Blackielocks and the Three Campers: Part 2

Blackielocks and the Three Campers

Part 2 of a story for the whole family

Meanwhile the three campers had enjoyed a full afternoon taking turns floating on the inner tube, waving to people canoeing down the river, and observing the wildlife. They had seen an otter swim across the river and scamper up the bank into the woods. They had noticed turtles sunning themselves on a boulder and then diving into the river whenever canoeists paddled by. They had spotted a bald eagle nest way up in a tall tree on the other side of the river.

The three campers had also watched a crane, standing in the water down along the opposite side of the river, as it slowly stretched out its long, graceful neck. Then in one fell swoop the crane shot its bill into the water and immediately brought it back up with a large fish skewered on the end. With the fish flailing on its sword-like beak, the crane strode toward the shore. There it lowered its bill and shook off the fish which fell with a SLAP! loud enough to be heard all the way across the river. The crane proceeded to stab at the fish until it lay motionless. The three campers watched as the crane tossed up pieces of meat with its bill, caught them in its mouth, and quickly gulped them down.

Finally the three campers decided to leave the river for the day and head back to the campground. They each put on their shoes, hat, and sunglasses. Daddy gathered up the towels, Dad got the inner tube, and the Child picked up the empty sunscreen bottle before they began walking up to their campsite. 

Along the trail the three campers observed that the bear poop had attracted a variety of insects, and the bear tracks were still visible on the ground. When they reached the path to their campsite they saw on the ground two of the cups which they had used at lunch and left to drain on the picnic table—the big one with yellow stripes and the medium one with red circles. The small one with blue stars was laying on its side on the edge of the table. “A strong wind must have knocked over our cups,” said Dad.

Next they looked over at the shady tree area and noticed the mangled frame and torn canvas. “What happened to our chairs?!” Daddy exclaimed. “No amount of wind could have caused this much damage.” “What’s my chair doing way over there?” said the Child, pointing to the empty campsite beside theirs.

Then they spotted the gaping hole in their tent window. “Oh my gosh!” said Daddy. “It looks like a tornado’s come through here!” The three campers peered through the ragged mesh at all their stuff strewn around. Then their stuff started to move. 

“It’s alive!” the Child shouted. Up from the small sleeping bag rose Blackielocks who was not too happy to have its nap disturbed. “It’s a bear!” yelled Dad. “Quick, get in the car!” said Daddy, grabbing the Child and Dad and pulling them away from the tent.

The three campers rushed to their vehicle and got inside. They watched as the black bear, still groggy and now very grumpy, poked out of the hole of the tent. Blackielocks stuck its nose up in the air and sniffed. “I’m hungry again,” Blackielocks growled. “I wonder what there is to eat around here.”

Blackielocks started to mosey out of the tent, but coming out was not as easy as getting in. Blackielocks’ long, curved claws snagged the mesh, and when the 350 pound creature started to move forward, the 35 pound tent and all its contents followed. 

The three campers sat stunned in their car as every one of the tent stakes popped up out of the ground and the aluminum tent poles collapsed. Blackielocks just kept going, dragging the tent and the sleeping bags, air mattresses, and duffel bags with it.

Blackielocks headed toward the woods, but as soon as it entered the thicket the tent and all the gear got stuck. Blackielocks tried to shake off the mesh which only caused the nylon fabric to slip up over Blackielock’s head. The more Blackielocks struggled, the more entangled it became. Soon the black bear was caught underneath multiple layers of tent and could no longer be seen by the three campers.

“We need to go to the ranger station and report this now,” said Daddy. “Right,” said Dad, still in shock. The Child continued peering out the car window at the huge blob moving under the big pile.

At that moment a maintenance truck entered their area. Dad honked the horn, rolled down the window, and waved frantically. The truck pulled into the vacant campsite and the driver leaned out the window. Dad shouted over, “There’s a bear right here caught under our tent. Can you do something?!”

“Stay in your car,” said the maintenance worker. “I’ll radio the ranger immediately.” With that, all the humans sat in their vehicles and waited until two rangers arrived in a big tow truck. They pulled into the campsite beside the three campers and motioned for them to stay put.

The rangers surveyed the situation, saw the mound of tent still moving in the thicket, and then got out of their truck. Each of them carried a big gun with a dart on the end. The two rangers crept toward the covered mass until they were a few yards away from it, with one ranger standing in front and the other just to the right. Then they both raised their guns, and the three campers could hear the one ranger say to the other, “Are you ready?  On the count of three – one . . . two . . . three!”

The three campers jumped in their seats as the two guns exploded. They watched as the two rangers moved carefully toward the pile of tent, still carrying their guns. The rangers slowly began lifting the tent, tossing aside any loose items. Finally they uncovered the black bear which looked like it was taking another nap.

One of the rangers gently prodded the bear with the nose of the gun. There was no response. Then the other ranger went to the truck and returned with a little black box. The three campers continued to sit in utter silence as the rangers proceeded to put a big yellow tag, like an earring, on the black bear. Then they both went back to the truck and put away their guns and the black box. “We’ll need you to move your car for us,” one ranger said to the three campers. “So we can get in here and haul this critter away.”

“Is the bear dead?” asked the Child. “Oh no,” said the ranger, “just put to sleep. Blackielocks has been hanging around here for weeks, and this is our first opportunity to catch it, stun it, and tag it.  We have about six hours now, before Blackielocks begins to wake up, to transport it to a wilderness area way up north. Hopefully Blackielocks will never encounter people again. If it does, this tag will help identify it.”

“We’re sorry this happened,” said Daddy, still shaking from the experience. “You folks did the right thing,” said the other ranger. “You protected yourselves first and then sought help. Once a bear is in your stuff, there’s nothing you can do about it but seek safety. We’re just glad you folks are okay.”

“Yeah, so are we,” said Daddy. “And to think,” said Dad, “we came camping to relax and enjoy the wildlife.” “I’m just glad the wildlife didn’t enjoy us for lunch!” said the Child, and everyone laughed with relief.

The End

Blackielocks and the Three Campers: Part 1

Blackielocks and the Three Campers

Part 1 of a story for the whole family

Once upon a time, there was a family that went on a camping trip.  A Daddy, a Dad, and a seven-year-old Child. They parked at a campsite that was near a trail leading through the woods down to the river. The Child climbed up on the car, opened the car-top carrier, and handed down the camping equipment to Dad and Daddy (who were too heavy to stand on the car). Daddy put their stove and cooler on the picnic table while Dad arranged their three chairs under a shady tree. Then Daddy and the Child set up the tent as Dad inflated the air mattresses. When the tent was ready they placed all their bedding and duffel bags of clothes inside the tent.

The family decided to have some lunch before going down to the river for a swim. They had prepared pimento cheese sandwiches, celery sticks filled with peanut butter, chocolate chip cookies, and lemonade. After eating lunch Daddy rinsed out the cups and left them upside down on the picnic table to drain, Dad put the cooler back in the car, and the Child threw away the waxed paper that they had used to wrap their food.

Then they all went to the nearby bath house and put on their bathing suits to go swimming. “Let’s not forget the sunscreen,” said Daddy. “I’ll get our hats and sunglasses out of the car,” said Dad. “I’ll carry the inner tube,” said the Child.

On the way down to the river the three campers noticed bear tracks on the trail and bear poop beside it. “These look pretty fresh,” said Dad. “Remember the poster we saw back at the ranger station warning us to watch out for a bear recently sighted in the campground and to take precautions?” said Daddy. “We’ll be all right because you threw our trash away, and I put our food in the car,” Dad said to the Child. “Yes, and we changed out of the clothes we ate lunch in and put them in the car, too,” said Daddy. “We should be safe.”

The three of them continued down the trail to the river. There they took off their shoes, hung their towels on a low-hanging tree branch, stored their sunglasses and hats and in their empty shoes, and lathered each other with sunscreen. Then they went into the river. Daddy slowly waded in up to his waist and then bobbed down to where the water came all the way up to his neck. Dad went in up to his chest and then did some frog-kicks upstream before floating on his back downstream. The Child took the inner tube out a little ways, laid stomach-down, and started paddling in a circle. The sun was high in the sky, the air was warm and dry, and a breeze occasionally swept by, shaking the leaves of the over-hanging trees and causing little waves to crash on the rocky bank.

Meanwhile up at the campground the bear that had been recently sighted roused from its mid-morning nap. This being summertime, it tended to eat pretty much all day and all night, stopping only a few hours here and there to rest between meals. It was a young bear, not a cub anymore, but not full-grown yet either. It had a big yellow nose, big black ears, and unusually curly black fur such that the rangers had nicknamed it “Blackielocks.” Blackielocks lumbered along between the rows of campsites, pausing frequently to stand up and put its nose in the air. “Sniff, sniff, sniff,” went Blackielocks. “I smell something smelly. I think I’ll check it out.”

Blacklielocks followed its nose to a site with a tent, three lounge chairs, and a picnic table. On the picnic table were three plastic cups—a big cup with yellow stripes, a medium cup with red circles, and a small cup with blue stars. Blackielocks stuck its nose in the yellow-striped big cup. It was so deep it came all the way up to its eyeballs. One suck and the cup stuck fast to Blackielocks’ nose and mouth. Blackielocks didn’t like that one bit and with a swat of its paw knocked off the cup and sent it rolling in the dirt. 

Blackielocks next tried the red-circled medium cup and was able to reach a few drops of water left in the bottom of the cup. But the water had a tart taste that made Blackielock’s mouth pucker and spit it out, and that cup too went flying. 

Then Blacklielocks picked up the blue-starred small cup. Crawling on the side of the cup was a big fat slimy slug. “Yum!” Blacklielocks licked the slug off with its long, pink tongue and munched it with delight.

Blacklielocks turned and noticed under the shaded area three lounge chairs—a big canvas chair, a medium folding chair, and a small plastic chair. Blacklielocks decided to investigate and went over to the big canvas chair and stood on it. The tag on the chair read, “Weight limit 250 lbs.” Within seconds the canvas seat began to rip, and Blackielocks tumbled to the ground.

Blacklielocks next tried the medium folding chair. Only this time Blackielocks turned it upside down and stood on the back of the chair. This caused the sides of the chair to crumple, and Blacklielocks fell over backwards.

Then Blacklielocks picked up the small plastic chair. Underneath it was a patch of wild blueberries, large, plump, and juicy. “Oooh yeah!” Blackielocks tossed the chair aside and scarfed up all the wild blueberries.

After devouring the succulent slug and ripe berries Blackielocks was ready for a mid-afternoon nap. The tent looked comfortable so Blackielocks poked through the mesh window and found three sets of air mattresses and sleeping bags—a big one, a medium one, and a small one. Blacklielocks laid down on the big sleeping bag and air mattress. It was long and firm, but the sleeping bag was made of nylon, and Blacklielocks slipped right off of it. 

Blackielocks next tried the medium one. It was shorter and softer but not made of slippery nylon. Instead it was stuffed with goose down. As soon as Blackielocks stuck its nose in the down sleeping bag, it started to sneeze and wheeze. 

Finally Blackielocks settled on the small one. It was just the right size to curl up on, and it was made of non-slippery, allergy-free flannel.

To be continued

Let Me In

Let Me In

A member of my congregation in Glasgow was going on a trip recently and, on the way to her flight, popped into a little store to pick up a few souvenirs to take to her hosts. She spotted the flag of Scotland—a white X on a field of blue—decorating a fridge magnet which had inscribed on it: Let Me In—Size Doesn’t Matter. She went to take several only to realize they weren’t fridge magnets but packages of condoms. (She chose boxes of fudge instead.)

“Let me in—Size doesn’t matter” screams to be on a church sign. Rather than the generic “Visitors Welcome” or the often untruthful “All are welcome.” A church near us erected a board on two stilts to display an exhaustive list of events for each day of the week; it’s also an exhausting list as Saturday is the only day of rest for this congregation. Across the top of the board, in large letters, it purports, “ALL WELCOME.” So far I’ve resisted the temptation to spray-paint what I know to be the actual practice of that church’s minister: “as long as you are a baptized Christian, heterosexual, not cohabiting, not divorced, and with no children born out of wedlock.” Perhaps they could add a weekly class for “Born Again Virgins.”

I grew up in the land of church signs. One that pricked my teenage feminist consciousness said, “There’s never been a perfect woman and there’s only been one perfect man.” If that sign hadn’t been so high up on the side of the building, it might have gotten lit one night by a training bra in flames.

One church sign, here in Glasgow, stays with me—not the sign as printed but the graffiti scrawled over it: Where the hell is God? Every time I pass by it I feel hopeful knowing the psalmist is alive and well and doing her job, crying out with honesty and directness. Who knows, she could be a baptized Christian who went to that minister seeking to have her newborn child baptized only to be told no because she wasn’t married. She might have bought the can of spray paint from someone who lives with his partner. Maybe the divorced city employee assigned to clean off that graffiti resonates with the sentiment and thus allows it to remain. I wonder does the church get the message?