A few weekends ago, my best friend and I met up at my parents’ float house with no real agenda just the promise of sunshine, still water, and a break from the buzz of life. We borrowed a couple of kayaks, threw on our life jackets, packed a mason jar of tequila (because obviously), and let the day unfold however it wanted.
The wind had other plans.
Battling gusts and giggles, we decided to veer off-course and explore an alcove neither of us had ever paddled into. Almost instantly, the world changed. Turtles were sunbathing on half-submerged trunks, stacked like sleepy sentinels guarding a secret. The farther we drifted, the quieter it got until the trees arched overhead like a cathedral canopy, casting dappled shadows that felt enchanted. It was like paddling through a portal into fairyland.
And then… we heard it.
The distant rush of water.
Equal parts curious and cautious (okay, mostly cautious the tequila hadn’t hit yet), we approached the sound, half-convinced we were about to accidentally kayak over a waterfall. Thankfully, it was the bottom we’d reached not the top and what we found was a little hidden gem: a petite, picturesque cascade spilling into a quiet pool. A perfect pocket of magic carved into the day.
We pulled up beside the rocks, popped the lid off our mason jar, and started talking. Life, love, God, the wild beauty of creation nothing was off the table. We passed the jar back and forth like communion, toasting to grace and good friendship. The deeper we sipped, the deeper we spoke. It was church at the foot of a waterfall.
Eventually, the jar was empty. And our bladders were very full.
The waterfall didn’t look too intimidating just a short climb, a few slick rocks. Easy peasy. Except… we forgot to account for gravity, wet moss, and the fact that we were now running on pure tequila fumes.
As I clambered up the side, I tipped dramatically and splashed backwards into the ice-cold water. Mercifully, a ledge caught me before I went full mermaid over the edge. I scrambled up the rocks, laughing, shivering, and victorious, finally making it to the side for the most glorious bathroom break of my life.
After wringing ourselves out and laughing some more, we climbed back into our kayaks and paddled home with the wind at our backs, hearts full and spirits light.
It was one of those days unplanned, unpolished, unforgettable. Just two women, a mason jar, and a waterfall sermon in the middle of fairyland.
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