A Summer Adventure

There was never a day of summer that I didn't like, but perhaps none as memorable as this. What it is about summer that makes even the smallest surprises so magical and enticing when you are only seven years old I'm not quite sure, but there was no doubt that we'd found ourselves in a world of our own that warm August day.
It began on the riverfront, with me, my little sister Meggie, and my close summer friend Tyson lying on our backs in the shade of the willow trees. Tyson never visited long, and he was leaving tomorrow, so we wanted to do something exciting.
"Have you ever wondered what's on the other side of the river?" I wondered in awe, staring across the gentle, wide waters.
Suddenly, Meggie sat up, hazel eyes glowing the way they always did when she got an idea. "We should go!" she excitedly declared. "We can take the raft and float across!"
The "raft" she was referring to was a large round floatie, one big enough to fit all three of us and our dad combined. And we knew there was no way we would manage crossing the river without my dad helping us. We raced barefoot through the brittle, sun-bleached grass, racing excitedly towards my dad.
"Can we raft across the river?" we pleaded. "Pleeeaase Dad?"
He lifted his Red Sox cap just above his eyes, staring at us drearily. "Now?"
"Tyson's leaving tomorrow!" I put in. "We won't see him again until next summer."
My dad gave a heavy sigh, knowing now that he wasn't going to manage to get out of this. "Okay, let's go," he grumbled, standing up from his chair. With that, we hauled the raft into the river, getting on and making our way past the dock. We dangled our feet in the water as we drifted on the current, feeling the seaweed tickle our toes then sink into the murk. We now fixed our eyes on the destination across the river, where there was a small opening just wide enough for the raft to make its way through. My dad turned to lay on his stomach, putting his legs in the water and kicking us towards it, then sitting up onto the raft again. We now all looked around in eager anticipation; even my dad was becoming more enthusiastic about it. Cattails and reeds towered above our heads, neon-colored dragonflies hovering over the water. Tiny minnows could be seen beneath the surface, and birds cawed from the nearby shore. It wasn't long until we found ourselves in a small body of water, the only entrance to it being the one that we came through. Motorized boats wouldn't have made it in, and it may have even been a struggle for a simple fisherman's boat, so we knew that there had probably been few people to enter this amazing place. Water lilies painted the pool with spots of pink, and frogs hopped from rocks and logs. We were surprised to see a large trout swim right beneath our raft, and to see a blue heron no less than 10 feet away in the marsh. The water was deeper here, and my dad decided to slide in to cool himself off. His feet rested at the bottom, all of us laughing as he slowly sank in the deep gooey ground. He pulled his feet out, jumping onto the raft again and making us bump into a small thorny tree filled with startled birds who instantly flew above our heads. We all sat on the raft talking, watching seagulls and pelicans make their way through the clear summer sky, until it was painted by the ever-changing pinks and reds of sunset. We slowly made our way back, much less eager to leave than we were to arrive. We dragged the raft up the shore, comforted by the warmths of our towels.
"Where were all of you today?" my mother asked curiously. Each one of us gave the others a knowing glance, then with a smile said, "Nowhere, really." I was surprised that not even my dad said a word, not even to this day, 7 years from then. And now, every time I gaze out to the river, I think of that one special place that we can truly say was our part of the river.