During my late spring cleaning I finally decided to part with my canoe of the last four decades. I’ve not used it since the eighties and am amazed at my wife’s endless patience in leaving it in the backyard at two different houses since that time. It’s an indestructible aluminum model, but closer inspection will show the hand painted Comanche designs starting to fade.

My Dad got this for me as a teenager, when our favorite thing to do was to take canoe camping trips down the Brazos River. My mom would drop us off with a map, an ice chest, a pistol and our adventurous spirits and meet us five days later at a bridge somewhere downstream; sunburn, malnourished and unspeakably happy. For we were on the river of John Graves, where Charlie Goodnight and Quanah Parker camped before us. As odd as it sounds, wilderness survival was considered a rite of passage in this part of Texas, and our parents encouraged us to go; unthinkable in our modern age. Actually, water moccasins and feral hogs were our main hazards. When I close my eyes, I can still feel the exhilaration of these trips! But, I’ve not been on one in many years, and am now way to old to even consider going. So why has this canoe stayed around so long? There was someone I needed to talk to.

I walked straight to Danny’s grave, even though I’d not been to this cemetery in years. I’d forgotten how the site overlooked a pond and clouds drifted overhead in a warm breeze this day. He had been my best friend and canoe partner for at least a dozen trips. We grew up together along the banks of the Brazos, communing with past explorers. “I’m giving away the Brazos war canoe, Danny”, I said out loud. “It’s time”.

I looked to the clouds and felt a warm breeze blow straight through me and felt comfort. If there is a next life, Danny and I will, someday, find ourselves on the river and on a new adventure in the brightly painted canoe of our youth. Maybe we’d see ‘ol Charlie Goodnight, or Quanah himself, camping downstream. The thought made me smile as I walked back to my car.