Getting Lost with Hansel

By

Dr. Robert E. Plucker 

     I left the Army for good in November of 1951.  In my two short tours of duty I had never been shot at, nor had to shoot at some other person.  I thank God for that!  In 1984, some thirty-five years later, I had a different kind of blessing, a baby son, born to Margaret and me after some seven years of marriage.  I had had serious misgivings about taking on fatherhood again at age 56, but Margaret used persuasion, I was counseled by an Episcopal priest who was a good friend of mine, and finally convinced by the words of a wonderful old lady of the Lutheran church where I was choir director.  They all agreed that my fears had no rear grounds, and that another child would be a blessing to me.  Margaret had little Holly when we got married, I had Ginny and Dot, but now we were to have another child together.

             To our delight, we got a boy, the first of his gender in the family for some time.  Far be it from me, or Margaret either, to admit that we catered to his every whimper, but he did get a lot of attention.  After some back and forth discussion about names, we agreed that John was a good choice, and Marnin was the name that seemed right after some research in name meanings.  For the first couple of years we used to call him Hansel.  There was a kind of legitimacy to that nickname; from the English "John" comes the German "Johan", then "Johannes", shortened to "Hannes", then "Hans" and finally "Hansel" which comes out to "Little Hans".

            Living on North Camano Island at that time, I was fond of walking some of the back roads, and much of the time I would have Hansel in a front pack, and later, a back pack.  Since he was born on the 10th of April, there would be lots of new growth coming up, leaves on the trees, flowers, birds, some insects, lots of interesting things.  As young as he was, I would take Hansel along on my walks, down to the Utsalady Beach Store, up the hill from there to Buena Vista, and down one of the other roads leading back to North Camano Drive and our apartment.  I was convinced that little two-or-three-month-old Hansel especially enjoyed smelling the flowers.

            As everyone knows, it rains a lot in western Washington.  So it happened that on one of my walks with precious little Hansel, I got caught in a light rain.  No self-respecting Washingtonian at that time ever carried an umbrella, so I was in an awkward position again.  How would I explain to my wife the lamentable sopping wet condition of our baby when I finally returned home?

            What to do?  I took a short cut through the woods, striking off to my left, crashing through the underbrush, avoiding the thorns on the blackberry bushes, and hoped to soon cross the next road that would lead directly down the hill to the apartment house.  The rain was increasing to more than a mere drizzle; I struggled on and on, hoping that Hansel was not too uncomfortable getting wet and cold.  I know I was getting wet, cold, and uncomfortable.  There were a few cries coming from the back pack, but nothing serious, yet.  And still no cross-road.  I finally gave up on finding a road and decided to just crash on downhill, abandoning any thought of a short cut, back to North Camano Drive which I KNEW was at the bottom of the hill, parallel to the beach.  Hansel and I made it back to the apartment soon, and with no bad effects.  I can't tell for sure, but it seemed to me that Hansel enjoyed getting lost.

Circa 1984

Photo slide by Jean E. Straatmeyer