The art of choosing a good walking stick was lost on me until a recent trip to the trails near our house. Once we got into the woods, the most important feat was to get 'the right' walking stick. The search was so consuming that no one could be bothered by anything else until a rather grand piece of wood was proven to be sufficient. I was unable to decipher what the criteria might be. Something about size, girth, and strength seemed important.
I have never pillaged the forest floor looking for a piece of wood to drag around with me.
Everett began testing the strength of a stick he deemed 'perfect' for Josiah. Josiah is evidently not old enough to appreciate a good stick as he thanked Everett and then chucked it off the nearest cliff.
After walking a while, we sat on the stone enbankment of a stream to draw. Walking sticks never far from reach, a few of them can be seen in this peaceful picture. Sally stood up and her shoe dropped five feet into the water. As it was being carried downstream, shrieks and screams of delight and angst ensued.
I jumped up and quickly weighed my options. Jumping into the water would be ridiculous, letting it float away would mean carrying Sally through the woods to the car, but if I had a nice big stick I could probably hoist it up. I turned frantically to find one when Everett shouted, "Mom, aren't you glad I got the right one?"