Everybody went blueberry picking this Labour Day. Everyone is Me, Katherine, Heather (sister) Bob (her SO), their kids, Jean and Eleanor and Bauers: Shelley and progeny Katie and Sam.
On the way down to the pickin’ spot, about 20 minutes’ walk into the barrens, I walked with Sam and the conversation turned to dragons, as it is wont to do when I walk with Sam. He just turned seven and is fascinated with swords, dragons and all such other important things as is rightly proper for a lad his age. He’ll never grow out of it either:
Sam: “Are there dragons here?”
Me: “There might be. You should look for dragon poop. It’s the best way to tell if dragons are nearby and by the freshness, you can tell how recently they’ve been there.”
Sam: “Hmm.”
He chewed on this for a while. Sam likes to explore all aspects of a problem.
About half an hour passes. Evidently Sam’s deep thoughts on draconic scatology have had a personal biological reaction, for he announces, “I need to pee and poo. Where’s the bathroom?” as he looks around at the vista of hills and barrens, clouds, sunshine and blue, blue sky.
No bathrooms appear. So I told him that he’d have to poop in the woods. He asked how.
And so began his first lesson in the manly art of pooping in the woods. (I tend to use another word, myself, but this is a family blog.)
Now, I’m sure there’s a womanly art of pooping in the woods, but I’ve no personal experience with it and even if I did, I wouldn’t be teaching it to a seven-year-old boy. First off, as I explained to Sam, you need a stick to dig a cathole, some toilet paper and a bag to put said paper in when you’re finished with it. Deeper into the woods, you bury it in the cathole, but when you can, you pack it out.
The second thing to do is scope out the real estate and as always, what counts is location, location, location. You want a spot at least 100′ away from any traveled path, sufficiently screened by the local flora, not close to any running water and with a good view of the surrounding countryside. Extra points for an ocean view.
Sam interrupted me at this point. “What’s the view for?”
Me: “It’s to add to the whole experience. A good poop in the woods should be enjoyable in each and every aspect. It’s the details that count here, boy. How often do you get to have a vista like this on the toilet?”
Sam: “Oh.”
So we find this spot. No ocean view, but you can’t have everything. Sam starts the cathole and I finish it. I turn my back to preserve his modesty and he takes care of the first part of business.
Me: “Well, don’t you have something else to do?”
Sam: “Nope.”
Me: “You said you needed to poop too, remember?”
Sam: “No, I need someone else to poop so I can smell it so I can tell the difference between it and dragon poop.”
I was good. I didn’t dump him headfirst in the nearest bog.
*dies laughing*