Fishing for Brothers

It's July.

Camping time again.

Something our family has done for the past 1000 years.

Okay, so I only remember the last fifty or so, so I'm guessing.

We have had a lot of adventures in that time.

Today, I'm remembering one that happened because of our little blue tent trailer.

Our little trailer was purchased in Calgary, Alberta in January 1978.

It was so cold that day that I thought the flooring was a sheet of tin.

In my defence, linoleum can resemble tin when it is frozen solid.

Moving on . . .

When the planet heated up a bit, we opened our new purchase and discovered a tidy, little world in itself.

Three neat beds and a square central floor.

Perfect for a family of eight.

It has taken our family everywhere.

For many years, we camped yearly in a beautiful campground in Saskatchewan.

Kimball Lake.

And that's where this story takes place.

Our two youngest were napping.

I use this word lightly.

Because there was no 'napping' happening.

Tristan was in the playpen on the floor.

And Tiana on the bed she shared with her older sister.

Tristan had learned to crawl out of his pen and onto one of the beds.

Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem.

Let me describe our trailer to you.

It has three wings that fold out to form the beds.

The canvas wraps around each of these wings and hooks securely underneath.

With elastic cords.

It is possible to slide through those spaces.

If your small enough.

And Tristan, at thirteen months was definitely small enough.

He crawled up onto the bed.

Rolled against the side.

And slid through.

Now it wasn't a long drop to the ground underneath, but it would have given the little fellow quite a jolt.

Tiana, three, had been watching.

She saw him slip through.

And, with uncharacteristic three-year-old speed and fortitude, leaped across and grabbed him.

“Mo-om!”

My good friend, Tammy and I were seated just outside, visiting.

Suddenly, we saw a pair of little legs kicking and wiggling out of the side of the trailer and heard my daughter call out.

I ran into the trailer.

Tiana and the top half of Tristan were visible.

She had both of his hands and was leaning back, trying to keep him from sliding further.

He was giggling happily and trying to wiggle out of her grip.

“Mo-om!” she shouted again.

I grabbed my son and pulled him to safety.

Then put him back in his bed with stern instructions to stay there.

That tiny son is now a husband and father.

But every year, when my Husby and I put up our little trailer, I think of the small boy and his almost escape.

I picture those little legs protruding from the side of the trailer, kicking merrily.

And his sister, recognizing his danger and holding on frantically with all of her three-year-old strength..

It's a good memory.