Their truck pulls up at the park gate in the pouring rain. They hand over the $6 entrance fee. “What’ll be today?” the park attendant asks, remembering them from another time.

“Boats going today?” they ask, looking up at the darkening sky. Was that thunder?

“Boats going. But you’re the first,” the park attendant adds, ducking her head back under the awning to avoid getting soaked. There are a few insinuations of folly before they head down toward the boat launch.

“Ten minutes,” the daughter says, checking her phone’s weather app, “it will stop.”

They wait another 15 minutes in the truck, being dry.

Next to them another truck waits. Suddenly, its front door opens and a large, flashy stars and stripes umbrella opens. A park official sits in the driver’s seat. She wears a shirt with stars and stripes to match her umbrella.

After a few more minutes, the mother and daughter get out of the truck. It’s still raining, but maybe not quite as hard. Next, the stars and stripes-shirted official gets out as well. Their guys get out last, but make it clear that they are only along for the ride, not about to be out on the river, not in this weather. The park official commiserates on the weather, but makes it clear she has a job to do no matter the conditions.

Her job: Before anyone can set off down the pristine Ichetucknee River, a waterway fed by unique springs in this Florida state park, they have to check in. The park ranger has her list: no plastic bags, no plastic bottles, no glass bottles, no food, no cigarettes, no vaping gear.

“Nothing,” the mother and daughter say, well-zipped into rain jackets. The ranger looks like she’s about to frisk them, or at least check their pockets, but restrains herself. The last time, the daughter and her friend had readily agreed to all the prohibitions on the list. They too had nothing, until sure enough, the friend produced a bag and when the ranger checked the bag, there was a water bottle and a banana.

“Goes into the trash,” the ranger commanded. Suspicion is part of the job.

This time, the mother and daughter are clean and can get going. Their guys help tote the two kayaks, the paddles and the life jackets (no one wears) down the path to the dock. The mother’s kayak is set down snug to the dock while the son-in-law holding one elbow helps her get in. Thanks to his strong grip, she doesn’t tip as she drops but not cannonballs into the low boat. The daughter is graceful and needs no such help.

They are soon drawn into the currents of aquamarine clear water. When suddenly, a miracle occurs. When suddenly, the sky clears. The clouds go from a dark gray to fluffy marshmallow white.

In between the clouds a brightness, something very much like the sun. And the rain, the rain is gone. It’s all gone. Thus, off they go, mother and daughter, lone paddlers along three miles of waterway with only the marsh and birdsong for company. Flocks of birds: great blue herons, night herons, great egrets, wood storks, ibis, king fishers, wood ducks and turkeys. Many turtles and wasn’t that a manatee swimming by?

Ruth Charney lives in Greenfield.