Snow Goose (part two) - Nancy Sherer

Thirty one sixth graders, a math teacher, and two adult volunteers headed out on foot for the harbor on a sunny Thursday morning. We would walk more than a mile, eleven and twelve year olds strung out for a block. Steve, who was the father of one of the students, set a good pace. I hung back, herding the slow pokes from behind. The math teacher, Randy, nervously kept watch on the entire procession. He walked up and down the line monitoring all the moving parts. This was the first time he had been in charge of students who weren't imprisoned inside classroom walls. Because the weather was pleasant, so was the walk.

I know that fiduciary times are tough, but where do all the buses go between bringing children to school and taking them home at night?

But we walked. Past the shrub swarming with bees, past the mission where bums and ex-cons loitered, and across the railroad tracks towards the marina. Some walked with noses down, intent on not stepping on cracks. Some in clusters of four or five, relating their life stories to each other between each step. I took on the job of wrangling the stragglers. This job had the most responsibility because about seven of the children had reached the developmental stage where adults were irrelevant. These loose ends had matured to the point where nothing mattered more than walking slowly. It wasn't until we crossed the railroad tracks that they realized that even if they escaped my notice, they wouldn't be able to find their own way home. So they started walking really slowly.

Maybe they were just tired. Why do the school buses just sit idly in a parking lot twenty three hours a day?

I don't know if it was the sea air or the childrens' realization that I was outnumbered, but as we neared the marina my stragglers became less interested in their destination and more interested in kicking at the grasses that landscaped the path. When I finally got them all herded onto the dock with the rest of the class, one of the Snow Goose instructors chose a girl out of the ranks. A marine rope in one hand, she asked the child how tall she was. Four foot seven inches, she repeated to the crowd loudly as she swung the rope around a huge piling. Everyone's eyes were glued to the scene, especially some badly behaved boys that I would have liked to see made an example of. Once the rope encircled the old growth log, there was plenty of slack left to tie a good knot.

Oh, the little girl had already served her purpose by being four foot seven. As the instructor tied the knot just above the child's head. She reminded everyone that this represented the girl's height and that we would look at the rope again when we returned from the trip. Of course I knew that this was an illustration of how the dock would rise or fall depending on the tide, but I'm pretty sure that some of the children took it as a cautionary tale. All I know for sure is that thirty one tweeners were very well behaved as we climbed the planks, one by one, onto the Snow Goose.

The crew took charge and I became one of the crowd. I allowed my bag to be stored with the school packs only after I was assured that I could get at it any time.

This was an important detail because although it was a warm sunny day, Bellingham Bay is cold. When Jerry and I had a boat, I learned how miserably cold boats can be even in July. I doubled my caution because it was late September. I packed leg warmers, an extra sweater, a long winter scarf and gloves, hoping that I wouldn't have to share with a child who was unprepared. It was a good thing too because the crew made it clear right from the start that whining would not be accommodated.

Once the gear was stowed, the safety lessons began. We weren't expected to wear life jackets which surprised me a little bit, but I had been informed that if children acted recklessly, they would have to wear one. Aha, I thought, another incentive for them to follow orders.

By far the most exciting part of the day came next as an instructor explained the protocol in case someone fell overboard. The most important job is to point your entire arm at the person, even walking along the boat to keep them in view, while shouting 'man overboard.' Other people would then begin throwing out things that floated to mark the trail until the boat could turn around and pick them up. And since they were sixth graders, the instructor added that man overboard was the correct phrase even if it was a girl that fell off. By the time the instructor was done with the presentation, I and most of the sixth graders were hoping someone would fall off.

While the Snow Goose began puttering out of the marina, the children were divided into four groups and assigned teachers. I and the other adults were loose cannons.