. “Pick a round-flat stone, Addy.”

Addy glared at the underwater stones. She selected a round-flat stone and tossed it. Plunk.

Patrick chose a stone and skipped it upstream. He laughed. “I did this when I was a kid here.”

He skipped stone after stone.

All Addy’s stones plunked.

Amelia whimpered about a diaper issue, and everyone got out of the creek―Laura carried Amelia, and Spence lifted Addy.

Cheerful voices clued me that the gang crossed the north field. I stepped onto the porch to greet them.

Laura stomped up the porch steps first. “May we borrow a towel, Aunt Janet?”

Addy scampered up next. She grinned and patted her soggy tank top with both hands. “I fell in.”

I fetched a blue bath towel.

Addy rubbed herself then slipped into a tank top and bathing suit bottom―the only clothes left in her grandma’s-SUV-emergency-stash that would fit Addy. In dry clothes and proud of leading the family on a big adventure, she followed me into the house. “Can I go up there now?” She pointed to the bridge between the lofts.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll take you.” I demonstrated how to hold onto the railing when climbing the spiral stairs, and Addy followed at an Amelia-pace.

Addy ran across the bridge and grabbed a toy duck off the railing. She ran back and bounced the yellow duck on the bed. Leaving the duck, she dashed to the book shelves, grabbed one of Spence’s community organizing books, and brought it to me. “Will you read this to me?”

“That’s an adult book,” I said though I thought That’s a dull book. I took the book from Addy and put it on the shelf. “I’ll find a children’s story.” Figuring one of the six stories in The Big Red Book of Beginner Books [ https://www.amazon.com/Big-Red-Book-Beginner-Books/dp/0375865314 ] would entertain Addy, I pulled it off the shelf and sat on the bed.

Addy sat beside me.

I opened to the first chapter, I Want to Be Somebody New. “Would you like to hear this story?”

Addy nodded and folded her hands on her lap.

With my finger under the words, I read and gave each character a different voice.

Addy sat as still as the angel statue in the north garden. When I finished a story, she said, “Read another one.”

After five stories, Addy said, “Can I read it to you now?”

The clock chimed nine. Folks downstairs collected their gear.

“I wish we had time, Addy,” I said. “But your dad has to work at Get Go at four-thirty tomorrow morning. He needs to go home and sleep.” I closed the book, stood up, and put the book on the shelf. “You can read to me next time.”

Addy jumped off the bed, ran to the spiral stairs, and took a giant step backward.

I held out my hand to the youngster who’d gone on a small, gravel-mountain adventure, a big, creek-wading adventure, and a calm, story adventure. “You can do this. I’ll hold your hand and go first. Hold the railing with your other hand.”

Addy clutched my hand and the railing. Step by step we descended the twelve, backless, metal stairs. The adventuring youngster conquered the spiral steps too.

Addy on the Run - photo by Spence