Rain and Shine

Four kids ages 1 to 9.  Two parents.  Two grandparents.  Three generations in one small retirement home.

What to do when it rains on your weekend plans?  Go out anyway!  The key is to work with the weather, not bemoan it.

Inspired by Anne Marie Gorham, of Lake Superior Beach Glass (who happens to be the daughter of my best friend in Jr and Sr High School), we headed out to Burlington Bay Beach in Two Harbors.  “The best time to find beach glass is when it’s raining,” grandson Ben informed me.  He’d seen enough of Anne’s videos in pelting rain to know.

And sure enough, he was right!  We forgot all about the raindrops while scouring the beach for those glistening shards.  It didn’t matter that most were tiny white specimens.  The mere fact that they were plentiful kept us peering, bending, picking and looking for more.  I admit to feeling giddy each time I plucked one from the rocks.  We scored some turquoise, green and one cobalt blue piece too.

Looking for beach glass 1 Looking for beach glass 2

We had visions of hiking on the North Shore in the brilliant fall foliage.  Instead, we decided to check out the raging torrents at Gooseberry Falls.  All that rainwater swelled the river beyond its banks, plummeting down to the lake with a thunderous roar.  Something tells me the kids found it more entertaining than fall colors.

Kennedys at Gooseberry Falls Ben at Gooseberry Falls

Passing the remainder of the day playing games, it was hard to imagine the rain would ever stop.  But Sunday morning dawned crisp and clear.  Seizing the moment, we started at The Deeps, where we inspected the new footbridge, then made our way to the Lester Park Playground.  There we stumbled on a Park and Rec “Pop-up” event.  The collection of lawn games and outdoor activities soon lured the kids away from the playground to try the offerings.

Mya and the Pop Up Park sign

Kennedy boys playing soccer in the Pop Up Park Mya tightrope walking in Pop Up park Mya playing Jenga in Pop Up Park

Karen was still intent on getting in that hike.  “I don’t want to go for a walk,” the kids wailed.  But as soon as we reached the COGGS Hawk Ridge Trail, the oldest two kids were off and running.  “This is so cool!”  They loved the advanced structures created for the most adventurous of mountain bikers, scrambling over the steep rock formations.  Lakeside spread out below us, a collage of yellows and greens, while leaves of every color carpeted the path.  Reining them in was impossible.  Their energy contagious.

Ben Mya on COGGS trailBen Mya on trailBen Mya overlooking cityIt’s hard to say which was better, playing in the rain or the sunshine.  I just know I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

 

A Little Girl’s Prayer

I guess I’m not the only one moved to tears by finding Karen’s song.  It was heartwarming to know that I was able to convey the emotion of that experience well enough to invoke it in my readers.

Several of you have asked to listen to the recording.  I have added it to the original post, but here it is for your listening pleasure.  For those of you who get my posts by email, click here to listen to the recording.

Did you cry too?

The Power of Prayer

The sun illuminates the radiant fall leaves outside the window of the cabin as Rich hunches over the CD player. “I unearthed some old CDs when I did my big clean-up at home a few weeks ago,” he says. Strategically placing himself between me and the disks he loads one into the machine. I’m sure it is some funky old tunes of his. Until the music begins.

Soft strains of a guitar prelude capture my attention and tickle my memory. A sweet youthful voice picks up the melody, adding words, lovely yet confident. Within moments the music embraces my heart. And then squeezes.

“Is that… Karen?” Rich nods.

“Wait, she wrote this, didn’t she?”

A glance at the CD cover, now visible, confirms it. “A Little Girl’s Prayer,” Song written by Karen Hoeg.

A little girl's prayer

Standing spellbound, I let the song flood my entire being. Captivated by each note, entranced by every word, savoring the memories. Tears slipping silently down my cheeks. I dare not move until it ends. And then we play it again.

This was the music of our daughter, at age 19. Not your typical teenage music. It was a testimony to her years as a baby and growing into a little girl, each verse ending with her parents reciting her bedtime prayers. Our baby, our little girl, our nightly ritual. She wrote it for a music class in her senior year of high school. By the time she recorded it she was about to leave for college. Yet the bond continued to hold. As she put it, “My little life has grown up strong. Still I ask would you pray with me – your little girl’s prayer.”

How could I have forgotten this? And yet, recovering it makes it all the sweeter.

Rich hands me the CD case. “Get ready to cry again.”

Opening the lid, I read the note in Karen’s neat writing. An inscription with a Bible verse and a heartfelt thank you for our parenting. Then I notice the words on the CD. “For my parents.” It means more today than ever. I reach for the Kleenex again.

This little girl is now a mommy herself. She tucks in her own four kids every night.  Presses their hands between hers as she prays with them, the same words we recited with her. A little girl’s prayer.

She was their baby, their little girl
Too little to speak, or walk on her own
This little life, they took in their arms,
And every night would say to her…

Chorus:
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep.
Thy love go with me, through the night,
And bless me with the morning light.

As time went on, their little girl grew
They watched her first steps, and heard her first word
They watched her learn, to laugh and play
At the end of the day, they’d still say…

Chorus

I am their baby, their little girl
I’m learning to speak and walk on my own
My little life has grown up strong
Still I ask, would you pray with me – your little girl’s prayer?

Chorus

And bless me with…
Bless me with the morning light.

The Little Cabin at 30

“Grammy, do you ever wish the cabin was bigger?”  I had to smile.  With 17 people gathered for the weekend, coming in and out of the modest abode, it was a fair question.  No sooner had I responded to the seven year old, “Yes, I do, Mya!” when her mother chimed in.

“You have to remember, Mya, when I was little it was only the five of us here.  It was just the right size for us.”  She was right.  How well I remember coming up the driveway for the first time, knowing right away that it was made for us.  Perusing the knotty pine interior, the stone fireplace, and the two tiny bedrooms.  It was the simplicity of the place that appealed to me. The bookshelf to stock with cabin reading. The short wooden dock, enough for our 12′ boat.  It was a place to build family memories.

What is it about a remote cottage, with its cramped space, mismatched dishes, mattresses that sag, raggedy towels and a needy wood stove that is so appealing?  The yard games we never play at home are entertaining there.  Bonfires invite storytelling.  Grilled meat tastes better.  The chilly lake dares intrepid swimmers and fishermen. Board games take on new life, and fierce competition.  It’s a-ok to lie in a hammock or sit on the dock and while away the afternoon reading.  Or snoozing.  And we have front row seats for the Northern Lights.

For so many years the cabin has been our haven, away from work, school and too-busy lives.  Time slows down there.  Priorities shift.  Time slips away, but the cabin doesn’t change.  We still treasure the simple existence it offers.  I still get excited bumping over the dirt road as we approach that driveway yet again.

Those three little kids in the bunk beds are now grown and married and have produced five (almost six!) grandchildren for us.  Carrying on the tradition, they have come to treasure their own family time at the cabin.  It’s still just the right size for them.

It was their idea to celebrate this milestone.  This Labor Day marked the 30th straight year we have gathered as a family with our good friends the Readingers and their offspring at the cabin.  Admittedly, we had to farm a few members out to beds in nearby resorts this time, but they all converged on the cabin throughout the day.  As Mya noticed.

Thirty years generates a lot of memories.  Everything we did triggered flashbacks, smiles, rolling eyes, laughter.  It was a weekend of déjà vu as grandchildren followed in their parents’ footsteps.

It was a celebration of friendship.  Of lasting bonds that form over years of sharing, from being new parents to empty nesters.  From being children to new parents.  From carving out time away from work to relishing retirement.  And through it all, we still relish cabin life.

We did our best to recreate some of the best moments.  Some, like this one, came as a pure gift.  Like a blessing on our gathering.

The remainder will have to wait for the next gathering, at the Same Time Next Year.  And 30 years beyond.

The End of an Era

It sat in the empty lot adjacent to the bait shop.  Nothing fancy, but in excellent shape and with plenty of good years left in its life.  The humble pontoon boat spoke to us.  Well, most of us anyway.

We’ve never had a new boat.  In the 29 years we’ve owned our modest cabin, our boats have matched the aura of this unassuming haven in the forest perched on a pristine lake.

The first was a 12′ row boat, which we proudly outfitted with a 1.5 hp motor.  We still own that boat.  We next became proud owners of a 16′ open boat with a steering wheel.  With 25 hp we could even pull lightweight water-skiers.  We called it the Silver Bomb, and it was Rich’s beloved fishing rig.  That was succeeded by the Green Boat. It was heavy and leaked below the floor, but it had cool seating up front and went fast when we upgraded to 50 hp.

In each of these boats we could bank and turn, roar across the lake.  As the boats grew in size we could twirl kids and grandkids on wild tube rides, entice water-skiers out of the wake.  We’d pile in wearing our bulky life jackets, holding wiggly little ones on our laps, keeping an eye out for those who insisted on leaning out over the edge of the boat.  We baited many hooks and caught fewer fish.  Three generations of memories were compiled in those motorboats.

But all that’s about to change.

In an age when pontoon boats dominate the boat lifts around the lake, the idea of having a safe platform for little ones and oodles of space for family boat rides was appealing.  And that simple tan and green used pontoon sitting on the pavement wearing a For Sale sign was the perfect solution.  Or so I thought. And so did the kids.  And grandkids.  “I don’t want a pontoon boat,” Rich stated firmly.  The patriarch had spoken.

I had to admit, I wondered if our age was showing.  If I was falling for something too tame.  But returning to our collective visions of family outings, I hardened my resolve. And we won him over.  Or at least got him to relent.

Rich and I took it out for its inaugural voyage.  When three loons surfaced and began fishing nearby, Rich’s camera came out and his shutter flew in rapid bursts as we drifted.  He even admitted the pontoon was a much more stable platform for photography.  Whew!

That simple pontoon now occupies our lift next to the dock.  It sits in readiness for our annual family and friends gathering over Labor Day.  In place of zooming and swishing, we’ll cruise and relax, drinks and snacks at the ready.  We’ll anchor and jump into the lake, exploring new swimming spots around the lake.  We think we can even give tame tube rides.

Not such bad tradeoffs, as we enter this new era.

Kindness Rocks

It was the kind of activity that transcended ages.  Crossed cultural boundaries.  Steeped in good will.  The perfect activity for our visiting Czech family.

Surprisingly, it came as part of our farm share.  Our CSA farmer, Heather-Marie from Rising Phoenix Community Farm, does a lot more than provide us with bountiful fresh organic veggies all summer long.  She focuses on the community aspect as well.  Once a month she hosts social events for all the families that she feeds.  This time it was the Kindness Rocks Project.

Gathering on a warm summer afternoon at Hartley Nature Center, we found picnic tables laden with rocks and a supply of paints, paint pens and Mod Podge.  The idea was to paint the rocks with inspirational messages or pictures.  While I struggled to come up with designs, the girls dug in and swiftly produced colorful rocks with fun sayings.  Although we encouraged them to paint some Czech sayings, with a little help from their mom they turned out catchy English phrases and cute illustrations.  Soon the table tops filled with colorful rocks, created by young and old alike.

Pavla and girls painting rocks Rich and HeatherMarie painting rocks

The art project was fun, but it was only the beginning.  Next came the Kindness part.  Megan Murphy is the creator of this national movement, which “encourages people to leave rocks painted with inspiring messages along the path of life.”  The idea is that one message just might change someone’s whole day.  Our next step would be to find homes for our rocks.

I had thought we might scatter them during our travels and adventures over the next few weeks of their visit.  But forgetfulness meant the rocks were all still waiting in the garage on the last night of their stay.  An excursion was immediately organized, so that we could complete the mission.Kindness Rocks

Judging by the enthusiasm of the effort, the joy in clambering over giant rocks, the appeal in depositing the messages in secret hidey holes, this part of the project was a highlight of their stay.  The rock pile soon diminished, creating a rich repository of inspiration for future visitors.  Pavla translated the girls’ words for us: “Better than a playground.”

Bibi with Kindness Rocks Elenka with Kindness RocksBibi and Elenka hiding rocks

I had thought some rocks might make their way back to the Czech Republic to await being found there.  But it was far too much fun to plant them on the shores of Lake Superior.  Leaving the world with a little more kindness was the perfect finale to a wonderful visit.

Molly and Rich with Pavla and girls

 

Putting the Family back in Camping

The texts flew fast and furiously between family members. As the week wore on, the frequency intensified.

“Does someone have an extra sleeping bag we can use?”

“Anyone bringing bags?” Response: “I’m bringing trash bags.” Clarification: “Uh…the game bags?”

“Here’s a link to a spreadsheet to sign up for group meals. Each family will cook one breakfast or dinner.”  We could count on Carl to get us organized.

“S’mores! I’ll bring that stuff!”  Erik had his priorities.

“We’re running out of room. We travel with the kitchen sink these days.” That from Karen, mother of four.

“I think the whole point of car camping is to bring way too much stuff.” Little did we know just what Carl meant by that comment.

It was the first family camping trip since we took our kids to the Boundary Waters 15 years ago. That outing numbered 5 family members and required just two small tents. For this camp-out the same offspring spawned a total count of 9 adults, 7 kids and 2 dogs, including our Czech daughter, Pavla, and her two daughters.

Emanating from Ostrava, Duluth, the Twin Cities and Milwaukee we converged on Great River Bluffs State Park. Filling four campsites with six tents, we gathered to spend two days together in the great outdoors.

Camping with kids ranging from 3 months old to 11 years was pretty brave – especially when it was a first-time experience for all of those kiddos.  Even the adults faced some challenges.  Karen surprised everyone by cheerfully forgoing her careful hair styling for the weekend.  Pavla agreed to the trip thinking we meant sleeping in “campers.”  Despite the snafu in translation, she and her girls quickly adapted to the more primitive tenting conditions.

Anticipating this weekend, I’m certain we all envisioned sunny warm days and crisp cool nights. In reality, we arrived in high heat and humidity under ominous clouds, and barely got our tents up before the monsoon-like rains descended. At the same time, Rich and I discovered that a tent, two sleeping bags and sleep mats were still sitting on the floor of our garage at home. It was an easy decision to scuttle our dinner cookout and nestle into the nearest pizzeria for the duration. A quick detour via Walmart solved the missing tent problem.

Nobody slept well. Little bodies wiggled. Bugs bugged them. Night fears erupted. Young ones rose with the sun.  Even those of us without youthful charges struggled in the heat. But it’s camping. It’s all part of the experience.

Although morning brought soggy conditions and stifling humidity, the group mustered on. Wads of mud collected on our shoes as we hiked. Bug spray permeated our pours. Clothing collected grime. A legion of lawn chairs drifted between campsites for meals.  Pavla learned a new saying, “like herding cats.” And smiles persisted.Family camping breakfastA trip to the beach on the Mississippi River soothed our sweaty bodies and itchy bug bites.  Ice cream cones on the return trip sealed the pleasure.  Big kids blew bubbles for little kids.  Erik and Katie gained favored status by sharing their new puppy.  A reluctant campfire finally caught and lulled us with its mesmerizing glow.  I basked in the revelation that my only requirement for the weekend was to sit, visit, play and drink in the presence of my family.Family camping swimmingFamily camping bubblesThe fact that the World Cup finals were scheduled for 10am Sunday morning gave little pause for concern to the sports enthusiasts in the family. At the appointed hour, those lawn chairs made their final pilgrimage to Carl and Chelsea’s tent site. A flat screen TV running off the car battery grabbed the local broadcast signal and game snacks graced the picnic table. Game on!  Although I chose an alternate activity, walking the dogs with the moms and kids, I had to admire the ingenuity.Family camping World Cup gameFamily camping hikingTexts flew once again on the way home and signaling safe arrivals.  Judging by the frequency of the term “great camping weekend” I’d say it was a success.  I hope it’s not another 15 years before we do this again.Hoeg Family Camping