Yesterday for about an hour and a half, the number of people in Oysterville multiplied by a busload.  A big busload.  A tour busload with a group of seniors from California.

As arranged several months ago, I met them in front of the church at 9:30.  They had booked a “walking tour” but I was not surprised to see four or five lightweight medical walkers being off-loaded first from the bus.  For whatever reason, I’ve never led a walking tour through the village without a half-dozen people needing to sit out the walking part.  Curious.

Fortunately, though, I always begin our tours in the church with a little “orientation” talk (mostly stories) about the history of Oysterville.  Predictably, there are always complaints about the hardness of the pews (usually from the folks best equipped with the padding of their own.)  We then walk down our lane (Clay Street) toward the bay.

Yesterday was sunny and bright and we left the non-walkers on the benches in the churchyard.  Before the others straggled too far, I told them that we’d pause at the bayshore where I had a few more stories to tell them.  “Oh no!” said one gentleman.  “Not more stories!”  Curiouser!

But I did, of course, tell my stories.  It’s what I was hired to do.  “And we proceeded on…”  as Lewis and Clark so famously said about their expedition of two hundred years ago.  Our group (actually, about the same number as in L&C’s company) trekked along the bayshore path to Division Street (the most northerly lane in town) where we headed back up toward Territory Road, the schoolhouse, and their big beautiful bus.

I couldn’t help but think about the last time I’d taken a group from this particular agency on one of my “storied” tours.  It was later in the summer, it was very hot, people were wilting.  I didn’t think they’d make it clear to Division Street (equivalent to two short city blocks) so I led them on a shortcut through the meadow.  Big mistake!  The grass was taller than some of the little old ladies (who were my height though probably not yet my age age, mind you!) and when I looked back at my group I could only see the heads of the tallest trekkers.

It was gratifying to learn yesterday that the group leader had booked this trip specifically because she had loved the Oysterville portion of that last one so much AND there were several of the group who had also been on that ill-fated journey two years ago.   (Why did I have the feeling that they were on the look-out for loved ones who had become lost in the tall grass last time.)

As I said goodbye to them, I suggested that they make a stop at the just-reopened Oysterville Store.  Greg told me later that they had done so, had made a few purchases but mostly wanted something he didn’t have – pencils with “Oysterville” printed on them.  Curiouser and curiouser!