One fear conquered... only 9,173 to go!

Our branch is special.

But not the kind of "special" that has air quotes around it.

Wait...I guess we are that kind of "special" too, but that is not the subject of today's post.

Today we will be discussing how our young single adult branch different because of the special rules that we are expected to follow. And by "special rules", what I really mean is "no rules." Like, none at all. We routinely travel to distant locations, ride four-wheelers in the fall, go sledding in the winter, tubing in the summer, and once a year we have a co-ed camp out that is "chaperoned" by a married couple who met in the branch and are rarely seen outside of their tent past 8 p.m.

One of our most popular "special" activities is boating at the Hobson's dock. Our evenings at the dock are always successful outings due to the fact that there is a variety of activities available for the attending branch members to participate in.

There is an abundance of shade available for land-lovers to enjoy the food, folks, and fun provided by the wonderful FHE committee.

For the slightly more adventurous, there are rope swings and a giant slip-n-slide that runs down the hill and deposits branchers (and, last night, two members of the branch presidency) directly into the river.

And since it is a boat dock , there are also many boat-related activities to engage in as well, including taking a leisurely turn in the paddle boat or being dragged behind a powerboat traveling at break-neck-speeds while clinging to tubes or water weenies.

And, for those branchers who have decided that they have nothing left to live for, there is always the opportunity to take a slow ride down that long, nautical green mile to jump off Rock Island. Believe it or not, some people jump off this thing for fun, while folks who have not done their home or visiting teaching for three consecutive months get a complementary push from the relief society and elder's quorum presidents. Rock Island: Fun, yet Functional (in a capital punishment kind of way) .

I used to think that our stake leadership allowed us such a wide leeway on the rules because they wanted to give us every opportunity to have fun. The kind of fun that facilitates activating area young single adults who are less active in the Church, and the kind of fun that leads to roommate arrangements of an eternal nature. But now I am thinking that they allow us to do a lot of this stuff because they giving nature a clear shot at maximizing the law of natural selection. Thinning the herd, so to speak. It's just a theory, but I think I might be on to something.

In my three years in the branch, I limited my boating activities to riding inside the boat and taking photos of those soon-to-be-naturally-deselected folks who enjoy being dragged behind a boat or plunging off a giant lava-rock formation into the fast moving river.

I enjoy my little boat rides a lot, and this time the ride was even more exciting thanks to an appearance by the Snake River Queen, our local river boat. We had a great time buzzing the boat while showing the passengers our best Somali pirate impersonations.
My decision to spend the past three years safe and dry IN the boat is the result of my very rational fear of rivers after almost being thinned from the branch herd on our first branch white water trip.

A trip that, in the years since, has become known as "The disastrous branch rafting trip". A trip that included nit-picky, ticket-happy state policemen, devious entrapment into park service fines, several near-death experiences, and a run in with a park ranger who may or may not have been the fulfillment of the prophecy in the Doctrine and Covenants about Satan having control over the waters in the last days.

The following photos should help explain why I have been extremely hesitant to put myself in a position to make it easier for mother nature to pick me off via her raging river (They should also clear up any lingering questions about why we haven't had a branch rafting trip since I was put on the activities committee) .

I was on this raft when it hit the first set of big rapids on the Wyoming stretch of the Snake River. You can't actually see me in this photo, though, seeing as how I was being crushed by about 700 pounds of free-flying young single adults at the time.

You can't see me in this photo because I am no longer IN the boat. At this point, I was UNDER the boat.

I was still under the boat when this photo was taken, but trying desperately to figure out how NOT to be under the boat any more. Of course, once I actually surfaced I discovered that being under the boat thinking I was going to die was a lot less stressful than traveling down the river outside of the boat amongst the giant, hard, sharp rocks knowing that I was going to die. But, as is often the case, I was wrong. I didn't die. I also put so much as a toe into the river for the next three years. Until last night, when finally repressed the memories of my watery almost-grave and agreed to sit on the dock and let my feet dangle in the water.

But putting my feet in the water turned out to be the top of a slippery slope (or slippery dock, as the case may be) that led to me being cajoled by some dedicated pals into actually getting INTO THE RIVER.

And believe it or not, I actually enjoyed it, despite President Jones and Brother Filmore's repeated observations that what looked like a giant crocodile was slowly floating towards us. Thanks for that, brethren, really. Thanks. Your support means soooo much to me. (And Brother Morley, I wasn't kidding about leaving the branch if you show off that picture that you took of me. The Methodists may not have the priesthood or the saving ordinances it provides, but they also don't have any embarrassing photos of me, so at the moment my Sunday attendance is up for grabs!)

So, having conquered the river without seeing a single beckoning white light at the end of a dark, watery tunnel, I started feeling pretty darn brave. So brave that I even began thinking about jumping off Rock Island when we go boating again in two weeks. But then I realized that I still have quite a bit to live for (my loyal seventh graders continue to write Oprah asking her to set me up with Vin Diesel) and decided that Rock Island was always going to remain a setting for my photos, not the setting for the final scene of the made for TV movie about my life. So instead of jumping off Rock Island at the next boating activity, I am going to sit on one of the tubes.

And maybe, the time after that, I might even let them tie the tube to a boat and pull me somewhere.

Baby steps, people. Baby steps.