A Thirst for Idaho

I’m caught up in the excitement of this new adventure. As we continue to drive with only the occasional stop for gas, I daydream, and try to imagine what Idaho is like. Mom said that Minnesota is the land of 10,000 lakes and Idaho is famous for potatoes. I wonder if kids in Idaho don’t have to take baths and are allowed to grow potatoes behind their ears. I think that would be pretty groovy.    

I daydream about the mountains, wild animals and wild potatoes as well as Indians and cowboys that don’t shoot at each other and are friends. I’m excited about everything except the potatoes. Even if they were wild, how much fun is a spud? Although, on second thought, when a potato sits around for weeks, they get bored and grow all sorts of eyes all over their potato bodies so that’s pretty cool.

Soon it’s quiet again and we’re all wondering if we’re almost there because we’ve been driving forever. When we started the trip, I heard Dad tell Mom that it’s about fourteen hundred miles from Minnesota to Idaho. I don’t know exactly what fourteen hundred means but it sounds like a lot.

Dad can’t afford to buy drinks for each of us, every time we’re thirsty so we often share. When we share, nobody wants to drink after Erik, who, unknowingly leaves a remnant of whatever he’s been eating in the lip of the pop can, guaranteeing that he’ll now take sole ownership of the drink. He’s only two-years old so he can’t help himself. Sometimes our throats get so dry we can’t take it.

“I'm thirsty. Is there any more pop,” Nina asks.
Mom looks at Nina and replies in a happy, almost excited tone, “Kids, we're gonna have to do what the pioneers did.”
Nina asks, “What’s that?”
“Suck your thumb!”

I wonder if she’s joking or if she’s serious and ask, “Suck your thumb? Like a baby?”
Mom knows everything and she replies, “It's scientifically proven that when you put things in your mouth, saliva rushes in.”
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I’m interested but slightly confused. Usually you hear grownups telling kids to stop sucking their thumbs and this is the first time I ever heard a grown up encouraging kids to suck their thumbs.

I ask, “Saliva? Saliva is spit right?”
“Well…yes.”
“We can just drink the spit in our mouths?”
“It always worked for the pioneers. Look at little Erik. You don't hear him asking for drinks.”
“Nope, only for bathrooms. It must be all the spit he’s drinking.”
Angie looks at Erik and asks Mom, “Does Erik still suck his thumb?”
“Not much but when he’s really thirsty he might.”

We all look over at little Erik to see if he’s sucking his thumb or not because we hadn’t noticed him doing it in some time. He’s looking back at us and smiling like he’s an expert in thirst avoidance and has all the answers. Maybe he is the expert. How could a little kid like Erik know so much?

After an hour Nina seems disappointed and starts looking around. She spots a can of Squirt in the back. Excitedly, she holds the can, wiggles it, and sees that there is liquid inside. She takes a big drink. After a second, she starts spitting and choking like crazy.

“Awk! What is this? Yuck! Awwwww. Gross!  Eewwwuuuu! I think I just drank pee! I did! I just drank pee!!!”

The scene reminds me of the time that Snoopy kissed Lucy in “Merry Christmas Charlie Brown.” She is really upset and angry although it isn’t Erik’s fault. He did the only thing he could do.  Erik laughs, but is clearly embarrassed.

Nina’s begins dramatically wiping her mouth with a blanket that was lying on the floor of the van. “I drank Erik's Pee. Awww!!! Yucky! Gross Er!!!!!!”
Erik defensively exclaims, “Dad told me to!”

Mom immediately begins praying. “Dear Lord, please kill the germs. By your stripes, we are healed Lord God. In Jesus name, Amen!” Mom reopens her eyes and looks at Nina as she talks to her. She smiles reassuringly and says, “You’ll be fine Nina. Don’t worry sweetie. God is good!”

Mom points out the signs of The Lewis and Clark Trail and historical landmarks. “Look, he was here 168 years ago and now we’re at the exact, same spot. The trail is still fresh!”
We’re now driving on the side of steep cliffs as we pass from Montana to Idaho through Lolo Pass. Mom is nervous and tells us that even Lewis and Clark complained about this “wretched mountain pass” in their travel journals that they submitted to President Jefferson.

Mom is doing her best not to show her grave concern for our safety but has to stop looking out the window to do so. Dad doesn’t appear nervous at all. I want to be brave like him but I’m feeling apprehensive. My eyes are drawn to the bottom of the mountains, searching the crevices for wildlife. I can’t help but wonder if we went over the edge right now, if anyone would survive. I look for signs of vehicles down there and I see the occasional tire, hubcap and a crumpled pick-up truck. This keeps our eyes busy and our collective mouths from asking the age-old question as to whether or not we were almost there yet.