A Few Minutes Short of a Lot:  

What if I had given it a few minutes more?

When I saw the cascade of water over the rocks in the creek to my right, I stopped the car. This must be it — the much praised Falling Water Falls, Arkansas, I had heard about from my friends. Ninety minutes of driving along winding Ozark byways, and there it was, finally. I parked the car along a dirt road, next to the falls.

Ever since the new camera arrived, I have been itching to get out into the wilderness around me and capture a few shots. The weather was perfect with a few wispy clouds overhead, a slight breeze, and a comfortable 65 degrees. The new camera, the gorgeous spring day, and nothing on my schedule became a recipe for a road trip of exploring and relaxing.  I had to go see the waterfall I had heard about so much.

I carefully stepped around the rocks at the water’s edge, hoping I did not fall in, or worse, drop the camera. It was our first trip together, this camera and me, so its well-being was first in my mind. The water was cool and crisp. The sound it made as it spilled over the rocky shelf was musical, and one that would easily put me to sleep if I closed my eyes a few moments. The clean blue-green water fell about two feet over the rocky landscape and swiftly moved downstream. It was a beautiful scene, but somehow not quite as majestic as I had expected, gauging from my friends’ remarks. Nice, pretty, glad I came, but drive all this way again? Likely not.

The drive back home seemed to take longer, but I am still not sure if I was driving slower from relaxation or if it was the disappointment of the falls that was slowing me down. Either way, I arrived home and immediately downloaded the new pictures to my computer. A friend of mine had just visited the falls the day before, posting pictures online, so I pulled his photograph to compare to mine. Hmmm . . . my falls look different than his. My falls are shorter. The water flow over the edge is more on the right side in mine and in the middle on his. And his creek looks wider. I scurried to my book on Arkansas Waterfalls. Had I missed a turn? No. A quick look at the map, and I saw I had not – but why does my waterfall not look like his waterfall?

Still unsure of the difference, I enlisted the help of Google Maps with the satellite imagery to help me make my case. I noticed a sharp hairpin turn in the road by the actual Falling Water Falls, which was conveniently labeled on Google maps, but which I had not traveled. I finally realized I had stopped at a small cascade in the creek about a half mile before the waterfall I was seeking. After I had taken my photographs, I hopped in the car and turned around in the road, heading back up the hill in the direction I came. I just did not travel far enough on the road to see what I had hoped to see. Only after returning from the 90-minute drive home did I finally realize how close I had been.

All I could do was laugh. Today’s miscalculation was a failure on an extremely minor scale, and yet it illustrated the lesson of many of my biggest failures in life. I stopped short. Misinterpreting the data, I quit too soon. I did not give it quite enough time. I was impatient. I was tired. I was ready for the quest to end. All of these were reasons I had given myself to stop working toward a goal, were, therefore, the reasons I did not reach it. These were the reasons for my failings. Each one, an illustration of giving up five minutes too soon, and each one a metaphor for some of my life’s adventures. How different my life might have been had I given it a few more minutes.

I plan to return to Farm Road 1205 soon, and look for Falling Water Falls again. This time, I will go a few minutes farther down the road to get what I really wanted. At least I know the way.

Nothing could be worse than the fear that one had given up too soon, and left one unexpended effort that might have saved the world. — Jane Addams.

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