My youngest son worked at a glamping resort for a couple of summers. It was the kind of fancy where they had a helipad for guests who wanted to be flown onto the property instead of driving, surrounded by wilderness and beauty.

There was a French family staying there, booked in for a week or so, and it was nothing but complaints. They booked a suite that was above a stable and moaned about the smell. The paths through the forest were gravel instead of concrete or asphalt.

There was a myriad of endless complaints.

The father was ranting on about how terrible the resort was and how terrible Canada was and asking what Canada had ever done for France.

Son: “If it weren’t for Canada, you would be speaking German.”

They cut their trip short and tried to get a refund for the last days. The owner refused.

Related:
Blame Canada! Part 15
Blame Canada! Part 14
Blame Canada! Part 13
Blame Canada! Part 12
Blame Canada! Part 11

I used to work at an outdoor education program that involves middle schools bringing their students to stay overnight for three to five days. One week, we had a slightly more affluent group, and one of the girls was having a birthday during the week. This happens all the time, so we’ll usually sing for the kids, and their parents can pack a card and treat for them.

This girl’s dad did not find this celebratory enough. He asked the school to ask my boss if he could fly his plane over the field and drop bags of candy for the kids. The camp owner obviously said no because this was a huge safety issue and he didn’t want to get sued. The teachers told us that it would not happen.

Then, during the week, we started to hear murmurs from the teachers that maybe the dad was planning to do it anyway. My boss confronted them and they assured her that it definitely wasn’t going to happen, that they were just talking about how they would have done it if they could have. My boss was very suspicious, so on the day of the girl’s birthday, she warned us to drop off our kids with the teachers for our break and go straight back to our cabins so we wouldn’t be around and liable just in case.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the dad flew by and started dropping trash bags full of candy out of his plane. He clearly was not well-practiced in this because the majority of the bags ended up landing in trees and getting caught there.

My boss was furious and the school was banned from ever returning. I think the camp director also tried to get the dad fined for littering because of all the trash bags in the trees, but I’m not sure if that ever went anywhere. Luckily, no kids were hurt.

I tend to notice very tiny sounds that most other people miss. It is mostly annoying since I can get distracted by the oven turning off in another room. But it came in handy one time.

I am out camping with my girlfriend and a couple of friends when I notice that something is off. I perk my head, shush everyone else chatting around the campfire, and listen intently.

Girlfriend: “What is it?”

Me: “I hear something.”

Friend #1: “What? A bird?”

Me: “Um… A voice in the wind?”

Friend #2: *Snickers* “A voice in the wind? What have I told you about accepting strange rings from old men?”

Me: *Giggles* “Yeah, but… it sounds like crying. Like a sobbing child?”

Everyone listens, but only I hear it. 

Friend #1: “It could be a fox? They sound like crying children sometimes.”

Me: “No… No, I can’t tell you why, but… it sounds like a child? Look, I have to check it out. You know how I am.”

Girlfriend: “Of course! I’ll come with you.”

We head off in the direction I think it’s coming from. My girlfriend starts to hear it after a couple of hundred meters. She runs back to tell the others. We all head off in that direction, the jokes about evil forest goblins and hulders that want to kill us all dying off quickly. Since it is June in the north of Sweden, it is light even at night, so it is easy to find the way, but we are constantly attacked by swarms of mosquitos. But the sound gets louder.

We find a little girl, probably aged four or five covered in mosquito bites, sitting on a stump. She is wearing one shoe and a pretty dress that is tattered, stained, and torn up. She is bawling her eyes out and looks at us with great fright. I rush over and pick her up.

Me: “Hey, hey, there, there. What are you doing here?”

She sniffles. 

Me: “You seem lost. Are you?”

Girl: *With a tiny nod* “Yes.”

Me: “Poor thing! Let’s help you get home.”

We carried her back to camp, asked her name, told her ours, put her in a sleeping bag next to a new campfire, and gave her a mug of hot chocolate and a sandwich. She quickly fell asleep with a tiny smile. We called the police, meanwhile, to tell them that we’d found her, and we gave them GPS coordinates to our position. The girl’s parents called us, and we decided to meet next to a road the next morning since it wasn’t easy to get to us and we were several hours from the road.

We carried the girl out of the forest the next morning and handed her over to the most grateful parents I have ever seen. They were beside themselves with relief. The police took a statement, and then they all headed off to a hospital to make sure everything was all right. The girl had developed a fever, probably due to all the mosquito bites, and was obviously a bit dehydrated and hungry. The parents got in touch later and invited us to a fika (a Swedish custom) to properly thank us and fill us in on what had happened.

The girl had slunk away during a family party next to the forest to look at a pretty bird and followed it a bit deeper into the woods. Then, she stepped on a viper on her way back — but it didn’t bite her. She panicked and ran randomly until she got completely lost. She had probably been lost for at least ten hours, she had lost her shoe in a mire, and she had accidentally wandered very far away from civilization — the only direction that had literally no other humans for dozens of kilometers.

The girl was completely fine now, after about two weeks, and had drawn a little picture of us in the forest that still hangs on my fridge. She was very afraid of the woods now, but she and her dad would go camping in a glen close to the house to make her feel safe again. I’m still friends with the family, and we visit each other from time to time.

I still think about what might’ve happened if I hadn’t followed my instinct to check on the voice in the wind.

This story is part of our Highest-Voted-Inspirational-Stories-Of-2024-(so far!) roundup!

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The first job I ever had was working as a counselor at a riding camp at the local barn. I knew the barn owner and everyone there and would get paid in free riding lessons. Some of the kids could be difficult, but for the most part, they were easy enough to deal with.

We used to partner with a sleepaway camp; they would come once a week and we would give their kids riding lessons. It was really annoying to deal with because we also had to watch our campers who were bored and wanted to go ride. But whatever, we all understood why the deal was in place, so we did it without complaint. 

The problem ended up being the sleepaway camp’s owner’s daughter, who would come ride with the rest of the camp. This child was a literal nightmare. She would bang her doll on the stalls and scare the horses, even when we asked her to stop. She was eight and old enough to know better.

[Camp Owner’s Daughter] also thought she was way more advanced than she was. She would often not listen to the trainers in her lessons and try to make the horse canter, even though she still couldn’t walk the horse by herself. As such, we always put her on Doran, who was an older gelding and could basically teach the lesson himself. He was the only horse we could trust not to do anything when [Camp Owner’s Daughter] kicked him. She was not happy with us.

Camp Owner’s Daughter: “I don’t want to ride Doran! He’s boring! I want to ride Dorito!” 

Me: “The trainers are in charge of who rides who, so if you really want to, you could talk to them about it. Also, Doran is awesome! I love riding him!”

Camp Owner’s Daughter: “If you don’t put me on Dorito, I’ll tell my mom you hit me!”

Me: “…I’ll see what I can do.”

I was about fourteen and didn’t really know what to do, so I went and told [Barn Owner] and the trainers about what [Camp Owner’s Daughter] had said. They must have worked something out because [Camp Owner’s Daughter] did end up riding Doran and the camp was not invited back.

Related:
Some People Have Never Been Told “No” And It Shows, Part 11
Some People Have Never Been Told “No” And It Shows, Part 10
Some People Have Never Been Told “No” And It Shows, Part 9
Some People Have Never Been Told “No” And It Shows, Part 8
Some People Have Never Been Told “No” And It Shows, Part 7

My partner and I lived in Alberta for quite a long time. In 2020, he decided to move some of his belongings to Nova Scotia. (We planned to retire there together, so we wanted to take belongings there over time.) He got to the Nova Scotia border at the end of April 2020, right when the border slammed shut.

Fast forward two years. We only saw each other three times in that time period, even though we talked on the phone every day. In July, I flew to spend two and a half weeks with him. My dad was also driving across the country to meet us there to spend time with me, my partner, and his family. 

At the end of the first week, my partner and I went camping for five days, trailering our motorbikes there. (It was too far for me to drive that entire way.) The first day, there was no problem driving my bike; we spent hours all over the place. The second day, the morning was fine, although I laid the bike down a couple of times. We came up to a T intersection, I waited for traffic, and then I started around the corner. My handlebars jerked to the left, I lost my balance, and I fell with my left arm outstretched. Instant pain. I could wiggle my fingers and move my wrist. I thought it was sprained.

My partner got the bike up and yelled at me to get up, which took me a few minutes to do. He kept telling me, “It’s just a bruise, it’s just a bruise,” so I got back on that bike, lifted my left hand to the clutch, and rode the bike for a half hour back to the campsite.

Some of the other campers came over to see what had happened and got me kitted out with a sling. We stayed there until the last day of our reservation and then drove back to [Partner]’s mom’s place where he was living. [Partner]’s mom took one look at me and told me that I was going to the hospital; my arm had swollen right down to my fingertips, and my upper arm was blueish-black.

We eventually got to the metropolitan hospital, and after a few hours, they were able to see me. After TEN X-rays, I figured it was worse than a sprain. The doctor came in.

Doctor: “The good news is that you need a CT scan. The bad news is that you need a CT scan because your shoulder is broken in three places.”

We got home at about 10:00 in the morning, and Dad arrived at noon. He was NOT expecting to hear that his daughter had a broken shoulder!

They were able to get me into surgery two days after that — a full seven days after I broke it! I had a plate and screws put in, and then I had six weeks of physiotherapy. I was planning to go to my dad’s at that point, so I was happy when I went in for my surgical follow-up. I was NOT so happy when they told me that it hadn’t healed at all. In fact, the bone had slid, and screws were up in the joint space. I ended up having an emergent shoulder replacement (titanium) and a lot more physio after that.  

The total time that I spent in Nova Scotia was three and a half months — way longer than the two and a half weeks I’d planned! After that, I did go to my dad’s, and I have been there since. I was off work for thirteen months, and I went back to work for the same company with restrictions. (They were so patient; it was unreal.) It’s been a bitter pill to swallow that I’ll likely never be able to lift properly above my head or make certain other movements.

On the other hand, my physiotherapist has been a godsend, as has as my auto insurance!

Don’t be like me: when you’re hurt, get it checked out!