Author: Sue Ahrendt

They couldn’t have been any cuter.

Misting morning paddling weather.

On May 3, 150 runners followed the Gunflint Trail from Gunflint Pines to Way of the Wilderness, and completed the 2nd Annual Ham Run Half Marathon. The runners wound through Superior National Forest, witnessing recovering forest on the anniversary of the Ham Lake Fire.

Boy, two years ago in that war zone, I would never have dreamed that we would be celebrating an anniversary, with both the Gunflint Green Up and the Ham Lake Run.

We sure did.

I’ve heard people talk about “resilient”communities during times of stress. I’ve been thinking about that word.

A (casual) physics definition of resilience, if I have it right, is the measure of a matter’s ability to store energy elastically, and then release it. Different materials have different measures of resilience, different maximum abilities to absorb energy and then unload it.
If I think about an elastic rubber ball—I apply force as I throw it on the ground, and it bounces back-with equal force if it is perfectly elastic. There’s an equation for that…but let’s skip that part.

So I’m thinking about the overwhelming power of the Ham Lake Fire. Destructive, hot, massive, wow. Unstoppable, death, blackened ground. At the time, really sad. However, when the smoke cleared, the fire didn’t burn everything. Just patches and clumps, and then it would jump. And almost immediately, (partly because it was spring), we witnessed the resiliency of the earth. All of that energy was released again. A subtle reoccurring kind of energy, that most powerful resurrection-type energy, the green, the blueberries, the wildflowers, the new sprouting life. Quieter, kinder, peaceful, yet still powerful.
The fire specialist on the Gunflint district keeps telling us with gentle persistence and a variety of graphs that a boreal forest NEEDS fire for survival. Our instinct is to say…yeah, yeah, yeah…but not in OUR slice of the forest. The truth is, these woods are strengthened by fire. Never did that quite sink in until I saw that energy released, until I witnessed the elasticity of nature.

Then it shouldn’t surprise me that people in this community follow the model that the earth has set. At first, I thought the fire might zap everybody’s resources, their vigor. But check out Mike and Sue, the catalysts of the run event. They transferred all that momentum into the annual Ham Run Half Marathon. This circle of volunteers, many who supported the fire fighting efforts, rallied once again. That’s some powerful elasticity: remarkable actually to see what has come back.
Lucky me, that I’ve had a chance to soak up some of these experiences. Experiences like that rubber ball–it’s OK to roll it around, but that’s not nearly as fun as the big bounce. Some of the greatest joys come out of the rebounds, after the stressers have passed by. It’s the stuff of life.

And the runners? Resilient with every step!!

For Mother’s Day Shelby gave me an afternoon whitewater trip down the Cross River. She knows me well: an adventure that we’ve never done, that scared us both a little bit: perfect!

She’s been yearning to follow the rapids around the corner to where she can’t see them. With a map we planned a strategy, identified bail-out points, shuttled a couple of bikes around. Though this route was a mystery to us, I could easily have called Bob Baker, a neighbor-in-the-know. I had some vague recollection of hearing of “pretty good rapids” in there somewhere between us and Gunflint Lake. But—we wanted to venture into the unknown. So, we chose to be original explorers. Yikes!

I’ve had a little experience. I remember the Wisconsin Brule, with Class-Something rapids. Yep, just enough whitewater info to make me dangerous.

It was beautiful on the river. Our collective adrenaline was pumping, the water was high, we were a team. We’d zip along, find a place to catch our breath, rest, pull over a log, laugh. We were learning handy techniques. It was great.

I watched her and I reflected on this whole motherhood adventure. I’m a fourteen year veteran, but sometimes it still feels like I’m following rapids around the corner to where I can’t see them. I’m wise enough to realize that our children aren’t an extension of us, they are entirely themselves. As she navigated the rapids, I thought about what a good sense she has about her, physically and mentally. I fully trust her in my canoe. She’s adventuresome and funny. I suppose it is maternal instinct that I have always loved her, but the lucky thing is that I also really LIKE her. I remember when I was pregnant, wondering what happened if you were stuck with a kid you didn’t like? Does that happen often? It occurred to me parenting would be a long haul, if you didn’t actual enjoy hanging out with your offspring.

We left Round Lake Road, we crossed under the Gunflint Trail at Warrens Road, then past Dude Man campsite, and then calm waters. Still moving fast, but it was quiet. Wonderful. We saw a bunch of water birds we didn’t recognize. Then we came around the bend, heard loud water, and saw a big cliff next to some really fast water, some big rocks, and big drops. Bob Baker would have warned us about this, I’m sure it was Class Something-dicey. Could we do it? We got out to investigate. I’ll bet we could have. There were ways, ….yet we agreed that it was not a good bet. Since we didn’t know exactly how far into the woods we were. The whole safety-factor, the whole- be-smart-about-life idea. The whole…helmets-would-also-be-nice-part.

I had a flash image of the Fire and Rescue pager on my desk, and I so didn’t want to be the subject of one of those. So we hauled the big green boat, lined the rapids. We learned how easily it could get hung up and fill with water, we stepped in a little over our rubber boots. As we tugged and struggled, we also felt the enormous force of that much water. We learned that it was futile to fight that force, but it was fine to work with it, as long as we kept our eyes on the rocks and guided the canoe. Pretty awesome life lessons, if we take the time to think about them.

Eventually, we decided, that we could handle the rapids ahead. All was good, we were flying, one organism, problem solving, strong and on top of the current (and the big rocks were behind us anyway). Splendid!

Then…around the bend, and ….darn that last windfall. I thought we could make it under the log if we hung left. Shelby thought we should pull over to the right. Oops, there went our synergy.

Next thing I knew, we’re snagged half way under. I was trying to keep the wedged canoe straight with the current, and Shelby a ways away, had her chin above the log, and most of her body in the current, struggling to hang on. She was hollering AHHHHHH! And I was telling her she looked just like Laura Ingalls Wilder, hanging onto the bridge in Plum Creek. As my niece would say…”kinda scarwey”

Then I was telling her—“Shelby, if the hollering hhelped, I’d say—go ahead and do that, but we really have to get this canoe out from under this log. Want to get in?” The truth was, I felt a little forlorn too. But what were we going to do? So we pulled ourselves together, and were oh-so-close to getting that boat under the log and on our way down the current. As we slipped free, we just had too much water in the boat, and pretty soon I was floating with the up-side-down boat, Shelby was making her way through the current without her boots. Seemed like we bounced around for a long way, or maybe not. But eventually, we did manage to empty out the canoe. Though she didn’t want to get in the boat I had to say…REMEMBER, WE ARE STRONG PADDLERS. COMPETENT PEOPLE. And she said “Oh yeah.” And then quietly, “But I don’t have a paddle anymore.”

Two more bends, and we reached our destination –Gunflint Lake, and a bike, and still sunshine. We were a little banged up, sore today, but just fine. We probably learned more BECAUSE we tipped, and we certainly have a healthy respect for the power of the river.

Still, it was a perfect gift. Andy also gets credit for sanctioning it. He knew that there was a good chance he’d be in there with me, after hours, retrieving a canoe. Shelby had to laugh at the grimace on his face when he looked at our soaking wet selves and asked…”So where’s the boat?”

And motherhood? This grand adventure is my finest gift. I’m grateful for the honor to navigate these waters. With kids that I like. Two for two. Those are great odds.

Ahhhhh. That’s more like it!