Note: The following is based on my 04-16-2015 journal entry from our Wabash River to the Gulf of Mexico (source-to-sea) kayak trip.
“I have to pee! I wish we were still in the wilderness.” I can’t believe I uttered those words. If someone had asked me before the trip where I would prefer to pee, civilization or wilderness, I would have declared “civilization” because I assumed restroom options would be more accessible there. Again, a preconceived notion is often incorrect. Actuality is only accurate after obtaining experience. (That sounds impressive, maybe even quotable.) In the wilderness, I can pee anywhere, anytime. In civilization, peeing anywhere, anytime is frowned upon. Designated peeing stations were created to prevent this social faux pas. Yesterday, Amilio’s Bar was my designated peeing station here in Logansport, Indiana. Sadly, this morning when I woke up, Amilio’s, my designated peeing station, was not yet open. (It’s a bar after all.) John left in search of another available restroom.
John returned with a grin and pointed to his cheek. “You can kiss me right here.”
When John asks for a kiss, he wants recognition for something he thinks is hero-worthy. “Did you find a restroom for me?” He nodded, giving me a shy expression of feigned modesty. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Then, to boost his ego more I said, “My hero.”
“It’s at a car dealership a few blocks away. It’s easy to find.” He pointed. “Walk down the street and past the old train station. Then, cross at the light. Walk through the parking lot to the car dealership. You’ll see a big door. You can’t miss it. Once you’re in the building, you’ll see Tom and Dan sitting at their desks. Walk to the end of the showroom. The restroom is on your left.” Seriously! He thinks that is supposed to be easy to find?! He lost me at “Walk through the parking lot.”
I followed John’s directions to a tee. (What does “to a tee” mean? Where does that saying come from?) Everything was exactly as he said, except Tom and Dan were NOT at their desks. Regardless, I enjoyed a warm restroom. I took my time peeing, tugging, and pulling on my un-zippered wet suit, washing my face, fixing my ponytail, and brushing my teeth. I didn’t want to leave the warmth of the building. I contemplated putting on makeup while I had access to a mirror but decided against the extra vanity since we were leaving civilization. After completing my car dealership “to do” list, I strolled back to the campsite.
When I returned to our campsite, John introduced me to a red-haired, Irish-looking gentleman with a camera around his neck. “Babe, this is Kyle Keener from the Pharos. He’s here to photograph us for Tuesday’s paper.”
Questioning my decision to skip the makeup, I shook the photographer’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Kyle.”
His nationality became evident when he greeted me with an Irish brogue from The Emerald Isle. “Nice to meet you, LaNae.”
Kyle surprised us when he announced he was planning an entire photo shoot, not simply the picture or two we were expecting. He shot us performing our morning tasks from different angles: eating breakfast, tearing down camp, packing Work and Pray, rolling them to the river, and maneuvering them down a steep rocky slope. The yellow plastic scraping left on a sharp rock is a reminder of the difficulty of moving kayaks across jagged rocks. Don’t worry; our heavy roto-mold polyethylene choice of kayak material can withstand a little scraping. This is one reason we decided not to go with the lighter, composite boats. If we had chosen that material, the injury may have needed a Band-Aid. Once the kayaks were resting by the river, Kyle continued taking pictures of us removing wheels, re-packing Work and Pray, launching, and paddling downstream—back to the wilderness.
Back to the wilderness… Where I don’t have to search for a designated peeing station. Where I expose myself to the wind, rain, sun, and cold when I pull down my wetsuit to pee. Where I don’t even consider applying makeup. Where my vanity takes a break. Where life is simpler.
Here’s the Thing: Society versus wilderness. How do I compare? The change in my perception of simpler surprised me. I didn’t grasp how closely perception and experience are connected. Based on my life before our trip, peeing had to be easier in society. Wearing makeup was deemed a necessity. Living in nature taught me society’s “rules” can add stress. I can apply the perception-and-experience lesson to other areas of my life. How often do I form my perception of someone else’s situation based on my background without realizing theirs is different? I need to remember actuality is only accurate after obtaining experience.
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Editor’s Note: This is one of a series of articles written by a group of retired and current teachers — LaNae Abnet, Ken Ballinger, Billy Kreigh, Kathy Schwartz, and Anna Spalding. Their intent is to spur discussions at the dinner table and elsewhere. You may also voice your thoughts and reactions via The News-Banner’s letters to editor.
