Change and the Yachtapotamus

There's change in the air. You can smell it. It's still hitting triple digits—but you can feel that little fall nip. It isn't just the weather that's changing—it's the season. Every August is busy and stressful—and I never can tell if it's really worse than the year before—or if I have just forgotten how tough last August was. Either way, this year was no exception. But a big change was lurking. Perspective is an interesting thing, because while I will remember the month as being intense, my Littlest will remember it as the month he finally got to fluff hay by himself. He was positively radiant. Of course the wildfires would have chosen that time to burn into the valley. My sons weren't anywhere close, but our tractor (along with many farmer's) disked out wheat and stubble to keep the fire as contained as possible. Worry is like a rocking chair—it give you something to do, but never gets you anywhere. But everyone has to be good at something, and I'm a fantastic worrier. Which brought about the next big season of change—my Littlest got a phone. Which caused me to worry all over again for different reasons! One of my favorite summer time jobs is swathing. Over the years the look of my swather has seen seasons of changes. A baby bouncer replaced the buddy seat, then blankets on the floor with lots of toys and baby wipes. Then coloring books turned to reading books turned to school books and soon we were doing math in glass markers on the windows. Recently however, the buddy seat has returned, the windows are clear except for my sunflower decals that brighten up my “office.” The only remnant hinting at the memories this cab held is in a big plastic tote under my feet—a sand box. Filled with tractors, loaders, sprayers and a skidsteer. I can't even count the hours that my kids have played in the swather while we sang songs, listened to stories, or even planned out our next adventure. Just looking at the sand box creates a lump in my throat. My Littlest will likely never play in it again—he's a big kid now—he can fluff, rake and bale along with the rest of us. Change is in the air. Because of the speed life takes (especially in August) we try to make a conscious effort to make sure we do something besides work. Farming will always be there. People will always need food. But our kids just refuse to stay little and play in the sand box, and I don't want them remembering childhood as just work. We're too sleep-deprived during August to go far, so we usually spend our spare minutes at the river. There my kids have also grown: doing 360s, jumping the entire wake, and learning how to foil. Gone are the days of sitting in my lap as we kayak, or standing between my legs as we surf. Recently, some friends of ours (also with two boys) purchased a houseboat that they have parked at the yacht club. They affectionately began calling it the Sea Hag. But in keeping with a month of changes, my family began tossing around new names: Hunky Dory, Tomato Sloop, Cirrhosis of the River, TinyTanic, The Unsinkable 2. But then it hit us. The Yachtapotamus. Then we began to write their theme song. “I bought a Yachtapotamus this summer. Only a Yachtapotamus would do Didn't want a frigate. No silly hovercraft I bought a Yachtapotamus, for my kids to have a blast. I bought a Yachtapotamus for summer. I don't think my wife will mind do you? She won't have to use, the dirty public loo She'll have her own behind a door, for a clean and private poo. I can see us on a summer morning, waking up the kids Oh what a joy shines in their eyes when they see the sunrise from their very own “Yachtapota” digs. I bought Yachtapotamus for summer. Only a Yachtapotamus will do. No cigarette boat, or catamaran-aruses I only like Yachtapotamuses. And Yachtapotamuses like me too!” Change is in the air. Kids are growing, the weather is turning, boats are getting theme songs—these are the good old days.