Maybe it’s the writer in me that searches for metaphors where they don’t really exist, but I had a couple of experiences in the past few days that seemed (to me) to be connected.
The first involves my ever-faithful walking companion, Angus. He’s a black lab and this is Kent County, so it’s not unusual for a stranger to ask me, “Do you hunt him?” I’ve observed a couple of hunts, but I’m not a hunter, so neither is Angus. I adopted him when he was 1 ½ so I can’t be sure if anyone hunted him before me, but I think it’s unlikely.
The other day we were walking in a field near my house, relieving his morning constitutions and playing fetch when he spotted something and took off running away from me. I noticed a few small blackbirds scatter into the sky and figured they were Angus’s targets.
Instead, he was sniffing around a large clump of grass, into which he suddenly thrust his snout. In a moment he emerged with a limp female duck hanging from his jowls.
“NO!” I yelled as I ran after Angus, who was now trotting through the field as if were a Budweiser Clydesdale.
“No! Drop!” I called after him a few more times before he finally dropped the now lifeless duck and stepped away from it, half-excited and half-nervous. I wrapped my hand around his mouth and firmly yelled, “NO” a few more times, when I heard a fluttering behind me and turned around to see the duck taking off.
I had to keep up my stern demeanor, as I don’t want Angus to think that grabbing ducks off the ground is a fun game. But, at the same time I couldn’t help but marvel at what I’d just witnessed. Somehow, Angus had caught scent of the duck (who I can only imagine was hunkered down to protect a nest) from over 100 yards away. He picked her up with a soft mouth and carried her gingerly, not whipping her around with the death-shake that he gives his fetch toys. And the duck had the presence of mind to play dead until we stopped paying attention to her!
No one had to teach Angus or the duck how to behave in these ways. It was hard-wired into their instincts. I may not be a hunter, but Angus most certainly is. I wonder if I’m denying him a crucial part of his “dogness” if I don’t allow him to develop these skills.
The second event occurred Monday night when I lead a group from Kent Youth’s Adventure Diversion program on an evening paddle up Radcliffe Creek. This was my first kayak trip as Sultana Projects Director of Educational Programs. I didn’t know what to expect from the boys of Kent Youth, but I knew they’d be teenagers who had probably never been kayaking before and might feel out of their element.
We launched the boats at Wilmer Park’s new kayak put-in. I gave everyone a brief explanation of how the kayaks and paddles worked, but I think their excitement to get in the water drowned out most of my instructions. As we puttered around the water near Wilmer Park, some guys seemed to take to the process like naturals. They were gliding around, whipping in circles, and genuinely enjoying themselves. Others had a harder time getting the hang of it.
Kayaking can be a tricky thing to figure out. I was trying to explain this to the boys who were getting increasingly frustrated. As he watched his friend zipping around with ease, one boy slammed down his paddle and declared, “I’m done. I’m getting out. I’m done.”
Another boy, who realized the impossibility of “getting out,” as we were a few hundred yards from shore, called his bluff by inviting him to, “Go ahead and get out then.”
Joe Sabasteanski, who runs the Adventure Diversion program, was able to calm the boy down, offering encouraging words and a calm explanation of paddling.
We made steady, methodical progress to the mouth of Radcliffe Creek. At times we stopped altogether as one boy or another would boil over with frustration. But time after time, I was impressed with the solidarity of the group as another boy would paddle over and offer help.
We were using 10 and 12-foot kayaks. The 10-footers are a little easier to maneuver. At one point a boy in a 10-footer switched his boat with a boy in a 12-footer, who was having a hard time. It was an unsolicited act of kindness that deeply impressed me. These boys sometimes get a bad wrap. While they may be a little rough around the edges, they struck me as kind-hearted, adventurous young men.
By the time we turned around and made our way back to Wilmer Park, our fleet of kayaks was moving with an ease that suggested years of experience. It was rewarding to see a group of boys, who have lived around the water their entire lives, discover that they were not only good at kayaking, but actually enjoyed it. We were only a few miles from the center of town, but I hope that traveling up Radcliffe Creek (which must have seemed otherworldly) hinted at the possibilities that exist all around us.
And I guess that’s where the metaphor comes in. Because whether you’re a dog who discovers your proficiency in catching ducks, or a teenage boy who’s able to see a kayak as a vessel which can transport you away from the stressors of everyday life, we live in a place with an abundance of natural beauty and ways in which to enjoy it.
But it takes courage. Unless you’re willing to shove your snout into the tall grass or ease your boat off the shore and take that first, teetering stroke, you’ll never know that inside of you lies a quiet, patient energy that needs only the smallest spark to ignite it into greatness.
Brooke Logan Packard says
Thank you John for this well written and thoughtful article. It was rewarding to hear about your experience with the young men from the Kent Youth Program on this new Sultana program.
Kate Livie says
This is a great series and I appreciate John’s perspective as a younger member of our community working with one of our most important and active organizations. Keep up the good work, John! I look forward to reading the Field Guide every month.