“Low-stakes adversity is a kind of adventure playground for relationship dynamics”

It all started in June. 

We were staying at the central Halifax home of my absent old friends Yvonne and Bob. They’d left the key for us, and we were able to let ourselves in, with a little bit of lock-jiggling. The next morning we headed out into the neighbourhood to find breakfast, and, being extra protective of my friends’ house, I locked not only the deadbolt, but also the doorknob, which had seemed to unlock with the same key.

We enjoyed a tasty French breakfast and walked back to collect our things for our planned day of adventures.

Only to find that…

The key only opened the deadbolt.

Panic.

I texted Bob and Yvonne, three time zones west.

“Oh, we’ve never locked that lock, and we’ve never even had the key for it,” Yvonne messaged back.

While I tried all the other doors, looked to see if any windows were open (no, no), Lisa wandered over to chat to their neighbour, who was painting his front steps.

The neighbour—what are the odds!?—”did some lock picking a while back,” and he was willing to help.

While he went inside to collect his lockpicking tools, I discovered that one of the bedroom windows was unlocked: if I could bust through the screen, I could likely push it up from the outside.

I texted Bob: “Is it okay if I bust through the screen?”

“Of course,” replied Bob (who is nothing if not extremely amiable).

I busted through the screen. 

We were in! I walked around to the front door, unlocked the “we never use this lock and don’t even have a key” lock, and we were sure to never ever lock it again.

The neighbour, sadly, was unable to use his lockpicking skills. 

Bob texted to say that we shouldn’t worry about repairing the screen (yes, he’s that amiable).

A month later. Back to Nova Scotia.

We’re now staying in a home exchange on a peninsula across from Annapolis Royal.

Yesterday we headed over the mountain to the Bay of Fundy side to go for a hike at Delaps Cove Trail. Getting into the car, Lisa made a point of saying aloud “I’m putting the house key here,” pointing to a part of the centre console of the car. 

Duly noted. 

We drove over the mountain to the trailhead. 

We walked.

There was a beautiful waterfall. Lots of interpretive signs. We enjoyed it thoroughly, patting ourselves on the back for being active travellers, at the top of our game.

We headed back over the mountain, stopping at the Crow’s Nest in Parker Cove for a snack of excellent fried clams. It was a perfect day! We made plans to drive home and enjoy a supper of shrimp tacos.

Arriving home, we hopped out of the car, collected our things, grabbed the…

The key?

It wasn’t there.

Are you sure?

Where do you remember it being?

Are you sure?

“Oh my God,” said Lisa, “what if I threw it out when I threw out the ginger chew wrappers after the hike!?”

Back over the mountain. 

Visions of pulling all manner of garbage out of the can, wearing rubber gloves, and then sorting through the muck of unimaginable horrors danced in our heads. What if we need tools? A blow torch? We scoped out houses along the route for possible tool borrowing.

After navigating the twisty road back to the trailhead, we saw the sturdy-looking garbage in the distance. It looked impenetrable? Fortunately it was unlocked, and easy to open up from the back.

We opened it up, and were happy to find that… it was almost empty. There were no horrors to sort through. 

We pulled out the clear plastic bag, sorted through it.

And…

Do lost key stories ever end this well!?

We tucked everything back into place, sped back down the mountain once more, and were enjoying a meal of shrimp tacos an hour later.

While both lockout adventures were frustrating and mildly-panic-inducing, we managed to greet them, at least somewhat, with good humour and cooperation. There were no fuckity-fuck-fucks shared. We didn’t really panic that much. And, as I said to Lisa on the drive back down the mountain, “Does the day end better with this adventure story, or with ‘We hiked, and then went home and had tacos’?”

Love is an adventure. Low-stakes adversity is a kind of adventure playground for relationship dynamics. 

Look at the smile on Lisa’s face, key in hand: what a lovely day!