We went camping again this weekend. It was a bit of a last-minute decision to make the most of the precious nice weather. We only went for one night because Kendall had agreed to teach Sunday School. It was good we did because it didn't go quite as well as last weekend. For one thing, Mom and Dad were grouchy. I wish I could come up with a good reason for this condition, but I can't. Secondly, we did not sleep well at all. For as hot as we got during the day, it was freezing at night! We started out the weekend tired and not sleeping well didn't help. For the last few hours Evan was zipped into my sleeping bag with me and we were squished.
The most exciting part of the whole time was when Eli ate a tadpole. I heard him go over to Kendall, who was tending the fire, and say, "I just had an idea! I could catch tadpoles for us to eat!" (He was serious.) Kendall said, "Okay, you eat the first one, then I will." (He was not serious.) Next thing I knew, Eli was standing in the water with a freshly-caught tadpole. He stuck it in his mouth and swallowed! I could not believe it. That is not like him at all! We all laughed and gagged simultaneously. Then Kendall, being a good dad who keeps his word, took a tadpole that Eli caught for him and popped it into his mouth too! That is not like him either! He said he felt the feet on his lips! Eww! I am so glad I'm a girl! (Although, I think I would usually be more likely to do something like that than my husband.) Well, Evan and I were not convinced to follow suit. We were happily grossed out just watching.
The best part of the weekend for me came when we were mostly packed up. We were supposedly going to go swimming, but swimming in the same water that we catch fish out of kind of psyches me out. So I floated around on my air mat, careful to keep all appendages out of the water, while the boys caught a ride on a giant turtle. It was a bit of a surreal experience for me as I floated a little ways from shore. The lake looks a lot different from eye level. It was a beautiful sunny day with a bright blue sky and green trees reflecting on the water. I could hear the boys laughing and playing close to shore. We had the bay to ourselves and their voices were echoing in our solitude. I can't really explain it, so people will just need to come up here and experience it for themselves.
We left sunburned but really happy (after nearly 24 hours of trying to just act happy). Evan was the one singing away on this boat ride back- for about 5 minutes until he fell asleep.
Saturday night we cleaned up and Kendall finally ran for some food (Subway and poutine) for a late supper.
"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Lao-tzu
July 1, 2008
This journey so far has taken me one thousand and four miles from my hometown, but I’m having trouble putting my finger on the single step that began it all. Was it Monday afternoon at the border when they gave me my official document allowing me to pass? Was it Saturday morning when we started the car and drove out of Goshen in our funny little caravan? Was it in February when we came up to Red Lake for a job interview at the hospital? Was it two Christmases ago being up here with Kendall’s family and all of us rating our desire to live up here? (I can’t say my number on a scale of 1 – 100 was high, but it was the highest of all the in-laws, so I guess I’m the chosen one.) Was it three years ago almost to the day that Kendall first said, “What if we’d move up here?” (I tried to ignore that one for several months, thinking surely it would go away.) Or was it June 10, 2000 when I married Kendall and made some solemn promises before God and all these witnesses? Was it a night before Kendall and I were married when we talked about moving to Red Lake? (It was a far off and romantic possibility at that time.) Or was it living in and visiting different cultures at different times in my life? Could the first step have been when my parents brought me as a baby to this same area for a year of voluntary service? (Kendall wasn’t born yet, but I surely saw his parents as they chatted with mine from time to time.) What about when my dad lived on a nearby reserve for two years before he was married? Or when my mom visited this town with her family as a teenager? Or maybe it had something to do with choices my grandparents made? Or other ancestors farther back?
At any rate, moving into this house where I slept for a few weeks as a baby and where my dad stayed as a teenager, has made me very aware of roots. And how they affect our lives and choices and passions.
I suspect there is no single step that began our move a thousand miles away from Indiana. It seems, rather, to be a coming together of so many different factors. (Not the least of which is marrying a man who has taken this land as a very part of his being. And for all the ways I can tease him and get annoyed at some of his woodsman ways, I really do mean that in a reverent and respectful way.)
So here we are, a thousand miles from nowhere. (Oops…I meant a thousand miles from Goshen.) I know that we safely made the journey here, but mostly our journey is just beginning. And mostly I’m excited.
This journey so far has taken me one thousand and four miles from my hometown, but I’m having trouble putting my finger on the single step that began it all. Was it Monday afternoon at the border when they gave me my official document allowing me to pass? Was it Saturday morning when we started the car and drove out of Goshen in our funny little caravan? Was it in February when we came up to Red Lake for a job interview at the hospital? Was it two Christmases ago being up here with Kendall’s family and all of us rating our desire to live up here? (I can’t say my number on a scale of 1 – 100 was high, but it was the highest of all the in-laws, so I guess I’m the chosen one.) Was it three years ago almost to the day that Kendall first said, “What if we’d move up here?” (I tried to ignore that one for several months, thinking surely it would go away.) Or was it June 10, 2000 when I married Kendall and made some solemn promises before God and all these witnesses? Was it a night before Kendall and I were married when we talked about moving to Red Lake? (It was a far off and romantic possibility at that time.) Or was it living in and visiting different cultures at different times in my life? Could the first step have been when my parents brought me as a baby to this same area for a year of voluntary service? (Kendall wasn’t born yet, but I surely saw his parents as they chatted with mine from time to time.) What about when my dad lived on a nearby reserve for two years before he was married? Or when my mom visited this town with her family as a teenager? Or maybe it had something to do with choices my grandparents made? Or other ancestors farther back?
At any rate, moving into this house where I slept for a few weeks as a baby and where my dad stayed as a teenager, has made me very aware of roots. And how they affect our lives and choices and passions.
I suspect there is no single step that began our move a thousand miles away from Indiana. It seems, rather, to be a coming together of so many different factors. (Not the least of which is marrying a man who has taken this land as a very part of his being. And for all the ways I can tease him and get annoyed at some of his woodsman ways, I really do mean that in a reverent and respectful way.)
So here we are, a thousand miles from nowhere. (Oops…I meant a thousand miles from Goshen.) I know that we safely made the journey here, but mostly our journey is just beginning. And mostly I’m excited.
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4 comments:
Karen, I am terribly impressed and blessed by what a great, Northern bushwoman you are becoming so quickly! I don't even make pizza over a campfire yet!
Hi there, just got home and what fun to go to this blog and see whats happening in RL looks and sounds like so much fun, the pizza looks delicious, glad the day ended happy!! get the blueberries ready we're coming soon. love Mom H.
Kendall, you're my "dad" hero. If only I can be as good a father for my son as you are for yours (and for my daughters; that tadpole routine sounds like something Lydia might do!). J
Karen, I was reading about your lake adventures and took that literally at first-"the boys were catching a ride on a turtle" until I scrolled down to see the pictures! Who knows what adventure will come next?
-Jodi, at Jen's computer
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