Category: Life at Tuscarora Lodge

John introduced Valerie to his favorite Boundary Waters places this September. He’s a long-time guest–and, while I don’t believe he was testing their relationship…not a bit….it did remind me that it happens sometimes.

Future in-laws sometimes sponsor a trip….to check out how prospective spouses fit in with the camping family. One guy covertly requested NOT to be in Bunkhouse 1 with his new date…because it held memories of his last girlfriend in Bunkhouse 1, and she hated camping.

Some couples go into the woods all giddy and come out early…obviously ready for their separate ways. We see them coming and going, and have started to recognize the pattern. Sometimes it’s even worth a friendly private wager.

A camping trip can make or break you, that’s for sure. I have a photo moment of the first trip I took with Andy….and we both loved the woods. I don’t know what we were fighting about—we were so young then, but the photo is of me sitting on a log, shooting daggers at the camera, obviously picking out the M&M’s from the gorp (the biggest cardinal sin). The M&M’s only……it’s a surprise that we made it anyway.

Sometimes, we just have to share a private smile when the couples are very terse upon exit and hand over the credit cards separately….they won’t even LOOK at each other anymore.

I should quit being so cynical. There was another married couple, former staff members, who arrived this fall just syrupy giddy, so happy to be together, she was newly pregnant, they met here—it didn’t matter if a monsoon started, they were already in heaven.

Anyway, John sent a copy of a nice essay Valerie wrote for college this fall, and they have allowed me to post it with their photos here. Of course I can’t say anything for sure, but I’d guess Valerie is hooked on the Boundary Waters and John is hooked on Valerie. To witness these sparkly moments is definitely a fun part of this job.

Boundary Waters (an essay by Valerie)

My alarm goes off at 8:30, but I am already awake. I was so worried about my first college class that I had woken up on my own. I can feel the anxiety flowing through my body as I jump out of bed. I am so nervous I am not even hungry for breakfast. I fix my hair, brush my teeth, and get dressed in what seemed like a split second. After getting ready I race to the El stop down the street to board the train to the Loop. Waiting for the El I see people hustling past me each entranced in their own situation too busy to think about the world around them. I hear the roar of the train coming and my heart begins to beat faster. “I hope this is the right train and that it’s going the right way” “What if I can’t find the right building let alone the right classroom” were a couple of thoughts pounding in my head. I barely fit into the train car because there are so many people squished into it. I feel like a sardine smashed into a can that has no more room. Unfamiliar faces are everywhere I look and I am intimidated by their confidence. In this overwhelming environment I become even more stressed about my class, about getting lost, about my professor being horrible. My apprehension skyrockets, and I lose all ability to think logically.

Then it hits me. I close my eyes and regress back to a time of serenity. I am no longer on the frantic El car with my world whizzing by. I find myself in a place so peaceful that nothing would dare to disturb me. The air is so clean I take a long deep breath to rid my lungs of the exhaust and cigarette smoke from the city. My mind is calmed by the soft sound of the water. The gentle stroke of the wind loosens my nerves, and the taste of untainted air relaxes my racing heart. I am sitting on a rock right off our private island that we worked so hard to reach earlier that day. Our island was perfect; It had magnificent pine trees flourishing all over, and a charming spot to share our meals, and a swimming area that would have made an otter jump for joy. I have caught the sun just as it sets down behind the trees.The magnificent colors of orange, purple, pink, and blue blend together to make a sunset that is worthy for an artist’s painting. The water is so calm the only ripples are made from the mosquitoes skimming the surface for food. The warm pleasant temperature invites me to stay outside even longer and witness the beauty before me. The crickets begin singing their song of serenity. Every part of me is in complete harmony, relaxed, calm, and at ease. I forget about the craziness of the real world. Even in the craziest of times in my life, I can find peace by remembering that moment in the Boundary Waters; that moment of tranquility.

“The next stop will be Jackson”. I’m back on the El and ready to take on my first college class. I am collected and have faith that I will find my class with ease. The fear of my professor being awful has disappeared, and I am actually excited to learn. I no longer see strangers around me but other friendly faces ready to start their day. While the train is still going at full speed, I am no longer intimidated and can see the remarkable buildings as we pass them. I realize that all other freshman were feeling the same anxiety that I was, and I was thankful that I had a place to visit to calm my nerves. After my memory from the boundary waters I am relaxed and confident that I can succeed in whatever that day throws at me.

November isn’t generally my favorite, but so far, it’s

It was 60 degrees, it was November 8th…and we paddled to Gotter just because we could.

This guy did a fabulous job of capturing a fall canoe trip—

Boundary Waters Canoe Trip

If you have 4 minutes to watch a video, check it out.

During our October camping trip, the adolescent loons were lingering. I always feel tender toward them when they are left behind this time of year. What do they think when the adults gather and ditch them? They made a lot of confused hoots, lonely. This year I had extra worries about them, wondering what will happen when they get to the Gulf Oil spill. Is that a problem? It doesn’t seem like a problem anymore, but I still would like to figure out how to call to them.…… “Go to Maine..Fly east… to Maine!” I don’t actually know what kind of instinct sets up which direction they go, because their parents have long since migrated.

We saw one or two of these young loons on almost every lake we visited. One evening, camped on Ester Lake, we set up our chairs in the front row of the show, while one guy tried and tried and tried to fly by our rocky point. He just wasn’t getting it, and truly, we could feel his panic. It’s October, buddy. If you don’t get it this month…..well, then it will be November. And then you are really in trouble. What happens to the immature loons who die at freeze up? Otters? Not a bad species to support, but still. We were bonding with this guy.

Every time he failed, he’d give a pathetic half-tremolo kind of whine. I know they’re mostly silent during their first season, but we heard a bunch of them working on the calling along with the flying. They sort of had half- calls, cries of disappointment. We looked at the full moon over the calm lake, and there he’d go again—slapping those wings on the water at the wrong angle. Awkward, ineffective.

Early in the morning, from the tent I awoke to hear him try again. I could almost feel him hold his breath and get up the gumption and then go slapping the surface like a maniac….. and then he was so very disappointed, and I realized I had been holding my breath and I was disappointed too. How could I help him? What could I do? If only I could coach him on how it should sound. I’ve heard it all summer long…..less whappy, more….light and choppy. What could I do for him?

Sometimes I feel like that when I’m trying to help my kids learn to fly. I want to share all of that knowledge that I have—I’ve spent so many years slapping my wings at the wrong angle, surely I could save them time? Maybe then they could fly farther than I have ever migrated. Seems like a great plan to me.

Wouldn’t it have been ridiculous if these gawky adolescent loons were still riding on their parents’ backs? From the time my kids were newborns, this motherly love has so blindsided me, that I can see myself liking that part, as a mother loon, and letting them stay on just a little longer. Maybe I’d decide that our situation was different—we might just buck the system, and ride our own way.

Through breakfast that morning, we continued to witness the pathetic attempts and the disappointed cries. And then, awhile later, the same loon gearing up to try it again, I kept thinking on the parenting parallels. Of course, Andy and I are not migrating any time soon…we’re still here to love our adolescents, to help make good decisions, to help them make sense of things, give them support, and hand out money….but sometimes I have to remind myself we are not here to make life easier, to prevent pain, to diminish their struggles.

Easy enough with sports—no pain=no gain. As a math educator I know they have to pound their heads against new concepts. The only good problem solvers are the ones who have confidence to figure out what to do when they don’t know what to do.

But somehow, watching the kids as they figure out who they are and where they fit in the world—are struggles harder for me to embrace. Friends, loyalties, betrayals, pettiness won’t crush them either….sometimes, I just want to shield them from all that. From the disappointments, from the inefficient slapping of the wings.

Even with the most loving intentions, isn’t it ironic that by shielding them from that kind of pain we would then be sabotaging their potential? It’s the last thing we want to do…to actually encourage them to become less than the people that they were born to be. It’s such a paradox.

Definitely, it’s a good thing that it is also within my kids’ instincts to break away and have ornery moments. So I can slap the side of my head and remind myself what I already know. It’s a good thing I have wise friends who gently slap my head into place once in awhile too.

It’s also a good thing when we get the golden moments, when the moon is coming up and the lake is calm, when we know they’ll eventually get there, and we can just lean back in the crazy creek chairs and watch.

(Check this guy out!—I didn’t take the video, nor did we see any such quick learners— but he amused me)

We’re winding down here at Tuscarora. The paddling season is nearly over, we’ve closed a few of our cabins….it seems mostly hunters are visiting the Gunflint Trail, a quiet time for us.

I woke up on Saturday morning and I couldn’t help the little jolt of snow joy. Remember when snow meant nothing but frolicking fun? This time though–I wondered about the team driving up to run.
The Cross Country team/parents gather on Saturday mornings, for the long slow training runs. Some run 10, some 5, some hike, some bike………..then we have breakfast. I love this tradition….Cook County has some beautiful trails. Since I’m usually late on the draw…..we hosted the very last one here at Tuscarora.

Chris is a unique coach. He is very blunt….during the Tuscarora Triathlon once he passed me running —and said..”Well, at least you can swim.” There is no room for false praise, but he is just as excited about improvement in his slowest runners as he is about his all-state runners. His goal is to promote life-long running fun and health. And he is full of success stories—along with a team of 40+ runners, which is really something for a small town and an independent sport.

So the run for the day – the Centennial Trail, in the bright sun—and snow. It’s Shelby and Daniel’s favorite, so ………they all slid through it! I think there is nothing so bonding as exercise in the blue sky snowy woods.

Later in the day, the Murder Mystery crowd showed up. This crowd is game for anything.

Notice the French Maid, the Butler…….and Fabio the pool boy.

Can you tell by the photo that shady Neil the chauffeur was the killer?

The sisters were dressed in lovely velvet gowns, …..and only one of them needed a chin-wax.

On Sunday–we decided to stay home for Halloween. We were a little nostalgic about that, the marking of a new era. We could have hauled into town, and even trick-or-treated—some kids do, but Daniel wryly realized that he’s a little tall for that. 5 years ago trick-or-treating was the most fun thing imaginable, and now……they’re sort of exempt. Nobody actually wants to go back in time, but for all of us (maybe especially me)……it was bittersweet.

So we went for a paddle (freezing) , Daniel made his pizza dough and carved a pumpkin, we watched a movie, and had a mellow Halloween. I felt lucky to live here, and lucky to still have time with the kids. It was really nice.