Home > Marriage > Spirituality > A Tippy Canoe and Barry, Too
A Tippy Canoe and Barry, Too
What a nearly disastrous dip in the river taught me about …
by Donna Frisinger
 1 of 4
Spirits were soaring when my husband, Barry, and I, together with a group of our church friends, decided to canoe down the Tippecanoe River in northern Indiana. Lunches were packed, safety vests donned, suntan lotion liberally applied, and our bottle of insect repellant was within reach.
The only thing not ready for this grand expedition was Barry. While I had a long and knowledgeable relationship with the sleek, unsteady boats (compliments of numerous canoeing expeditions through the backwaters of the Canadian wilderness), the same could not be said of my landlubber husband.
As our fleet of vessels set out, naturally I (being the veteran) volunteered to take the rear position to steer the canoe. That left Barry in the front.
The only instructions I gave him were, "No matter what happens, do not under any circumstances lean over. Just sit straight and paddle. I'll take care of the rest."
Rough water
The first time we tipped over, I was in forgiving mode.
I mean anyone can have an accident, right? Barry apologized, everyone had a good laugh, and we reloaded.
Okay, I thought, taking a deep breath. We're home free. He's got the hang of it.
The second time we tipped over, I congratulated myself that I kept my cool. Yes, we'd lost our lunch, but I figured we could mooch off our fellow canoe-geeks.
"I'm sorry!" Barry bellowed, as everyone had yet another good laugh—at our expense.
"It's okay, babe," I reassured him, adding, "But don't lean over again—okay, sweetie-pie? Honey-poo?"
Things went pretty well after that second baptism. We sang "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and laughed as the Baldwin boys, our neighborhood clowns, began a splashing war with their paddles.
As I snickered at their antics, I took my eyes off Barry. In that split second, I noticed a low-hanging branch looming directly in front of us. Glancing quickly at my husband, I watched incredulously as he started to lean to his right. Horrified, I opened my mouth and hollered, "Noooo! Just lie back in the ca—!"
Too late.
Into the water we went again. Only this time, we were in really deep water (no pun intended). To make matters worse, the current was racing like a horse at the Kentucky Derby, and we were trapped beneath the canoe.
All I could hear was the roar of rushing thunder as I tumbled like a wet dishrag in a washing machine. Which way is up? I wondered.
When the strap of my safety vest caught under the seat of the canoe, my water ballet gave way to panicked thrashing. Now I was quickly running out of breath, inadvertently inhaling large gulps of the swirling black water.
Finally, I freed myself and broke the surface, sputtering and choking. (And ready to choke my husband.)
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