The peepers were peeping outside my window on that warm mid-June evening as I drowsily laid in bed trying to finish a chapter of Moby Dick
I was reading the passage about Queequeg telling Ishmael a story about the first time he saw a wheelbarrow.
He didn’t know how it worked so he tied it to his chest and carried it on his shoulders.
As a 12-year-old, I found that to be very funny. So, as I dozed off I began to think of the many odd things I had witnessed folks do in my woods.
I dreamt about the two men in a rowboat I saw floundering around Limekiln Lake using 10-foot oars as paddles.
I took a pause from one of my hikes to observe them and wondered if they were ever going to get the hang of it.
I once saw a lady in high heels struggling down a trail carrying a purse the size of duffle bag. She had a look on her face as if she was disgusted with its unpaved condition.
When I was on my way to school a few days earlier I saw four teenage boys dragging an aluminum canoe along the side of Route 28.
As I passed them on my bike the sound of metal to pavement was worse than fingernails on chalkboard.
When I woke the next morning my book had flopped off the bed and my cheeks felt as if I had laughed all night.
Then I started thinking of the silly antics I had been guilty of in the past.
For example, when I was in kindergarten my class went on a field trip to a theme park.
When we were having lunch in the cafeteria I passed right by the cashier and took a seat without paying.
Since I had never gone on a trip without my parents I didn’t know that money needed to be exchanged for the meal.
Up until fourth grade I thought every tool was a hammer…and I used most of my father’s tools as such.
But in the end, I had the biggest problem with Queequeg’s wheelbarrow.
I could never remember a day, even when very young, that I didn’t know what to do with my father’s wheelbarrow.
Who didn’t want to roll that cool-looking, one-tired, tip-crazy vessel all around the yard?
I don’t know how many hours of fun my brother, sister and I had in that old thing.
Ultimately I decided Queequeg must have just been having a bit of fun at Ishmael’s expense.
And that made me think about how some of my Adirondack tales have a tendency to grow.
I bet most readers never knew I once swam the Fulton Chain with an anvil on my chest.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller, lives at Inlet. ltmitch3rdny@aol.com