At the ripe young age of 21 I was asked by other members of the church I grew up in if I wanted to go on the canoe trip they had planned for late July and was told that if I did, then I’d be considered an adult and expected to keep my younger brother and his friends in line throughout the course of the trip. We loaded up the bus and a few vans Sunday afternoon after service, took a group picture and ventured down the road, driving 4 of the roughly 5 hours required and were staying the night in a small town (an hour from the river) at a small church associated with ours.
After sweating my ass off in the bus most of the way there we arrived just in time for people from that particular church to all show up with their favorite dishes and before long we were ready to eat. As we began to mingle and meet members from the small town we heard all the stories. Grandma talking about her shit head grand kids that “only a grandma could love”. Farmers talking about lack of rain….. Or too much rain. I can’t really remember which.