Author: Sue Ahrendt

Puzzlers

I pulled a puzzle out of our Christmas box this year, and I started piecing it together lately.  Hint:  those puzzles that the photo places make are a really cool idea.  But they have a uniform piece, and if you have a photo with….say….a lot of white legs, or green leaves, or rocky ground, you can mix up the pieces.  I mean, pieces actually fit where they don’t belong–as in knees on the wrong legs, and toes on the wrong feet.

Another thing though, is putting pieces together of these kids I knew so well…..I could recognize one crinkled eye, or the twisted way the kid held his foot, and I loved that part.  It was such a wash of nostalgia.  I don’t know if you can recognize Daniel on the far left end of the hammock, but he is holding up an apple speared with a knife.  Only I cropped the knife out, because—our kid was only 8 and…what could I have been thinking?  He never actually speared anyone by accident, and he was so proud of being the Sam Gribley woodsman, that…..he had a pocket knife at age eight and I didn’t want it recorded.

I remember …..3 moms, 6 kids, 2 for each mom—made a perfect 9p Seagull Lake  trip.  We promoted independence, which meant we hovered from afar.  I was casually swimming with  my hand practically at the scruff of one  particular swimmer’s neck -one who had no business swimming to the rock, but was too cool to be the only one in the lifejacket.  Because that is what we moms do, for anybody’s kid  There was a kids’ tent and a mom tent, but….when it got dark, I remember one little guy padding over to the moms’ tent with oversized feet in footy pajamas, and a little while later one Shelby wanted me to sleep out under the stars with her.  So I took my pillow and went of course.  We were making memories.

But the thing is, as nostalgic as I always am (honestly, I never missed a single chance…I even felt waves of nostalgia every time my kids switched to bigger diaper sizes. )    I believe all this sappy savoring that I do has helped me treasure every age.  Because I miss these kids in this puzzle.  A whole lot.  But not enough that I would  give up the kids I have today for the kids I had in that puzzle.

It’s hard to explain how much I like the kids I have now.  Back then, I was responsible for the field trips.  Now I’m responsible for the restful home.   I used to plan and hope that they would like adventures, that they would spend their time in the woods rather than in the computer room.   I used to wonder if they would learn to pitch in–be good team players.  Now I watch them lead their teams.  If I’m home, I get to meet their friends.  I get to visit colleges with Shelby…and anticipate how much she will like it there.

These days,  I get up before they get up–rather than the other way around.  I’ve traded those early mornings looking for a spare moment to myself for —struggling to keep my eyes open late enough to  hang around while Shelby completes an art assignment, or being available in case Daniel wants to play the riff on the guitar.   I don’t have to stay home to take care of them anymore, but I want to stay home just in case—.  Ironically you’d think,after all these years, I’d be something of an expert at it, but still I screw up.  I still fight with Shelby about her sleep habits.  I guess I don’t have to head/knee lock Daniel to get him to brush his teeth, but we do have some headlocks about other things….some too trivial to even mention.

Some parents with younger kids thank me for taking the carpool turns…when I’m thinking…are you kidding me?  I have about 2 months left in this stage in my life, and it’s the only time I get to listen to 15 year old boys banter.  I’ll take every chance.

And I still get to see the other kids once in awhile.  Guess what?  They all turned out to be pretty good campers, so far.  If you look closely at this video—as they planned and practiced their own Grand Marais parade flash dance, you’ll recognize them amid the crowd.

You know, I expected to feel more loss in all of this.  I really liked being a mom to those little kids, I liked planning birthday parties, reading the books aloud, taking them camping.  Sometimes they ask me to help them figure out their independent camping trips, once and awhile they let me plan the scavenger hunts, but I’m in the background.  They choreograph their own dances now.   Maybe later in life there will be a time when the growing up will make me sad, but for the moment now….it feels just about right.

Ice Fishing to Tuscarora

Cousins Daniel and Joe were done with their hockey seasons.  We thought…QUICK!  Time to go fishing.  A person never knows when it’s time for hockey to start up again, and that is the truth about that sport.  I’m glad that they love it, and there’re all kinds of things about sports and teams that are valuable and worthy.  Hockey is a unique beast, and I’ll go anywhere gladly to cheer him on, but let’s just say I’m not missing the way it smells.
 Anyhow, this particular Saturday, the lake trout were calling.  They never call me as loudly as they call Danny, but there was one that was taunting me. (Darn it).   My brother Mike joined us too, and he kept saying  “well, I never really expect to catch fish in the winter,”  and I kept thinking…..this is a really long way to go if we’re not expecting to catch fish.
To hike into Tuscarora…..snowshoe, ski, haul….is somewhere between 8 and 10 miles.  In the morning, when we’re packed up and ready to go, we like to say…maybe it’s a little more than six miles.  At sundown, when I limp back in the door, I like to think it’s more like 10.   It’s a day, that’s for sure.
Joe is sold on winter hiking over summer portaging, and –I think I might be with him on that. I honestly like summer portaging quite a bit, but the Tuscarora portage on this particular winter day was pure bliss.
It was a great photo-shoot on Tuscarora, we thought…hey,  no problem, we made it!  The sun came out…but actually it was the longest stretch from the portage to our favorite spot.   Daniel  plowed ahead with the sled, breaking trail for a good chunk of it this time.  And I trudged along chanting in my own head about Sam McGee, from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.  Why he left his home in the south to roam round the pole, God only knows.   He was always cold, but that land of gold seemed to hold him in its spell.  Though he’d often say in his homely way that he’d sooner live in hell. ….
Tuscarora had about a dozen people on it, which at first seemed like a ripoff to travel all that way, and join in the party, but in the end,  no one occupied in our spot at the ledge so, it was rather cheerful to have them across the lake—and hear an occasional yelp when maybe somebody was catching something.
So here’s the secret, when a person stops trudging, a person has perspired, and a person is sort of wet, she gets cold fast.  So, the trick is to drill holes sooner than later, and then change the base layer.  Yep, change the entire base layer.  I’m here to tell you, it’s painful, but the only option.
And then after all that, and after I traded my ski boots for my beloved toasty Neos, I stood by the hole and sloooooowly  lifted the pole up, and lowerd the pole down.   Moving the minnows sooooo slow.    Just the right speed, up…………..and down……..up……………….and down…reel a little, try  a new depth….up………………..and down………….up………and down………..then, I start chanting in my head again.

A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;

And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.

He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;

And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

Up…….and down……………up……..and down…….FISH ON!!!!    Or…in my case…..Hey!   HEY!!!!  I have a fish. YOU GUYS  I HAVE A FISH!!!  So much for outfitter cool.  The boys came running over, and the ice rebounded just a little sloshing a little water up all the holes.  So much for sophomore cool.   We were peering in the dark hole, still reeling, and they’re telling me how to reel, faster, slower, set the hook, don’t jerk it—finally I just handed the pole to Daniel.  But shoot……the line slacked a little in the handoff, and I lost that fish.  ARG!  Snap.  Cannot believe I let him get away.  I STILL can’t believe it got away from me.  What was I thinking???  Darn it.   We had plenty of fish for dinner, but I’m still snapping about that one that got away..
Funny how that FISH ON gets everybody’s adrenaline going, so we switched up a few holes, and we all hurried up to stand by the holes again….up….and down, up……………..aand up.
They caught some,  lost a few, lots of action, Denali supervised.  Mike caught a few that he didn’t really expect to catch in the winter,  we hauled it all back, and shuffled through a fish dinner…..unbelievably tasty, it’s true.  Something about fresh, cold, water trout—well, we had to smile before our heads dropped.  I had one dream that I was 90 years old, and was a really good sport about it.  Everyone thought it remarkable, how I could get around so cheerfully with all that arthritis.   I was THAT sore, in my dream, in my bed, in my sleep.  Had to be 10 miles….
Good day, good guys.  It doesn’t escape me (or my brother Mike)…that our roles in these cousin adventures are fleeting.  I look forward to the stories that Joe will retell—it’s a gift he has, to make it almost better than life.   And I’m grateful for freezeframes that make up my the movies of my memories.  It was a good one.
But darn it.  I still can’t believe I lost that one.
Snap!

 

Jerry the Connecter

Have you read Malcolm Gladwell?  One of his books, The Tipping Point is about …well, a lot of things, but one of the themes is  “epidemics” and how they spread.   Here at Tuscarora, we’re in the business of promoting canoe trip epidemics, right?  So this is why it became part of my job to read this book.  I liked it so much I’ve read all of his books so far.  I like the way he writes, sort of causally researchy…brings up lots of interesting topics. So, we’re still figuring out how to share the North Woods with everyone we can—introducing new people,  setting up the seasoned people –talking about trips and campsites, recommending canoes, listening to stories.
At one point in the book, he talks about CONNECTERS.  Connecters are people with a gift for bringing folks together.  They seem to know people across borders of society—and make friends easily, and then connect them all.   They are like the network hub.  Most of us know somebody like that—particularly likable, or somehow gifted with a combination of curiosity and energy and general appeal.

Last week, we got an email from our Nashville friend, Jerry Vandiver.  I thought…aha!  Here’s a connecter in the flesh, and we are really lucky to be in his web. Jerry uses his music and love of the North Woods to bring lots of folks together.  Definitely his network spans the country.
This summer….he’ll be back to do one of his Dining Hall Concerts, and we’re pretty excited about that—we’re even going to set a date soon!  We plan to combine it with our Unnofficial Tuscarora Triathlon….which is all good for me, because it might even mean that I schedule it ahead of time…so …..people might even be able to PLAN on these events, if you can imagine.
Anyhow, I’m recommending that you connect with Jerry, however you can.  Part of his charm is that he’ll remember you, and make you feel special.  You can catch him at Canoecopia in March, or at Tuscarora in July!

The Snow Makers

Chip, Kari, Kristoffer, and Meaghan of the Anderson family have started a tradition of bringing the snow with them.  They visited Tuscarora a few years ago for Thanksgiving.  That year they raced a blizzard up here from cities, arriving just in time for the snow to start.  This year they made a last minute decision to come back up for Thanksgiving.  On Wednesday they arrived in time to see fall.  The met a nice buck on the road (not saying where!), hiked on the crunchy, bare ground, and listened to waves lapping on the shore of Round Lake.  After their turkey was devoured, the snow started.  The next morning they were out snow shoeing in  a picture perfect winter day.  Heavy snow lay on all the trees and from their perch in cabin 5, they watched the ice form on Round. If the snow is pokey next year, we will give this nice family a call and have them bring up some snow!

photos courtesy of Kari Kennedy

Reflections in November

Denali and I went for a walk yesterday.  It seemed like typical November.  Bleak, stark, bare. Cold.    Still. Bland. Boring.

The thing is, Denali wasn’t bored.  All her muscles were on alert, she was listening  to the silence,  tense and aware.  She loves it so much, it’s contagious.

Also, up close-the wilderness-even completely at rest, is the most beautiful place to be- if you ask me.  Very subtle.   And incredibly quiet.  The only sound, the only life I could pick out besides Denali was a lone merganser who wouldn’t stop splashing.
Fishing?  Staying warm?  No kidding,the  entire hour we walked she was swimming and splashing and diving.   It looked miserable to me, but I don’t  actually know if it was.

 

I think the woods set a good example for us.  They are frantically busy sometimes, with the growth, new life, the activity, the fires the storms, the winds.  This weekend it just all stopped.  And I stopped too, long enough to notice the ice forming along the shoreline.

I’ve been reading about math teachers these days– the literature seems to agree that people who don’t reflect on how they teach will default to the way that they were taught.  It doesn’t matter if it worked well for them as students.  If teachers don’t work on becoming reflective practitioners, they’re bound to repeat their own classroom experiences.

How many more things in life are like that? If we don’t take the time to reflect on our decisions, will we simply default to the way things always were?  Is it that way for parenting?   If I don’t reflect on the way I’m spending my time, I default to…what?  You know, maybe November in the woods reminds us not to default our entire life away.  Maybe the woods are practicing a little deliberate sabboth time,  just plain reflective rest.

Then I started trying to be ultra-aware like Denali.  These are the little mosses from our hike. I didn’t even know what they were until a minute ago, when I googled moss trumpets.  Maybe there is such a thing as trumpet moss, maybe other people made that up like I did.  I know that the tiny trumpets aren’t there in the spring.  Well, that is what I think, but it could be that I’m too busy in the spring to notice, or all the lady slippers are  too arrogant, and command any available attention.

The frost heaves are also cool looking in their own subdued way, cultivating the path and displacing the soil like tiny little spiky gardeners.

As I sat on BA point  I realized that I was watching the ice form on Round Lake. I suppose it’s like sitting around watching the grass grow, but I was sort of excited about it.  I’m not sure I’ve seen the actual minute of ice-in before, and it was growing in crystals.  Can you see the little finger?  This was not ice at the start of our hike.

For such a dull day, I’ll remember it, that’s for sure.  I don’t know if I’ll change anything, or live my life any differently, but I do appreciate the reminder.  And as much as I like the action and the people of my days, I do soak up the time when I can be still and marvel at the tiny trumpets.  And have a little ice-in thrill.  And consider my own defaults, to become a reflective practitioner of life.

In the 11th month, the northwoods rested.  And it was good.