Stony Brook

Today the family made the 45 minute journey to the south to the state park of Stony Brook. It's been a tradition for as long as I can remember to head to Stony Brook state park at least once every summer. If you know anything about this park, you know that it consists of a stream running down a hill through a gorge and a few waterfalls.

It's quite beautiful, if I do say so myself. If you haven't been there, I'd definitely suggest going at some point.

But, anyways, it sounds like it could have the potential to be boring, but with my family, nothing's boring at all. As we walk along, certain things seem to strike my mother and I funny. People in bikini's who obviously shouldn't be, men who think they "still have it" but really everyone within a mile radius of them would prefer if they kept their shirts on, 20 year old guys who "have it" but walk through the stream singing "Just Around the River Bend!" from Disney's Pocahontas, and these small strange orange-yellow mushrooms that grow on the walls of the gorge. Most of these things keep my mother and I occupied whilst my stepfather, David, and my baby brother, Kyle, frolic in the water.

One particular instance that I remember quite clearly in my mind is the original mushroom incident. I was probably about 13 at the time, before David came into our lives, and my mother had taken Kyle and I to Stony Brook on our yearly adventure. Kyle and I were walking ahead of mom when suddenly I felt something hit me. I looked around, saw nothing, and kept moving on without hesitation, not thinking anything of it. That was until about 5 minutes later when I felt something else hit me. I looked down and saw a small orange mushroom. Figuring that was the culprit that had hit me in the head, I glanced back at my mother who proceeded to stop walking and look about "innocently". If you know my mother, you KNOW that means she's up to something. 

"Mom," I asked, "Did you just throw that mushroom at my head?"

"What? Pfft.... No!" she replied in her typical manner, smirking all the while. Knowing it was obviously her that had thrown it, I decided it was all out war. 

Ever since that day, any time that we're at Stony Brook, my mother and I are always on the look out for the next mushroom. I have learned not to walk in front of her, and she has learned the same. To say the least it keeps us both giggling and entertained the entire hike. I hope to keep this yearly tradition up with her as long as I can.