The River, the Wind, and the Lesson Beneath the Current

A true story retold like a fable by Jennifer Kost...

The sun rose soft and golden over the Iowa fields that Saturday morning,
wrapping the world in that kind of stillness that makes you think...
nothing could possibly go wrong today.

Troy loaded the kayaks with his usual confidence, the quiet steadiness of a man
who has weathered many adventures.
Levi, the youngest of the crew at thirteen, bounced with excitement, his paddle already in hand.
And me? I was ready for a peaceful day on the Wapsi River...
just a family, a few ripples, and the easy rhythm of water meeting sky.

The calm before the current picked up...

Fate, however, had other plans.

Troy, ever the explorer, chose the final leg of the Wapsi Trail...
the stretch between McCausland and the mighty Mississippi.
The map looked innocent enough, all blue lines and gentle curves,
but nature had scrawled her own edits: downed trees, high flow, and warnings that whispered...
Are you sure?

We should’ve listened.

The beginning and middle of our adventure seemed normal enough.

When we passed under Highway 67, Levi’s voice piped up - calm, logical, and wise beyond his years.
“Mom, Dad... we could pull out here. It’s steep, but I can help carry the kayaks up. Dad can walk back for the car.”

We exchanged looks, adults reasoning through variables, timing, convenience.
Then we paddled on.

Hindsight, of course, is a sharp-edged teacher.

As the day stretched on, we glided past the northern routes, one by one finding them impassable.
The river demanded commitment; there was no turning back.
“We’ll ride it out to the Mississippi,” Troy decided.
And so, we did.

The river just before it decided to test us...

Soon the sky darkened, and the gentle Wapsi transformed into a roaring beast.
Headwinds continued increasing, waves slapping hard against our sit-on-top kayaks.
Every stroke was a battle.
We veered off, desperate for safety, into a narrow slough - a shortcut, we thought.
But the shortcut was blocked, tangled with trees and hidden logs that jarred our hulls and nerves alike.

By the time the light faded, we’d lost the sun.
Our strength was waning, and we just wanted to be off the water.

The slough that looked like salvation... until it wasn’t.

Exhausted and aching, we dragged the kayaks up a steep bank,
stashing them in the thick weeds like buried treasure.
Our phones pinged weakly as we dropped a pin for Trevor and Dylan, two of our sons,
who were waiting on land.
By some small miracle, they found a DNR officer at a nearby boat ramp who confirmed
what we already feared: we were still a mile and a half deep in the preserve.

So we walked.

One and a half miles in the dark... bruised, wet, sore, but together.
When we finally reached the car, it was 8:30 p.m., the kind of darkness that feels alive.

Thirteen and a half miles we had kayaked that day.

Back home, the glow of golden arches never looked so welcoming.
Other children went with me to fetch McDonald’s for everyone.
We feasted like heroes, though poor Levi later paid the price with a stomach unprepared for post-adventure fries.

The next morning, I wanted to help go back for the kayaks, but Troy, dreading the necessary, insisted I stay home.
He, Levi, and Dylan made the return trek, hiking two miles to the kayaks and paddling those final two miles to freedom (aka: boat ramp).

Since Saturday, none of us have slept well.
Our muscles throb, our bodies protest, but our hearts are full.

Because that’s the thing about adventures... they don’t ask permission.
They teach through bruises, laughter, and hindsight.

Levi, wise beyond his years, will someday tell his children and grandchildren about the day he kayaked the Mighty Mississippi.
And I?
I’ll tell them how a 13-year-old boy saw the best path before any of us did...
and how I learned that sometimes, the smallest voices hold the clearest wisdom.

And for the record, I will never kayak that section again... ever.

💡 Life Lessons from the River

• Listen to young wisdom. Experience doesn’t always mean insight.
• Adventure often comes disguised as disaster. You don’t realize you’re writing a great story until it’s over.
• Sometimes, survival is success.

🌟 Reflection

Homeschooling has always been about more than books and checklists.
It’s about growing hearts that notice, think, and act with courage.

That day on the river reminded me that learning doesn’t always look like a lesson plan... sometimes it looks like muddy shoes, sore muscles, and a child’s quiet wisdom cutting through the chaos.

The best education happens when life itself becomes the classroom... and sometimes, the test comes before the lesson.

📍 Wapsi River Water Trail – Scott & Clinton Counties: https://www.iowadnr.gov/media/8899/download?inline