Twelve Volunteer Hours Accomplished...

The noise level in the bus designed for children, not normal size adults, was simply deafening. There were many heated conversations going on, not one of which I could understand. I would have liked to hear what the teacher said about our destination but it was impossible. We were in for a very long ride..


We are going to a tree farm near Olympia. It is not raining, this is good. We have had our morning coffee, barely, as there is an unusually long line at our local coffee shop. Husband is getting noticeably distressed as he is faced with thirty snotty, hacking; germ ridden savages and perhaps will have to do so without the benefit of his morning drug, I mean caffeine. My husband has a strange phobia of germs that I myself fortunately do not possess. I find it interesting that I am never ill yet he is nearly comatose when he succumbs to a cold. The germ warfare problem is an age old argument with us. Most people know not to visit us if they are sniffling as husband will outfit them with the full regalia of hospital gear before they can enter our house. The dogs don't count if they are sick or have fleas. Go figure. But I digress. It will be a most pleasant bus ride as I read the morning paper.

As we careen down the highway, am dismayed to see that my spouse is yakking it up with the other adults about this and that and not managing the school kids. Gently let him know that he is falling down on his duties. He ignores me. I begin to eat HIS lunch at ten thirty. Spouse inquires as to what I have packed for HIM. Tell him that I forgot HIS lunch but that MINE is very tasty. He knows that I become very crabby when I am deprived of my food and therefore he remains silent. Tell him to beg for some food from our daughter who always packs extra. He holds the newspaper in front of his face, a sure sign of distress or disgust, not sure which.

We arrive at the forest and pile out of the bus. Am tempted to run into forest and relieve myself but am conscious that I will set a bad example for all of the little darlings. I also assume the teacher probably would not approve of my squatting in the woods. The very happy forest ranger comes to greet us and goes over all of the rules. She lets the children know in no uncertain terms that they are not allowed to touch the electric fence. Three or four boys immediately pick up sticks and begin to stealthily make their way over to said enticement.

We begin our hike, "Can we point out the Western Hemlock?" the ranger inquires of us. Begin to feel nervous, I have not been to conservation camp for a very long time. All these trees look the same to me. Wait, they are not the same, one type of tree is deciduous which has leaves and one is conifer which has needles. Ha, that wasn't so hard. I can pass sixth grade conservation class after all. Never mind that I looked over long suffering spouses shoulder for the answer. We look and listen for sounds of wildlife; I begin thinking of bears and wily foxes. Surely I can outrun some of these little kids; I know I can outrun my husband (slow but steady) as we have competed in the fifty yard dash many times back in the day. Hopefully I won't have to run one hundred yards as he will then overtake me as he has proven time and again in the past. Thankfully remember that spouse makes much better eating than I do, hopefully the wild creatures will notice his lumbering haunches before they see me dart through the woods.

We next begin an amusing scavenger hunt. Husband and I confidently find many hidden objects and feel secure in our prowess as searchers. We find to our dismay that we have missed four items! These crafty stinking school kids, not a one of them spoke up about the ruler, pencil, brush or spoon that spouse and I failed to see. One of us should have put on our glasses or used binoculars.

Finally we come to the end of our hike, this is the area where we will look for forest creatures and draw what we find on our booklet. Begin to draw inappropriate pictures for long suffering husband. I laugh hysterically at my artwork. To my dismay my daughters teacher has figured out my art work does not resemble a wildlife creature. Once again I have resorted to juvenile behavior with disastrous consequences.

We march back to the bus; we are confined here for another hour and a half with our knees up to our chins. I fall asleep and dream that daughter has not only passed sixth grade but has skipped two grades and is on to high school. No more field trips!
 

Shawn Underwood, a native Washingtonian, writes humorous anecdotes for newspapers and magazines.   If you are a member of the media or would like to use a story, please email Shawn.

View a list of all Shawn's stories online.