In the words (loosely translated) of an old poet- “The best
laid schemes of mice and men quite often go awry.” Around here, the most common
reason for that derailment is the unpredictability of the Arkansas weather.
This winter, we almost literally held our breath through
December and January. In spite of a few days with some seriously cold
temperatures, the precipitation associated with after Christmas bargain hunting
and white sales stayed largely to our north and east. We just knew that at any
point, the other snow boot could drop, and we’d be in for a white February.
Sure enough, many parts of our region got pounded by an icy
blast, leaving slick streets and stranded motorists in its wake. Even though we
had been lucky to that point, by the end of the week after Valentine’s Day, we
had had enough, and were eagerly awaiting the arrival of the daffodils. It’s
not that we hate winter; it’s just that it can be so doggoned inconvenient.
Many of us would have been glad to work, if we could get our vehicles out of
our driveways. Staying home and enjoying a hot cup of cocoa became the only
option.
Winter is not the only season when Mother Nature can foil
our plans. We have all learned to have at least one alternative ready, no
matter how long we have looked forward to an outdoor activity.
As a high school band student, one of the biggest honors is
to be selected to be your state’s representative in the Cherry Blossom Festival
parade in Washington, DC. My group, from a small Kansas town about the size of
Arkadelphia raised funds for well over a year for our fifteen minutes of fame. We
boarded buses on our spring break from school and made the twenty-seven hour trip,
eager to show that the early morning and long after school practices would pay
off. On the day of the big parade . . . the rain came down in torrents. Faced
with the idea of going home without performing, our band booster parents came
up with a solution to help protect our brand new uniforms and expensive
instruments. The improvisation gave us a new name: The Marching Garbage bags.
Undaunted, we played our hearts outs, and finally broke ranks at the end of the
route to run to the safety of the buses.
Another youthful adventure that seems to always break a
drought is a camping trip. One hot summer, our third year summer camp scheduled
an excursion called wilderness camp. The plan was that we would carve a
campsite out of an undeveloped spot in the woods, clear a place to cook safely,
dig our own bathroom facility, and sleep in hammocks, instead of tents. Digging
in the rain was not too bad, cooking under a tarp was bearable, but oh the
misery of zipping a sleeping bag over my head and swinging from dripping tree
branches at night. No one could have planned a better character building
exercise than that one.
I recalled that time many years later, when I volunteered
with our sons’ scout troop. This time,
sleeping was done in nice, dry tents. The highlight of the weekend was a
competition where the boys were to construct camp furniture by lashing sticks
together. Our troop had practiced at home, and knew exactly what they wanted to
do. After their surprise that there was no cancellation due to the heavy
downpour, I witnessed a minor miracle. I remember the pure joy on their faces,
as they looked around and realized that all of the other teams were operating
under the same situation. How did they deal with it? By pitching in, working as
a team, and laughing all the way. The one thing I don’t recall about that
contest is who received the prize. I think we all won that day.
Last year, our family was very happy to attend the wedding
of a couple who was dear to all of our hearts. Both had been married before,
but were certain that this time the golden bands would be on the right left
hands. The ceremony was to be held in a pavilion in the city park, with
informality and simple beauty the theme of the day. Surely, we thought, even a
little shower wouldn’t hurt, since the pavilion was large enough to accommodate
all of the guests that were expected. That day, though, there was more than a
little shower. The grounds around the covered picnic spot were soaked and
muddy, and there was no sign that the sun would appear at all, even for a short
time. So, an emergency move to a very gracious church fellowship hall saved the
day, and provided a terrific place for eating and visiting afterwards. Dry and
happy smiles dominate the wedding pictures, and the day could not have been
more perfect.
The moral of these stories?
Be prepared, but prepare to be
unprepared. Sometimes, the worst laid plans may be the best after all.
