The River

The Intro

 Ever since I was 12 there has been a spot out in the boonies that I still hold near and dear to my heart and still visit regularly. Deep in the heart of North Central Florida, there is a place that we who live in the area refer to as “the three rivers.” It is a section of land that oozes Spanish moss, where the distinct odor of bass bedding in the tall grass, and the heavy taste of a hot summer breeze are simply present. There in that nugget of the backwoods, snuggled deep down in the south, lies the apex of country life that exists out upon the banks of those majestic rivers that gently weave their way through the rolling countryside. It is there that the Suwannee, Ichetucknee and Santa Fe rivers meet as if cordially shaking hands while they float lazily past one another. Although we spent some time on the other rivers it was the crystal waters of the Ichetucknee that have always held sway over me and my friends and it is there, even to this very day, that we travel from our homes across Florida to drink, laugh, love, and enjoy each others company and of course the beauty of NCF at its finest.

Now in my youth, I drank a lot of beer, tripped on a lot of acid, and smoked a shit ton of weed out on that river. My friends and I tubed,

canoed, swam, caught crawdads, grilled out, and just had an all-around wonderful time. Although the years have left us with a few grey hairs, a few extra pounds, and hopefully a bit more sense (of course that remains to be determined),

those years have also left us with a wealth of memories and stories that happened out on that river. This story is dedicated to those friends and those fantastic memories that I hold so very dear. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

                                                    

         Francine "The Story"

Now as life would have it I still get together with several of my friends that I have known since I was 12 and spend some time down

on the river. That’s right; since I was 12. Amazing anyone would want to be friends with me for that long!

At any rate; my friend Patty’s father owns a cabin out on the river and once a year about 6 or 7 of us get together for what we refer to as “girls' weekend” to raise a little hell, do a little grilling, some tubing and some…well….drinking. Now I should probably set the stage:

The cabin is at the top of a rather large bank or, some would say, a small hill and there is a path of stepping stones that will, when you are sober, take one gently down to the dock which sits along the crystal blue river. Now this particular evening the tequila shots and beers were flowing freely and all of us had been down on the dock for quite some time and we were, as usual on the first night on the river, getting rather intoxicated.

At one point my friend, we’ll call her…Alice. Yes, so Alice decides she needs to go up to the cabin, and being the wonderful friend that I am I thought I would give her a hand as the more inebriated you are the steeper and more treacherous that damn hill seems to get. So off we go, down the dock, off into the grass, along the stepping stones, all seemingly going fairly well until my friend….ahhheemmm…I mean Alice, comes to the conclusion she no longer requires my assistance and decides that she can “make it up the hill on my own!” All at once she gathers her wits, her keen sense of direction, and herself and attempts to make the final push towards the cabin and as such she snatches herself out of my rather protective grasps, takes two maybe three rather confident yet wobbly steps in the correct direction up the hill and then without hesitation, takes four lurching steps backward down the hill where she unceremoniously lands on her ass, side and face in the mud, the muck, and the leaves.  Now trust me when I say I was, with great concern of course, laughing my freakin’ ass off as I tried to get her back upright which of course she would have none of, continuing to insist that she could do it on her own. She finally made it to her feet, covered in mud with sticks and leaves sticking haphazardly out of her hair. She proceeded to stagger up to the cabin,

in through the porch door where she was met with a chorus  of “holy shit what happened to you?” At once, not waiting for a reply, Patty takes ole Alice into the restroom to help clean her up and as I walk up and into the cabin, still chuckling to myself, I see that down the hallway some of my friends have, trying to get a look at what was occurring in the bathroom,

stacked themselves up one head on top of the other peering into the crack of the half-opened door when we hear Patty ask Alice once again what happened. Alice bellows out, in honest indignation and in her deep southern drawl, “That damn Francine pushed me down! Can you believe it?! That bitch Francine pushed me down!” In concert, all four heads that were peering through the door turned around and looked at me with expressions that read “Who the fuck is Francine?” Ummm…just for the record; I’ve known Alice since I was 15 and am currently 50. Oh…and my name is Kristine. 

At that point, the pyramid of heads and bodies collapsed into a heap of laughter that echoed through the woods and out across the river. We were literally on the floor rolling around we were laughing so hard. And thus Francine, my evil twin was born. For the rest of the time that we were there that weekend, and I am sure for the remainder of the time we get to enjoy each other’s company out at the cabin, whenever anything goes asunder we all know that it will have been ole evil Francine at work once again. Alice, I love ya girl!