poo story

Pay attention.

Today I’m going to show you the most important lesson about creating content that I’ve ever learned.

And I’m going to do it with a poo story.

My wife and I took the kids hiking and fishing last weekend.

Even though we live close to the mountains, our chosen destination was a 2.5 hour drive away.

And when you’ve got little kids in the car, 2.5 hours is a very long time…

But the drive there was uneventful.

We looked at the scenery.

We listened to music.

We mooed out the window at some cows.

Until finally, we pulled into the parking lot of the trailhead.

But there was a problem.

It was crowded.

Very crowded.

Suddenly I heard a whimper from the back seat.

Then a groan.

I looked back.

My 9 year old was doubled over, holding his stomach.

Great.

Someone backed out in front of me, and I quickly snagged the open spot.

Another groan.

As soon as I cut the engine, the other kids piled out of the vehicle. 2.5 hours was a long time to sit still.

The 9 year old exited as well, shuffling over to sit at a nearby picnic table.

He sat down, holding his stomach, and crying.

I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t the poo part of the story.

He was just hungry and a little carsick.

We all ate lunch, and he quickly felt better.

Next, we grabbed the fishing stuff and all started up the trail towards the lake.

It wasn’t far, only about a quarter mile from the trailhead.

As the lake came into view, I noticed a little island just off the shore a little further ahead.

We continued up the trail.

Now that the island was closer, I noticed something else.

A line of rocks, placed on the shallow lake bottom, leading from the shore to the island.

They were close enough together to be crossable by a child, and the water was shallow enough to make the crossing fairly safe.

And the island looked cool. Probably a great place to fish.

We decided to cross.

At this point, I should mention that my 3-year old was on my back, in a cloth kid carrier.

(Those metal frame backpack things are just awful. Try an unstructured cloth carrier, trust me.)

As I began to hop from rock to rock, she was moving back and forth in the carrier, trying to get a better view.

I almost slipped into the lake several times.

But thankfully did not.

We all made it to the island without mishap.

The younger kids began to explore while the older ones prepped the fishing poles with my wife.

I even took my 3-year old out of the carrier on my back and let her run around with the others.

“Hey look, poo!”

My 9 year old was pointing to a pile of what we later decided was goose poo.

As we explored the island, we discovered that several different kinds of animal had pooped here.

Goose.

Elk.

And even bear. Yes, bear.

But this is not the poo part of the story.

Not yet.

But we’re getting close.

As the older kids tried to fish while the younger kids threw rocks into the lake, I looked around.

This place really was beautiful.

The mountains, the trees, the mossy rocks, the lake…

The cool breeze carried hints of pine and wildflowers.

And the temperature was perfect.

A brief moment of bliss.

Just then, I heard one of the most terrifying sounds the parent of a toddler can hear.

“I have to go potty!”

Oh no.

My 3-year old was standing in the middle of a clearing of trees, hopping up and down, while pulling off her pants.

No way. Right here?

Then she squatted and there was the poo.

And it just kept coming.

If you’ve ever seen a toddler, they’re not that big.

What she produced in that clearing of trees made no sense, unless toddlers are somehow “bigger on the inside” like a Tardis.

In an instant, it was over.

But now what? I shouted for my wife.

“I need back up over here!”

My wife quickly appeared, assessed the situation, and began delegating.

“I’ll take care of her, you take care of that.” She looked at me while gesturing towards the clearing.

And at that moment, the stakes were raised even further.

Because in the distance, I saw another family on the shore looking at the island.

Were they going to cross the rock path?

Yes they were.

I looked around in panic.

I spied a sharp, flat rock a few feet away.

I grabbed it, knelt down, and began furiously digging through soil and clay.

The edges of the rock bit into my hand with every blow.

But I was making progress.

In minutes, I had a respectable hole dug.

I glanced towards the shore.

The other family was more than halfway across.

Next, I grabbed a stick.

One of the nice things about a mountain forest is that there is never a shortage of sticks.

I used it to carefully maneuver the surprisingly large poo into the hole.

Then quickly pushed the dirt over the top…

And finally, piled on a few rocks for good measure.

Just then, the other family stepped onto the island.

But the deed was done. The evidence had been disposed of.

I casually waved and smiled.

This is the part of the story where I would usually transition from the story to some sort of insight or lesson, then a call to action.

But you see, we’re already approaching 1000 words.

If you reread the first few lines, you’ll notice that I only promised to show you the most important lesson about creating content that I’ve ever learned.

Unfortunately I do not have time to tell you what it is.

Maybe you can guess?

But don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow for the full reveal.

I’ll explain exactly what I did that caused you to read nearly every. single. word. of a 1000+ word email.

Unheard of in the age of 7-second attention spans, right?

See you tomorrow,

Greg