Lost and Found — Roots + Wings

By Rory Feek, Plain Values

Each spring for the last couple of years, I’ve hosted a father/child campout for the dads and kiddos from the schoolhouse to spend an evening together, getting to know each other better, and making memories that will hopefully last a lifetime. But this year’s campout, held this past Saturday night, came with a memory I’d rather not have made.

We have an ‘outdoor learning area’ behind the schoolhouse nestled beneath some trees, where there is a big fire pit and tiered wood seating. We all met there at 5 pm and began setting up our tents. The kids were so excited. Most of them had been talking about it for weeks, my eight-year-old daughter Indiana included. There were six or seven dads this year and about twice as many children, as siblings joined in as well as an extra friend or two. Eventually, we had a good number of tents all neatly arranged on top of the little hill. And soon a fire was roaring and camp chairs, large and small, were lined all around.

Ms. Rebecca, who runs the school, had purchased most of the food and snacks for the event. Once we got a table or two set up near the camping area, we grilled hotdogs on the fire, and the grownups visited while the children ate their fill and ran endless circles around the area. It was exciting to just be with their friends and their fathers—outside of school. We decided to all take a hayride around the farm before we broke out the s’mores. So, all the children and the dads loaded onto a make-shift hay wagon (without hay), and I climbed into the side-by-side, put it in gear, and we were off.

We drove around the cemetery where Indy’s Mama’s wooden cross stands, passed the pond, and by the cows grazing in the high grass. Then we crossed over to our neighbor Ted’s farm (who was sitting beside me—his little girl MacKenzie goes to our school too). We made our way through his big field and down a long winding lane he’d recently cut through the woods. The kids were all so happy and screaming every time we hit a big bump. Though it sometimes felt like chaos, I think the dads were having a good time, seeing the pure joy their kids were experiencing, spending an evening outdoors with their friends.

When we got to the end of his property, we found no option to loop back, and had to turn around on the big road in front of Ted’s and my houses. After making sure no cars were coming, we pulled out onto the road and, in less than a minute, turned back into our driveway to finish the long loop and hayride.

As we pulled back into the camping area and the kids all streamed out of the trailer, we dads made our way back to the chairs around the campfire to break out the marshmallows and chocolate bars. I heard some of the children calling for Indy. At first, I thought they were all just playing a game, but their yelling for Indy got louder, and I could see that the kids were spreading out, searching the playground and barnyard. I called over ten-year-old Magnolia and asked what they were doing.

“We’re looking for Indy, Papa,” she said. “She didn’t come with us on the hayride.” My heart sank.

“What do you mean she didn’t come with us?” I asked.

“She didn’t want to come, so she stayed here,” she answered. “But we don’t see her anywhere.”

She hadn’t even finished talking, and I was running toward the farmhouse calling Indy’s name. Inside there was nothing but quiet and the clock ticking. I checked the concert hall. Nothing. I called into the backfield and towards my sister Marcy’s house. Nothing.

“Where would she have gone?” I kept asking myself. “It’s not like her to go off on her own anywhere.” We had been gone about 30 minutes or so, and she may have gotten bored or scared and tried to find us.

I jumped in the side-by-side again and took off across the field, retracing our drive, getting more and more nervous because the sun was setting, getting darker by the minute. Finally, I stopped near the pond and called for her, terrified as I scanned the water… “Oh God no…” No answer. I drove past the cows and to the big shop and bus barn, still calling her name. Still nothing.

I pulled into my sister Candy’s house and ran inside, calling for her. My nephew Dalton had been at the fire when we left, and he said he’d seen her walking around the barn but didn’t know where she was. I was back out the door and speeding back toward the camping area. By now, all the fathers and children were calling for her, spreading out and looking for her. Some of the kids were crying. I drove to the milkhouse to see if she might be there. And just as I pulled up, some headlights pulled into our driveway. It was a black car that I didn’t recognize. As I drove in closer to open the gate, an interior light inside the car came on, and I saw Indiana in the passenger seat and a stranger driving.

“Thank God!”

I ran around and opened the passenger door. I could see that Indy was scared and confused. And she could tell that her Papa was upset.

“She was in my yard…,” the lady said. “She said she had lost her family.”

The stranger went on to tell me that she lives on the other side of the road, in the third trailer over the hill and that Indy had crossed the big road to get to her house.  I thought of all the cars and big trucks that speed down the highway at 55 mph or more, and my heart sank again.

Then she added, “I recognized who she was and brought her home right away.”

I thanked the lady again and again, pulled Indy into my arms, carried her into the milkhouse, and sat down on the couch. With tears in my eyes, I just held her tight, so thankful that she was okay.

“I’m sorry Papa,” she said. “I lost you.” Her face was all dirty, partly from her adventure but also from crying. Her little legs were covered in red scratches where she had been walking through the woods and tall brush to find us.

“Where did you go?” I asked her, knowing that it would be hard for her to explain all that happened and why.

I held her close to me for a long time… neither of us speaking. We were both so thankful to be reunited and the world felt right again.

“I tried to find you!” she cried. And that was about all she could tell me. Even though she can talk really well, she’s still learning to remember, tell full stories, and process bigger thoughts.

“You found me, honey,” I said, running my fingers through her hair. “You found me.”

We stayed in the milkhouse together for about a half-hour before rejoining the group around the campfire. And when we did, she stayed close by my side, eating her s’more and watching the other children play. The other fathers didn’t say much—they didn’t have to. They all knew how frightening the experience was and would’ve been if it were one of their kids.

A half-hour later, Indy was in our tent, and all the children gathered around—loving on her, asking questions, and telling her how happy they were that she was back. Soon she was asleep, and I sat by the campfire alone, reflecting on the evening and the memory we’d made and how scared but thankful I was.

I thought of my wife Joey’s cross that I had driven by twice, what she would think, and how I am in charge of our little one now. I am not just her father, but I’m her lone protector and parent.

As the evening and the fire dwindled, I thought of the kind stranger who brought Indy home. Any other time I would have told Indiana not to ever get in a car with a stranger. However, it is because she did that all is well. How strange life is… how beautiful, difficult, and wonderful it is.

I’m going to spend some time thinking about our camping trip next year. I’m sure we’ll still do it again, but next time I’ll be more careful, more cautious… and much more thankful than ever.  //

~rory

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This article was published in the July 2022 issue of Plain Values Magazine. If you want the latest stories every month, subscribe to the magazine HERE. As a special thanks, get 10% off your subscription with the code “GAB23”!

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