The Long Way to the Picnic

Jordan had drawn a route to the picnic ground on the back of an old envelope. A straight line crossed the footbridge, passed the duck pond and ended at the big oak tree. “We’ll be first,” he told his cousin Saff. Uncle Tom checked his watch and lifted the orange picnic bag. “Then we can choose where to put the blanket.” Jordan folded the envelope and tucked it into his pocket.

At the bridge, they found a closed gate and a notice explaining that repairs were underway. A marked detour followed the edge of the reserve. Jordan checked his drawing. The new path went in completely the wrong direction. “It adds nearly a whole page,” he said. Saff looked at the envelope. “Good thing there’s another side.” Uncle Tom turned towards the marked path, and they followed.

The detour climbed gently between trees. Jordan walked ahead until Uncle Tom asked him to stay with them. “We’re already late,” Jordan said. “The picnic won’t disappear.” “It might be eaten.” Saff laughed, but Jordan did not. He had been the last to arrive at the previous family picnic, when all the shady places were taken. He wanted this one to begin differently.

Around the bend, the trees opened onto a grassy lookout. They could see the river, the closed bridge and, farther away, the oak tree. Jordan stopped despite himself. “From up here, the pond looks tiny.” Saff pointed to a pair of ducks crossing it. “Still full-sized ducks.” Uncle Tom set down the bag while they caught their breath. Jordan took the envelope from his pocket.

He added a crooked line for the detour and a small triangle for the lookout. The picnic tree now sat farther across the page. “Your straight line missed this bit,” Saff said. “It wasn’t on the plan.” “No.” Jordan looked over the river again. “Could you draw the ducks? Mine always look like potatoes.” Saff borrowed his pencil and gave one of them an unnecessarily long neck.

The path sloped down towards the picnic ground. Voices carried between the trees, followed by the smell of warm bread. Jordan quickened his steps, then stopped at a fork to check the trail marker with Uncle Tom. Saff tucked the envelope safely into his pocket while he examined the sign. “This one,” Uncle Tom said. Jordan waited for them before taking the last short path towards the oak.

The family had spread three blankets beneath the tree. Jordan’s little cousin waved a bread roll in each hand. “We saved you these!” There was a shady patch beside Gran’s blanket, just large enough for theirs. Uncle Tom unpacked the bag. “Long way round?” Gran asked. Jordan gave her the envelope. “There’s a lookout. You can see the whole pond.” “And two potatoes,” Saff added.

After lunch, Gran studied the new line on the map. “Would you show me the lookout on another day?” Jordan nodded. “When the bridge is open, we could still go that way.” Saff looked up from the last piece of bread. “Even if it makes us late?” “We’d start earlier.” Jordan refolded the envelope, keeping the crooked route on the outside this time. His first straight line was hidden underneath.