Into the RIver - Val's Story, Chap 12, part 2

In between the drama, though, we still had good times. 

          In the spring of 2018, we took a vacation to the Ozarks in Missouri—Hubby and me, both our kids, and our son-in-law. 

          Our accommodations included two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large kitchen. We even had a balcony in our bedroom with a view of the river. In the evenings, Val’s husband fished off the dock below, while the rest of us played shuffleboard.

          During the day, we explored local state parks, crossed some rickety historic bridges, shopped at various tourist traps, and toured Jacob’s Cave, which Val’s husband thought was so fascinating; he’d never been in a real cave before. When we first arrived in the town, we bought bags of groceries, but then went out to eat more than we should have.

          One night, I even went down to the hot tub with the kids.

We had a great time, and even though all three of the kids had alcoholic drinks with dinner, no one overindulged. It wasn’t a problem until one of the last days we were there, when we went out to eat at a Mexican restaurant and, even though it advertised alcohol, we were told their liquor license had been suspended. Val wanted to leave and go somewhere else. We settled her down and managed to enjoy our meal.

They did have to leave for home two days before us. I loved having them around, but it was so much quieter when they were gone.

          Two years later, in the fall, Val and I rented a cabin up north near Lake Superior for a long weekend. We all went again, including the kids’ three black dogs – Wesley, Buddy, and Bleu. COVID-19 still roamed the world unleashed, so indoor activities at public places were limited. But we had an entire three-bedroom house to ourselves.

          We had another good vacation. Shared a lot of laughs, climbed some small mountains, discovered new waterfalls, and even took the dogs swimming. Unfortunately, Jim had to leave on Sunday for work the next day. But I stayed behind with Nick, Val, her husband, and the dogs for another two days. The weather was beautiful those days, and the trees exploded in yellows, reds, and vibrant oranges.

          On Monday morning, when we arrived at Foster Falls, we came across a small campground along the river. At one of the sites, two large angry dogs stood guard. We didn’t want to risk walking past them to get to the falls, so we knew we’d have to cross the Potato River to access the waterfalls.

          Our Michigan Gazetteer showed that the road we had taken there actually went right through the river. We studied the spot where the road vanished into the water and shook our heads no.

          We turned around, heading back up the road to drive several miles out of our way to approach from the other side. As we started driving, I looked back and saw a pickup with a small camper coming up behind us. I couldn’t tell where it had come from and mentioned it to the kids.

          It instantly dawned on them. “Mom, I bet they just crossed the river,” my son Nick announced. 

          Oh no, I thought. Why did I open my big mouth?

          The two young men looked at each other, and I could see the gears turning – if that guy traversed the river in his truck, we should be able to in ours.

          So, they both got out of Nick’s SUV and went to talk to the camper's driver, comparing that vehicle to ours. The other driver assured them that we wouldn’t have a problem crossing. 

          Nick spun around his Toyota SUV and headed to the end of the road, where it disappears into the Potato River. 

          I do wish I had videoed it instead of just shooting pictures. That first splash into the river, when the water flew up all the way over the windshield and our lives all flashed before our eyes, as Val and I screamed, and the boys hooted. Crazy. Absolutely crazy! You’d think we were all 22 years old and driving a beat-up Chevy pickup, instead of Nick’s two-year-old four-wheel drive. (Oh, and by the way, they made me sit in the front seat!)

          We made it to the other bank, and Nick gunned it for a few hundred feet up the gravel road. After the short walk to the waterfall and back, I looked at the front of his vehicle and asked when he lost his license plate.

          He looked around. “I guess when I drove into the river.”