A Day Out to the 100 Aker Wood

I didn’t want to go to the picnic.1

I was exhausted from a week of 14 hour days at work, helping multimillion dollar companies and widows with healthy trust funds steal from Uncle Sam and get away with it with the approval stamp of the IRS, making extra money before I had to take time off for our new arrival. I wanted to sit back, veg in front of a good book all day, and escape. But Jenny had talked me into it.2

“It may be the last time the two of you get to do anything together for awhile, with the baby coming, Christopher” she said, spreading pimento cheese on bread and putting them in plastic bags. “You promised Little Chris. You can’t let him down.” 3

And I looked at my three year old clutching his pooh bear with wide eyes and anticipation, and knew she was right. She handed me the picnic basket she had just packed, gave Chris and me quick kisses, and we headed out.4

“We’re going back to the Wood, Pooh,” Chris told the bear excitedly. I grimaced. I was not exactly the outdoors type. I’m an accountant in the nation’s capital, for goodness sake. But this was what Chris wanted to do, his last request as an only child before the new baby was born. Go to the national forest and have a picnic. And the one hour drive each way did not seem exorbitant when looking at the bright face of the kid.5

Chris began to talk, nonstop. About piglet and Pooh, how Tigger was going to bounce for him and Kanga would help him and Pooh jump high. “And you too, of course, Dad,” he added. Sure, whatever. It was a nice diversion.6

How long had it been since I had last been to the national forest? It was at least three years ago, long before Chris had been born. Jenny and I had gone there many times, when we lived in Harrisonburg. I had first asked her out there, in fact, when our church went there for a hike. That had been so long ago, and so much had happened. Who would have thought we would be where we were now? God had been good to us, that was for sure.7

Chris and I began talking more, about Piglet and Tigger and Kanga. He was so precious, so childlike. I was just like him once. That old, tattered bear he clutched had been mine once upon a time, resurrected from the attic by my mother as a gift for her first grandchild. I had loved him just like Little Chris did now. His affection for the animal brought back memories of playing with my bear outside our rural home in Southwest Virginia. Everything was so simple then. Why did everything have to get so complicated?8

Not that life was bad. I loved Jenny and Little Chris, and this new baby, too, more than I could even describe. I knew God had given them to me. Yet sometimes I longed to return to that place of innocence, of playfulness, to not have to make deadlines, deal with customers, and do everything in triplicate. To be able to just be a kid again, with no responsibilities or cares.9

I lost track of time talking to Chris and daydreaming about the old days. I was enjoying the beautiful ride when I noticed the sun was getting a little lower in the sky, and looked at the clock.Twelve o’clock already! We had left at 9:30, right after we finished breakfast. We must have missed the turn. I wished I had taken Jenny’s advice and gotten the PDS for the car, but I had not wanted to spend the extra money. “OK, God,” I said silently. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. You have to come through for us.” And, right then, I saw an old-time gas station. It looked like something out of an old Norman Rockwell painting: a small house and old-time pumps. I parked in an unmarked space near the front and pulled the map out of the glove compartment, and took a breath.10

“Come on, little man,” I said, undoing Chris’s car seat. “We’re going inside.” Chris sleepily got out of the car. He had been dozing for the last thirty minutes. I carried him inside.11

An old man stood next to the counter, tall and lean, wearing glasses and hovering over a book.12

“Look, Dad, it’s owl!” Chris said, jumping down from my arms and running into his. I was horrified. Before I could apologize the man laughed.13

“That’s one of the better things people have called me,” he said, returning Chris’s hug. “How are you young man?”14

“I’m great!” Chris said. “We must be in the forty akre wood, Dad!”15

“We’re looking for the National Forest,” I said, embarrassed.16

“Oh, goodness, you’re quite a ways away from there,” the old man said. “And anyway, it’s no good. The road to the forest is closed for the season. It won’t open until March.” 17

“Chris, I think we’re going to have to just go home. I’m sorry. Maybe we can do it another time.” I knew that was not likely to happen. Jenny was due in two weeks, and if this baby was anything like Chris, she would come a few days early. It would be awhile before I got off diaper duty to take our oldest on a little trip.18

“No!” Chris cried. “Dad, you promised!” He began what Jenny and I called the “tantrum wail,” still clinging to the old man.19

“Now, now, that’s all right,” the old man said. “I bet we can get you to the forest, one way or another. How about I talk to your Dad about it?” Chris dried his tears and nodded20

The “owl” stepped away from the counter. “I have an idea,” he whispered. “My wife and I have some land not a half a mile from here, closer to the interstate, too. We bought it for our son, but right now it’s just a clear field. Why don’t you have your picnic there?”21

“We couldn’t interfere-“22

“Nonsense,” the old man, who had told me his name was Raymond, said. “I’m not using it, and it’s just what you need. I was praying earlier that we might be able to do so good, now that no one much is around here.” I could see a glimmer of tears in his eyes. “Maybe this was meant to be.” 23

I thought for a minute. Was this man safe? But somehow, I knew all this was all right. “Sure,” I said.24

“Yeah!” Chris said, coming and embracing me. “Pooh, we’re going home!”25

Raymond closed the shop, which he said had not had any customers all morning, and we followed him over to the land. “You just have a good time,” he said, “and come back to see me sometime.” He gave me his phone number and directions back to the interstate. I shook his hand.26

“You are a lifesaver,” I said.27

“Only God does that,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.28

The next hour and a half was one of the best in my life. Chris and I walked through the woods, hand in hand, talking. We shook the trees and counted the acorns as they bounced off the branches. We had a jumping contest judged by “Tigger,” who Chris found in the slanted stump of a fallen tree. It was a great day.29

Finally, we sat down to eat. Chris got out the pimento cheese sandwiches, chips, apples and juice. We had blessed the food, and eaten, when he reached in the basket for another napkin, and found something he had forgotten to get. “She remembered!” he said, and pulled out a tiny jar of honey. “Mom’s the best! She remembered Pooh only eats honey!” I laughed to myself. My wife was a jewel. She had saved an empty honey jar for Chris to play with.30

“Come on, Pooh, let’s eat!”He cupped the jar over Pooh’s nose. “Uh oh,” he said.31

“What’s wrong?” What harm could come from a honey jar?32

“It’s stuck,” Chris said. “We have got to go see owl. He’ll know how to take it off. Then let’s go home. This was fun, but Mommy misses us.” I chuckled and helped him pack up the car.33

We walked into the gas station and saw Owl sitting right where he was before. “Well, hello there,” he said. “How are my adventurers?”34

“We had a fun day, but Pooh had an accident,” Chris said seriously. He put his bear on the counter.35

“Is that a fact. Uh oh. He liked the honey a little too much. I bet I can get that off.” Raymond went to a back room and came back with a slab of butter. “My son’s Pooh got stuck sometimes, too.” He greased the jar and pulled it right off. “There we go, all perfect!” 36

“Thank you, owl!” Chris said, hugging his bear.37

“You are very welcome, little one.”38

“How can we thank you?” I asked, putting out my hand.39

“No thanks needed. It was a joy from God to help,” Raymond said, and I knew he meant it. “Your son reminds me of mine. He always loved Pooh, too.”40

“Does he have children now?” I asked.41

“No,” Raymond said, swallowing. “He did. He died, with his family and my wife, all in the same van in a wreck five years ago.”42

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.43

“They’re with Jesus now,” Raymond said, solemnly. “But I do miss them terribly.”44

We thanked Raymond and went home. Jenny welcomed us with hugs.45

“How was your day?” she asked.46

“Great,” I said, and I told her about Raymond. “It was so amazing, like God had put him there for a reason.”47

“Maybe he did,” she said, nodding.48

“I was thinking, maybe at Thanksgiving, we can have him over, since our parents are probably not going to come so close to after coming from seeing the baby.”49

“I think that will be perfect,” she said.50

And that night, when I tucked Little Chris in, his Pooh bear clutched in his arms, I knew that our day in the 100 aker woods would be in our memories for a long time to come.51