Last week’s humorous article during these troubled times was so well received it reminded me of another which took place when my friend Sweet found a canoe. Sweet found it drifting free on the lake; right after he cut the rope holding it to the dock. He felt real fortunate that day, fate had been kind to him. Sweet wasn’t as sharp as the knife in his pocket and liberal in his interpretations of things, like laws. He didn’t smell sweet either, hence the nickname. Hanging around with Sweet, well, anything could happen.
I had wandered over to his house that day just as Sweet straightened up holding a spray can of paint. He’d been busy covering over some lettering on the side of his new find.
“Nice canoe Sweet.” He grinned.
I asked him if he could read the letters on its side and he got a real puzzled look on his face as he squinted at the now barely discernible Methodist Ministries.
Sweet looked and thought hard, kind of sounding out the letters. Let’s see, Meth-a-disk-mini-trees he intoned painfully. Then he brightened.
Let’s see, meth is a drug, bad stuff. Must be selling it in disks, small ones I reckon, in the town Trees. There’s lots of drug people there I hear. Guess I helped break up a drug ring!” Sweet looked proud of himself.
“Sweet, you’re always thinking.” I gave him a grin and he looked prouder still.
I couldn’t help myself and told Spruce drug dealers usually shoot people that crossed them and it might be a good idea to take that canoe on a little trip until they quit looking for him.
Spruce pondered that thought for a bit and agreed. “Where we going?” he asked.
When I suggested a float trip to Mom she and Sweets mother immediately purchased large life insurance policies on us and spent days looking for a suitable river. Finally I was able to answer him.
“Oh, Mom said some place named Religious River.”
Spruce looked puzzled, “I ain’t particularly religious.” He muttered looking nervously skyward.
Glancing at the canoe I could see that.
Next day we lashed the canoe to the car and our Mom’s laughed the whole trip. “Where you picking us up?” I asked.
Both had startled looks on their faces. Sweets Mom grabbed a map and after a hurried consultation showed us a bridge 20 miles downstream.
“See yaw then Maw.” Sweet said.
“Oh, sure, sure.” She answered and both of them were laughing and talking about new houses and Tahiti as they drove off.
“What day they picking us up?” Sweet asked.
I scratched my head. “Didn’t say, didn’t seem to care.”
They must have loved us for the Religious River float was amazing. Nature’s beauty, river, trees, birds and fresh air. When we returned home soaked and bruised our Mothers were so happy to see us they pretended to be shocked we were still alive.
“Did you boys see any big rapids or waterfalls?” they asked innocently.
We nodded dumbly yes, still unable to talk after all the screaming. Rapids with 4 foot waves and 30 foot waterfalls certainly made us religious, but the canoe was in splinters. The last thing I clearly remember was Sweet asking; “What’s that roaring sound?”
“How’d you climb the cliffs?” They asked disappointed.
“A miracle!” We answered simultaneously.
When we saw our mothers burning the insurance policies and crying we knew it was tears of relief we survived.
The wind shifted and I wet a finger and held it up, rapidly shifting my position to remain directly upwind. Sweet didn’t abide much in bathing and my sensitive, but terrified nostrils knew the value of close attention to wind direction.
Maw loved to watch us boys from the window gauging the wind directions just by watching us in the yard.
“Well, winds steady from the West, my boys not moving much.” The next day Mom might remark; “Oh, South breeze shifting some, my boy’s all over the yard staying upwind. Wow, what a leap! Never knew my son was that agile! Good golly! He cleared the pickup on that one!”
Sweet never did get it, BO was natural to him, but he was curious about me wetting my finger all the time to test the breeze. “Why you holding up that finger friend and jumping ‘round like that?”
“Practicing for deer season, Sweet.”
This made perfect sense to him, wouldn’t have mattered if it didn’t though, I was the only friend he had who talked to him other than from across the street.
Sweet’s Mom was always trying to get him to bathe and because of his primal fear of soap Spruce became a gifted gymnast with amazingly dexterous fingers. Sweet could jimmy open the 3rd story window of the bathroom and climb down the side of the house like a circus performer or one of them little lizards with the suction cup feet.
One day Sweet came over fingers bandaged, his hair clean, face shining and smelling like some fancy French soap. He was most upset, his Mom nailed the window shut without his knowledge allowing his Paw to corner him, tie him up and throw him in the bath. I later overhead his Maw telling mine it took an electric sander and sulfuric acid to get the ring off the tub.
