Berries and straw

September 13, 2014

Berries and straw

Since I spend most weekends with Sloane attached at the hip, Riley and I were delighted in late August to get our first day trip away since little sis was born -- just mommy and Riley. We enjoyed the scenic, coastal route 90 minutes down to Pescadero on a stunning day. We loved spotting surfers in the ocean and identifying everything would could along the many beaches that line the drive.

We arrived at friend Audrey's fourth birthday party at a berry patch. We picked four pounds of blackberries that, later, would become two delicious pies. And I've got to hand it to Audrey -- she hd the hippest goody bags Riley's ever received including a gold inflatable ball and zebra striped shades.

We next stopped for lunch at the famed Duarte's Tavern. I cannot get enough of their artichoke soup! No wonder this place has been in business for 120 years! Seriously, nothing in California is that old. But there's a reason I'll drive an hour and a half to get a bowl of soup at this place.

We headed next to a tiny town fair, but, strangely, Riley's legs cramped up and he could no longer walk. I feared we'd end up in a tiny rural hospital with a serious problem, but after a trip to the festival medic, the boy's legs healed on their own. Phew!

Because of the cramps, I decided to high tail it home. And yet, I got distracted. When we passed a family farm advertising a straw maze on the property, we decided we needed to make one more stop. The farm was adorable. It was decorated with all sorts of old gear like this tractor.

Of course the real draw was the maze. I'll admit we were a bit intimidated on the approach by the imposing metal sculptures framing the entrance. But we quickly got over our fear which, in retrospect, might have been a mistake.

Riley was enormously confident guiding our way through the maze. Despite the fact that we encountered one dead end after another and, for the first ten minutes, appeared to be making circles back to the entrance, Riley's confidence never flagged. As this video partially indicates, every time he'd face a wrong turn, he'd turn around and say, "Now I know the way," or "Follow me, I know the perfect way!"

For twenty minutes I followed Riley, deciding that if he didn't figure it out in a couple more minutes I'd lead us out of the maze. I was nearing the end of my patience -- and my claustrophobia was starting to feel more aggressive -- when Riley said, "See ya, mom" and scurried off around a corner. I was just a few steps behind him, but when I turned, he wasn't there. What the #$@%?! I needed to find him and quickly.

But how? There were four paths and, unfortunately, I chose the wrong one. I yelled out at the top of my lungs, "Riley! Riley" And all I could hear was silence marked by a very muffled, almost whispered, "mmm-mm." The sound was so distant I wondered if I was making it up.

I was starting to feel desperate. My claustrophobia was suddenly full-blown and amplified by the fear that my child might be in danger. I was sweating and starting to panic. I tried climbing up the ten foot hay walls, but I couldn't manage it. I ran through the maze as wisely as I could, sure I'd find him or the exit in another minute or two. Four minutes later I saw a door -- an emergency exit -- and flew out of it, sprinting back to the owner's barn. It took awhile to track anyone down, but eventually I found the owner and he sent his nine-year-old in to find Riley. About 10 minutes after Riley ran off, he came out with the owner's boy, looking completely shell shocked. As soon as he saw me, he burst into tears and collapsed into my arms. He said, "I kept yelling 'mommy' but you didn't come!!" Neither of us had realized that hay bales bury nearly all sound. At least in the beginning, we were likely separated by just one wall of hay, but still couldn't hear each other.

I can't imagine how scared he must have been lost in that maze. Still, through heavy tears, he insisted, "I wasn't scared! Maybe you were, but I...[sob] wasn't... [sob] scared!" That was the most curious part of the entire experience to me. How does a four-year-old raised in a super-progressive community decide that he can't express fear?

After he (and I) calmed down a bit, we decided to hike up the 35-40 foot watch tower to look down on the maze and see where we went wrong. I though it would be a fun way to chart our path and which turn we should have made differently. Little did I know that we were NOWHERE near finishing the maze. In fact, in our twenty minutes together, we'd probably only traversed 10% of the entire maze.

Seeing the entire, winding spectacle from above was stunning. I wanted to take a picture, but it actually required three full frames (and that didn't even capture the tail end. Wow. We never stood a chance.

The front of the maze...