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Here in Jefferson, the kids started back to school on August 1, which means they had a measly two-month summer vacation. That’s cruel.

By all rights, summer vacation should be three months long, like it was in olden times when I was in school. True, today’s little darlings don’t know the difference, but I feel bad for them.

But, as usual, I digress. A few days before school started, my ex Deanna and I took our two youngest granddaughters, Maddie and Sarah, ages 10 and seven, up to the North Georgia mountains for the day. It was one last chance to spend time with them, one last summer fling.

We kept it simple. In the morning, we hiked a short trail to Panther Falls, a pretty spot in the Chattahoochee National Forest.

For lunch, we went to Henry’s Restaurant in Clayton, Henry’s being one of the culinary gems of Northeast Georgia.

After that, we drove over to the Chattooga River and sat on a rock overlooking Bull Sluice Rapid, watching the rafts flip.

It was a most satisfying day. The weather was idyllic — cool and bracing. The girls kept the squabbling relatively in check. The food was superb. And, for Maddie and Sarah, seeing the whitewater and the boats was a new and enlightening experience.

Here are a few recollections…

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Ten minutes down the trail to Panther Falls, we reached a spot where you cross the creek on a series of stepping stones. At that point, the creek is a small, clear, babbling brook about six inches deep.

I hopped across the stepping stones first, and Maddie followed. While Deanna was preparing to help Sarah across, Sarah calmly waded into and across the creek, bypassing the stepping stones, soaking her shoes in the process.

“Sarah!” said her grandmother in surprise.

“Wow, the water’s cold,” Sarah observed as she emerged on the opposite bank. “My socks are all squishy.”

I asked Sarah if she wanted to take off her shoes and wring out her socks.

“No, I’m fine. They’ll dry pretty soon. Let’s go!”

“You are such a knucklehead,” said Maddie.

——————-

We had the trail to ourselves. At Panther Falls, the girls waded in the pool at the base of the falls (shoeless) while Deanna and I took photos.

On the way back to the trailhead, we encountered a young couple heading toward the waterfall. Toddling along on a leash in front of them was a Lhasa Apso puppy.

Lhasas can be beautiful when their coats are long and well-groomed. This one was shaved bald and, at least in my view, singularly homely. In fact, it looked a bit crazed, like a blunt-nosed, goggly-eyed Chihuahua with an overbite.

Our two parties greeted each other cordially. The couple pulled their goofy little dog aside to let us pass.

Sarah, apparently watching the dog instead of her footing, tripped on a rock and did a spectacular faceplant in front of the entire group.

Gasps went up from everyone. Deanna and I simultaneously rushed forward to Sarah’s aid.

“Well,” Sarah intoned, still sprawled face down on the trail, “THAT worked!”

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Sarah was okay, except for a tiny scratch on her leg, but she soon realized she could get some mileage from it. As we continued toward the trailhead, she began to groan and hobble.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Maddie barked. “That hardly qualifies as a scratch.”

“You don’t know how much it hurts!” Sarah pouted, limping in apparent agony.

“Okay, you two,” the grandparents ordered in unison. “Knock it off.”

Back at the parking lot, Maddie held her cell phone aloft and whooped, “Hey, I got a signal! I’m gonna call Mom!”

Which she did, bringing Leslie up to date about the events of the morning, including Sarah’s pratfall in front of six witnesses, if you count the dog.

“Yeah, Mom, Sarah fell on her face in the middle of the trail a while ago, but she’s fine now.”

“I am NOT ‘FINE’!”  Sarah bellowed.

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Henry’s Restaurant is a North Georgia institution. The food — country cookin’ served buffet style — is as good today as it was 30 years ago, when Henry himself ran the place.

Sadly, Henry is gone now. His daughter Lynn is in charge, assisted by a crew of siblings, children, aunts, uncles, cousins, and in-laws.

While we were feasting, the kitchen door burst open, and Lynn’s oldest son emerged carrying a tray of piping hot glazed donuts. He wandered among the tables, offering the diners complimentary donuts for dessert.

Sarah’s eyes were as large and as glazed as the donuts. She waved eagerly to flag down the donut boy, and he approached our table.

Deanna reminded Sarah that donuts are for dessert, after one finishes one’s meal.

“Don’t worry, we have plenty,” donut boy told her. Sarah resumed eating with new purpose.

Maddie’s reaction to the donuts was different.

“Did you see those things?” she said. “Nothing but sugar! That’s sickening! No way could I eat one!”

Sarah allowed as how she could eat one just fine. Probably two.

“Yuck,” said Maddie.

A few minutes later, the donut boy returned with Sarah’s prize. While Maddie looked away in mock disgust, Sarah consumed it with speed, efficiency, and no ill effects.

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If you leave Henry’s Restaurant and drive 10 miles east on U.S. 76, you reach a large parking area on the Chattooga River near Bull Sluice Rapid. This is the take-out point for boat trips down Section III of the river, and it’s the put-in point for trips continuing downstream on Section IV.

It’s also a popular picnicking and swimming spot where the locals go to watch the rafters and kayakers run Bull Sluice Rapid, the grand finale of Section III.

Maddie and Sarah were enthralled by everything — the river, the whitewater, the scenery, the eddies full of swimmers, the crowds of spectators, the colorful rafts and kayaks, the spectacular flips.

For a long time, the girls sat quietly on a rock and watched the activity. They could see that the kayaking requires skill, but they weren’t sure about rafting.

“Rocky, are rafts hard to paddle?” Sarah asked.

“Not really,” I said. “They float downstream by themselves. The guide in the back is doing the work — using his paddle like a rudder to steer. When a raft flips, it’s usually because the guide made a mistake, like entering a rapid crooked.”

“What about the passengers?” asked Maddie. “They’re all paddling like crazy.”

“Well, most of the time, it doesn’t matter what they do. Especially in a big rapid like this. Either the guide nails the entry, or he doesn’t.”

As if to illustrate the point, a raft approached Bull Sluice, and the passengers brought their paddles into the raft and held them vertically. The guide carefully lined up the raft in the chute at the top of the rapid, and they shot smoothly through.

“Cool,” said Maddie.

“Rocky, I want to come back here sometime and go swimming,” said Sarah.

“No problem,” I said. “But you guys will be back in school in a couple of days. We’ll have to do it on a Saturday.”

They had no problem with that.

Back at home that evening, I got an email from my son Dustin imploring me NOT to get the girls interested in whitewater boating.

I can’t figure out why he was so concerned.