The cul de sac hasn’t moved in all the time we’ve been here. This may seem like an odd observation but the cul de sac hadn’t been here when we found this place we call home. Maybe this is why it holds some of its magic because it came after us, because it needed us to be here first.
The oldest among our small tribe, Ava, had just left for a 4H meeting with her mother. A meeting her mother has waited years for as it was the first she would be taking a daughter of her own to. Her mother loved 4H as a child and remembers fondly the impression it left on her own childhood. To share this with her own kin, one as interested in animals and service as she was special indeed. However, this writing is not about that 4H meeting or the bonding between mother and daughter, rather it is about what happened after they left.
We stood at the door. The baby, Tessa, in the crook of my left arm and the three year old, Jada, leaning against my leg. We waved as the car moved past the house and out of site. Jada looked up at me and asked, “What special thing are we going to do today Daddy?”, a fine question. It was a beautiful day outside and wasting it indoors felt like a crime. We moved to the closet and gathered up sweatshirts and fall coats. Jada commented on kicking up the fallen leaves beneath her swing and Tessa jumped and squealed in my arms as she became aware we were heading outdoors.
The backyard and swing set held the allure they always do, a safe place for the kids to run while never far from the watchful eye of their parents. This was our first stop. Jada has a deep preference for the see-saw swing and wasted no time as she pleaded for me to push her “SO SO SO SO High”. Tessa was relegated to the hard red plastic of her baby swing and looked adoringly toward her older sister.
This November day was the kind only a Michigander can truly appreciate. The air held crisp and the sky shone blue. Clouds moved lazily through the spacious sky, not wanting to touch one another. Enjoying their own quiet meanderings without having to partake in the gossip and frivolity clouds are accustomed to.
An attentive father can often sense when an activity is nearing its end. Before giving the girls an opportunity to realize they were on the brink of boredom I asked Jada what she would like to do next. “Let’s go on a nature walk.” she said, a fine idea. We gathered up the necessities, loading them into the stroller and began making our way.
Our home is three miles from the nearest town. It’s a small town the likes of which wouldn’t exist without the farming community around it. Five miles in the opposite direction is a larger town, one that can even claim a handful of traffic signals and puts on one heck of a fourth of July parade. The parade consists mostly of tractors and the good ole boys that drive them and we’re just fine with that. We enjoy the quiet. Big city folk we aren’t.
A few years ago a new street cropped up roughly a quarter mile from our doorstep. The street stretched about a quarter mile in the warm months. The winter months often leave the end of the road covered in snow drifts making its full distance difficult to navigate. It’s a cul de sac and only a few homes have been built along it. I’m certain the builders had more homes in mind but we all know how the economy exhaled not so long ago and is just beginning to consider drawing breath again. This is where we walk most times because the landscape is rough and the paved road is easy on the stroller. Being close to home doesn’t hurt a bit either.
We moved along the street, Jada investigating the landscape and discovering all manner of treasures. There was a clever thing about these treasures. They were disguised as rocks. Each one relatively bland in color and less than fascinating in texture, that is until Jada clothed them in her descriptive words.
“Look Daddy! See how this one shines. I think it might be a diamond.”
“This one is red right here just a little bit. Ruby’s are red right Daddy?”
It should be clear to most that any walk worth its distance cannot be travelled far without a good walking stick. The girls have been taught that a good stick can be carried as a tool, crutch or weapon. This lesson was not lost on Jada, her gaze constantly surveying the side of the road for the right walking stick. Ultimately her perseverance paid off as she found a right proper walking stick indeed. Now sure in her step and well equipped we continued the way forward.
Our stroll was unrelenting as we entered the cul de sac. It was eerily quiet as Jada marched headstrong toward some destination unknown to me. She paused to investigate the dirt that met the road and noticed animal prints, prints she were sure belonged to a lion.
“A lion!” I scoffed. “That’s just absurd Jada. You do know we live in Michigan right? There haven’t been lions native to this area for three decades or more.”
“They are lion steps Daddy” she assured me. “We should be careful”.
“Then careful we shall be my girl. Careful we shall be.” I said as I scanned the horizon.
We moved maybe a quarter of the way back toward home when Jada stopped us abruptly. Her index finger in front of her lips as she crouched peering into the tall grass.
“I see it.” She said in her hushed voice.
“The lion?” I asked.
“Yes, don’t move” she whispered while she pushed Tessa’s stroller away with one hand, the other clutching the walking stick. In one fierce motion she brought the walking stick up over her head and yelled something in what could only be described as a tribal tongue and then fell silent. Tessa sat in her stroller staring wide eyed.
“Is everything ok?” I asked.
“Yes” she said. “It was jumping at us but I got it. I killed it.”
I was about to praise her quick and true response to the threat when I heard it. Had the dragon been any closer it may have been too late. The quiet of its wings was almost upon us when I turned. The sword free from its scabbard I slashed the air above my head.
The battle ensued until Jada’s cry broke through. “Noooooo!”
“Jada what’s wrong?” I asked while placing the sword back in its scabbard.
“That was a good dragon Daddy. It wasn’t going to hurt us.” she replied.
“I’m sorry honey. I didn’t know. I thought it was mean” I said, surprised at this turn of events.
“It’s ok Daddy. This one is dead,” she said, “but there are more. Good ones and bad ones.”
“Thanks for understanding Jada”
The remainder of the walk was relatively uneventful. Shortly after we were safely home the oldest girl and her mother found their way home as well. Jada wasted little time filling the two of them in on our adventure. Ava laughed as Jada and I shared in the telling while their mom listened intently.
Jada would throw glances at me as she talked, seeming to look for some nod of agreement.
“You’ve got it just right kiddo” I thought. “That’s just how I remember it.”
Recently, my 10 year old son shared with me that he might want to be an actor when he grows up. I cringed when he said it, but told him I would support whatever decision he made when the time came. I explained to him that celebrity puts you under a very public microscope and that if you are a big name celebrity your flaws are enlarged and your private life is basically non-existent. Your best bet would be to shoot for being a B or C list celebrity, this way you still get paid, but the papparazzi don’t hassle you as much.
