Category Archives: Family Footprints

The Holiday Spirit

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After a tumultuous year, I was determined to make the most of the Christmas offerings this month.  For me, it signaled a return to normalcy, and was a celebration of health. 

I kicked off the season with Bentleyville.  That was a huge draw for our grandchildren, and I made two separate trips there with them, relishing their excitement and wonder.  The lights and music never cease to lift my spirits, and I delighted in the new technology fueling the soaring tree with creative designs that changed with the music.  We even happened upon “Mayor Bentley” and had a fascinating conversation with the founder of this light display.

My sister, Susie, and I took in Julebyen, a Nordic Christmas Village with cute little outdoor market stalls offering crafts, food, and friendly sellers.  Big tents offer entertainment, more vendors of handmade goods, and some protection from the cold wind.  All with a prominent Nordic flair.

After an absence of several years, largely due to bad weather for travel, once again Rich and I ventured over to Plummer, Minnesota to see the Holiday Train.  Canadian Pacific Railroad has sent a train across Canada and another in the US for the past 26 years, benefiting food shelves in every community they visit.  The brilliantly decorated rail cars move from town to town, with stops to present top talent in a live musical tribute to Christmas.  The train is best seen at night when its lights illuminate the darkness.  There is nothing like seeing the train approach in all its glory.  This year we convinced friends to join us, and we topped off the evening with a classic bar and grill dinner and staying in a motel that is a converted old-folks home – seemingly a good joke on us.

I insisted that Rich and I resurrect our tradition of attending some kind of Christmas concert, which started when our kids were in high school then college choirs.  This year I chose something different, Mr. Sun Performs Nutcracker Suite.  It’s a string quartet but of a different nature, comprised of string bass, acoustic guitar, mandolin and fiddle.  Performing in the beautiful Sacred Heart church building, their unique take on the traditional melodies was constantly surprising.  From jazz to bluegrass and a nod to improvisation each piece was intriguing.  Sometimes it took me well into the tune to finally discern the familiar melody!  Even though it wasn’t my usual cup of tea, I enjoyed the uniqueness and challenge to my musical ear.  And the subtle humor of individual band members who chatted informally along the way gave me pause to grin and laugh.

Susie and I are ushers for the Duluth Playhouse, and I prodded her to sign up as soon as the schedule for the holiday performance of Cinderella came out.  The shows were packed, and we greeted countless theater goers at the door to check them in, finding a few familiar faces in the crowd.  It was my first time ushering since my surgery, and it felt so good to be back in circulation.  I was pleased that I lasted the 5+ hours of duty that ended long after my new bedtime.  And the play and its performers were amazing.  I do love theater, particularly musical theater, and must make an effort to resume attending.

On the domestic side, my good friend Julie and I got together for our long standing tradition of making candy cane cookies together. It all started in junior high when I joined Julie and her mom for this annual baking fest.  Julie and I struggled to match the perfection of her mom’s beautifully formed candy canes, while her mom diligently tended the oven.  She’d take them out just as the edges showed a hint of browning and carefully transfer them to racks where she’d sprinkle the crushed candy cane and sugar mix on top.  Over time, we brought our own daughters into the fold, and smiled to see them struggle as we once did.  Distance and busy family lives put this activity on hold for many years, but this year we vowed to resume it.  Once again we struggled with the cookie dough, and I insisted Julie take her mom’s place at the oven (to spare myself the fear of messing up!).  We produced a credible if less than perfect assortment of cookies, pleased with our effort regardless.  Just to prove we have mellowed over the years.  It was a morning filled with memories and the warmth of long friendship.  And we are already planning to do it again next year.

With less than a week to go now, I am looking forward to celebrating Christmas with Erik and Katie in Seattle, followed by mini-Christmas exchanges with our other two kids and their families in early January.  Filled with the holiday spirit.

Tackling Lopez Island

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It’s finally time to break the silence. I’m sad to say this poor blog has been neglected while I took a time-out to focus my writing on CaringBridge to chronicle my cancer journey. It filled a need, to be able to focus on coming to grips with cancer, healing from surgery, and working my way through chemotherapy. But even more so to process my feelings, share my experiences, and connect with a caring community that supported me all along the way. I invite any of you to read my story and posts here.

Throughout this time I’ve continued to be as active as possible, first doing a lot of walking then adding cycling, gradually working back up to regular 25-mile rides up the shore. So when I was planning my trip out to Seattle to visit my son Erik and his wife Katie, I couldn’t help but think about last year when Erik and I cycled all of Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands. At the time, we pondered riding on Lopez Island next time, a prospect that loomed large as I packed. Could I manage it now? It had the advantage of being smaller and less hilly than Orcas, and I craved the opportunity to return to some adventure in my life.

Not only was Erik game, but he proposed an add-on. “Why don’t we go over the day before and camp overnight?” We arrived on the ferry in the late afternoon and made our way to Spencer Spit State Park. We had reserved a walk-in site on the beach, and oh what a gem! The local currents had created a sandy triangular spit of land that stretched across the gap almost to Frost Island. There was a log structure out near the end, and a pool of water in the interior. We quickly dropped our gear and set out to explore. We learned that the shape of the spit changes with the currents, but will never reach the far island due to the strong current in the channel.

We admired the sun setting over the trees behind us, then returned to our campsite to set up and make dinner before it got dark. The meal was extra tasty, as it always is in the simplicity off the outdoors with a tent. We bedded down with the lights of yachts bobbing on buoys just beyond our shore and the sound of waves lightly lapping.

Morning brought fog. After a hot breakfast and camp coffee, we packed up and stashed our gear in the car. As last year, our goal was to cover as much of the island as possible, and reach the shore on every side. We had found good cycling maps online that showed us the amount of traffic on each road and whether it had shoulders or not. We aimed to ride the quieter roads, that reached the extremities of the island.

Setting out, the fog was so dense that it obliterated all scenery. Looking out at the water was like seeing a white wall! From the park we crossed over to the east side of the island then headed south through Lopez Village and into more rural landscape. There were numerous farms (surprising to us – who farms on an island?), unique house architectures, and a flavor of laid back island life. Just 7 miles along, my back tire went flat. Erik changed the tube like a pro, and we were on our way again in short order.

We made our way to the southern peninsula of the island, out to Agate Beach where we reached the end of the road for the first time. We’d hoped to get out to Iceberg Point, but it was off limits to bicycles, so we made do with a picnic lunch overlooking Mackaye Harbor. Close up we could see boats anchored, but the fog obscured what we soon learned was a huge rocky outcropping beyond. Fortunately, starting then, the fog began to lift. We could still see it lurking in low-lying areas, but it soon became sunny and warm – a beautiful afternoon!

We tootled around that lower bulb of the island for much of the afternoon, exploring each small road until we could go no further. More than once we hit private land short of the shore. I hesitated at the top of a very steep hill, knowing that if I went down I’d have to come back up again. But the adventurers in us enticed us forward, only to find a dirt road not far beyond! We navigated that as well to reach a glass-walled modern mansion in the distance beyond the No Trespassing signs. And for the record, I did walk my bike back up that hill! It was well worth it though, for the quiet, woodsy small roads we traveled.

We had made plans to take the 4:15 ferry back that afternoon, and after checking the time we decided we needed to beat it back to the car. So we took the main road up the center of the island, which turned out to be fine despite its high traffic designation. We got back to the car with time to change out of our cycling clothes and mount the bikes on the car rack and head to the ferry. But we were mystified to find ourselves first in line for the ferry. It just didn’t feel right. Inquiring at the office, we learned that the 4:15 was strictly a walk-on ferry! Only then did it dawn on us that we’d picked that ferry in the early stages of planning when we didn’t expect to bring the car over. Oops!

We had plenty of time to kill before the 6:20 ferry, so we headed into Lopez Village where we loaded up on charcuterie items and headed out to Otis Perkins Day Park where we planted ourselves on a big log on the beach. There we were content to sit, soak up the sun, enjoy our little feast and take in the views of San Juan Island across the water – the very sights we’d missed in the morning fog.

We easily made the next ferry and enjoyed the setting sun as we motored back toward home. Feeling the sun’s still-warm rays, it was easy to bask in the warm glow of another successful island cycling trip. We covered 36 miles, hit all the coasts and saw the island in both fog and sunshine. What’s more, I did it – my body held up, I felt great pedaling through the miles, and relished the whole adventure. Leaving cancer behind. And the mother/son moments were priceless.

Of course, now we’ve set our sights on San Juan Island…

Channeling my Mom

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“Maren has asked for an American Girl doll for Christmas.” 

The words immediately transported me back to when the coveted dolls were new, and we bought the Molly doll for our daughter, Karen. She came with her own book Meet Molly, wore glasses, had long dark braids, and a World War II background. The dolls had extensive accessories and wardrobes you could buy, but being a frugal parent I zeroed in on the sewing patterns they also offered.

“Mom, do you think you could make an outfit for Molly?” She was an excellent seamstress, and I knew she’d take up the challenge, but I didn’t anticipate the extent to which she would go. She made not only one, but all six outfits included in the package.

I was pretty sure I had those patterns. When we cleared out Mom’s house after she died, I collected many of her sewing tools. Sure enough, I found the packet squirreled away in my sewing cupboard – a treasured prize. These patterns were not for the faint of heart. They included elaborate instructions for tailored clothes, but that didn’t phase me. I already had my own designs in mind for Maren’s doll, but needed a guide to size and fit.

For further assistance, I asked Karen if I might borrow Molly to use as a model. So Molly came for a visit at Thanksgiving to help me in my task.

My vision was to start with fabric scraps from outfits that I had made for Maren and other grandchildren. I chose a knit dress and the summer jammies I made for all of them. I spent hours measuring Molly, cobbling pattern pieces together, drawing my own patterns, sewing sample pieces and trying them on her. I could feel Mom at my side, handling the same paper pattern pieces she had used, reading the same instructions and translating them into completed outfits. Like hers, it was a labor of love.

In time I got the hang of it, and completed two outfits, pleased with my first attempts.

But what is Christmas without Grammy Jammies? You guessed it, it was time to make the 21st pair of Jammies this year.

It turns out that a doll is a lot less forgiving than children or stuffies. American Girl dolls are amazingly flexible, but that only goes so far. Getting the proportions right was trickier than I expected, but after some trial and error I had a credible pair of jammies for Maren’s doll. Perhaps you spotted her in my last Jammie post, where she snuck into the pictures from Christmas.

But that wasn’t the end of the story. Maren’s birthday falls right after Christmas, so I had one more project up my sleeve. Resurrecting and modifying the girl’s dress pattern I’d used before I fashioned matching outfits for Maren and her doll. Once again, I felt Mom looking over my shoulder, approving of going above and beyond. Of making the most of my sewing skills and the satisfaction of seeing them delight a little girl.

Maren and her doll had the good fortune to attend a tea party at the American Girl doll store in Chicago with her other grandma, as well as her Mom and Aunt with their own American Girl dolls. It filled my heart to see Maren and her doll wearing their matching outfits for that big outing.

Mom would have loved it.

Life Interrupted

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This post is not about the 21st set of Grammy Jammies. It was supposed to be, and I promise to get back to that story. But life has taken a sudden turn, and I need to take a short time-out.

I might as well get right to the bottom line. Ten days ago I had surgery that revealed I have stage-3 ovarian cancer that has spread to the lymph nodes. In addition to healing from that extensive ordeal, I am preparing to begin chemotherapy in a few weeks. The good news is that I am healing well at home now and making good progress. And I have felt the warmth and support flooding in from family and friends. It’s a new journey for me, but I feel ready to take it on.

I gave CaringBridge only a passing thought initially. That couldn’t really be for me. Those are really serious cases. Well, maybe that does describe me. But as time went by I began to experience the strong desire to keep those loyal friends and family informed. My brain swirled trying to keep track. Who did I tell what? When did I last update them? Did I send them that photo? I felt a shift. I could keep everyone updated at once. Send them to the single source of information. I’m in!

So I encourage you to visit my CaringBridge site here. I have posted several journal entries to catch folks up on the journey, so be sure to click on the Journal icon to get the full story (or follow this link) and scroll down. Note: You will need a CaringBridge account to access the site.

Meanwhile, I will work on getting back to that Grammy Jammie post.

Grammy Jammies Times 21

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I’m now in my 14th year of creating Grammy Jammies. The grandkids wait with eager expectation at Thanksgiving time, knowing I will bring out the fabric bags that contain the newest iteration of Christmas fleece and footies. ”What color do you think they will be?” they wondered this year, inventorying all the past colors and designs. I never give away my secrets.

It’s a joyful mayhem, untying the bags, pulling out the contents and rushing off to don the new soft Jammies and present us with a style show. Karen’s kids were at our house for the festivities. Ben and Mya have self-selected out of the footies by now, but still willingly sport matching jammy pants.

Unwilling to miss the fun at Carl’s house, I made a special trip to Milwaukee for the presentation. I barely got in the door before they clamored for the bags. There’s nothing like hugging wiggly laughing grandkids in fleece.

That brought the tally to 7.

Not one to shirk my duties, I continued on to outfit the furry friends as usual. Many of them are the same shape and size, and thankfully they do not grow or change from year to year! I can dash off at least two of those in a day.

Now I was up to 14.

But this year there was more. After at least a year of not so subtle hints from the parents, I took on the challenge to outfit them as well. Even though jammy pants are naturally loose and baggy, I found that fitting adults was trickier than the forgiving slipper jammies on the kids. Especially when compounded by a rather outdated pattern that assumed we still wore pants up to our natural waistline! So I took a graduated approach, making two pair at a time, altering them after try-on sessions, and learning as I went.

Karen and Matt were my first guinea pigs, and thankfully they took my outlandish productions with a great deal of humor and good sportsmanship.

For the record, I managed to tame their pants down to more reasonable proportions.

I arrived at Carl and Chelsea’s house equipped with sewing machine and measuring tools. Fortunately, my latest revisions served me well, and their jammy pants required just minor adjustments.

By the time I got to Erik and Katie, I had the process down to a system and quickly modified theirs to fit.

The good news is that I now have six individualized patterns that should suit everyone for future years!

So that brings the total to 20 pairs of jammies this year. A credible effort, and weeks of fun in the process. But wait, the title says 21! 

Ah yes. Stay tuned for the next blog post to reveal the finale. (And no, I’d never get Rich to wear jammy pants!)

Orcas Island by Bicycle

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“It’s not that hilly, Mom.” I should have known better. In all the years of bike touring I did with Rich, we learned to never trust a motorist to give us directions. “Just down the road” may be hours of cycling for us. They don’t feel a headwind, and hills just mean pressing the accelerator a bit harder.

Erik and I had both been to Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands before, but only by car. When I arrived in Seattle to visit him and Katie, he was keen for an adventure. “Let’s bike Orcas Island!” My memory included hills, but I willingly quashed the image.

That just left the weather. In typical Seattle fashion, there was plenty of rain in the forecast. Comparing different weather apps only proved it was a complete unknown, so we caved to our inner explorers and set our plan in motion. Rising at 4:30am to reach the ferry in time for a 7:30 crossing, we sped through the dark in eager anticipation. The sun was just clearing the trees as we boarded the ferry in Anacortes, which we took to be a good omen for the day ahead.

As if to reinforce my premonitions, the road rose steeply from the ferry landing. I had borrowed Katie’s bike, shoes, pedals and helmet for this outing. Normally not a big deal, but this was a road bike – drop handlebars and all, which I’d never ridden in my life. Struggling to clip into the unfamiliar pedals, find the gear shifters and figure out which was which, I floundered immediately and ground to a halt. Relieved that I didn’t fall, I walked the bike a short distance to the first flatish spot to begin again. I took off from there, and never looked back.

Our plan was to bike the island – all of it. We’d cover all the paved roads we could before the 5:15 return ferry. Our first priority was to bike out to the far end of the sound and down to the tip on the far side of the inverted U-shaped island. Full of ambition and energy we tackled the hilly terrain.

Away from town, the countryside was quiet and rural, varying from farms and pastureland to forested byways. Pausing briefly in Eastsound Village to take in the view, we pushed on to the opposite side, eager to get more miles under our belts.

At Obstruction Pass near the tip we took time to venture out the long pier, soaking up the calm surroundings and serene view. Little was stirring – some children in a kayak, a fisherman docking his boat. It felt far removed from the season of high tourism, reclaimed by the locals.

Retracing the road north, we ventured off to follow smaller roads to the east. With each turn we left behind more cars and population, eventually reaching a quiet harbor at Kangaroo Point. Breakfast was a distant memory so we dropped our bikes on the grass and perched on a huge tree stump to pull out our sandwiches. Time easily slipped away as we refueled and relished the sunshine and undisturbed view.

Determined to explore it all, on our way back to Eastsound we made a short detour to the top of the island to peer out toward the water on that side. Then a long-anticipated stop at Brown Bear Baking for lattes and a blueberry tart to energize us for our final leg.

With clouds gathering overhead, we forged on toward Deer Harbor on the west arm. Just as the raindrops began to fall, a large parking lot materialized and we quickly stopped to don our rain jackets. Undeterred, we pushed on, determined to complete our tour. The road followed the shoreline, both flattening out slightly and giving us wet views of West Sound and a marina populated with sailboats. When we reached the Deer Harbor Inn just short of town, we did a time check. “I’m not sure there’s a later ferry,” Erik admitted. Calling it good enough, we turned around and pushed our pedals back toward the ferry landing. Sailing down that final steep hill, we could see the ferry chugging up to the dock.

I can now say with confidence that Orcas Island is indeed VERY hilly. Each downhill came with the guarantee of an uphill to follow, and visa versa. But I wouldn’t have changed a thing. It was worth every ounce of effort to spend the day with Erik, to share the unrelenting ups and downs, to brave the not-so-bad rainfall, to sit side by side munching on sandwiches.

Now we’re eyeing the other islands…

Christmas in July

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I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. I knew it would take a lot of ingenuity, time and patience but I just had to do it.

A year and a half ago we made reservations to rent out a whole resort on Lake Vermilion for a family vacation. It’s a small place, and although we only needed four cabins we rented all five so that we could have the place all to ourselves. Just coordinating the work schedules, family plans and kid activities to find a mutual week for ourselves, our three kids, spouses and seven grandkids was daunting, but we finally agreed on the week of the 4th of July, 2023. The idea that each family would have their own space appealed to everyone, and as the summer began the excitement ratcheted up.

Knowing those seven kids would all be together, mingling day in and out at the resort, images of them in matching jammies kept dancing through my head.

The trick lay in the fact that these had to be summer jammies. Fleecy Grammy Jammies would not do. I couldn’t rely on the proven sewing patterns I’ve been using for 13 years, that I can make in my sleep. But I did know exactly what they should look like. I made them for my own kids year after year. Little knit t-shirts and shorts, or versions with long sleeves and full pants with ribbing at the bottom. I still had those patterns, but times have changed and even kids styles have evolved. My kids sported loose comfy garments. Today kids favor slim versions hugging their bodies.

Turning to the internet and the community of resourceful crafters out there, I found t-shirt patterns that not only suited today’s fashions but offered slim versions. For the shorts, I decided to alter my own patterns, taking tucks to narrow the flair. Whew, step one completed.

But what sizes to make? Pattern sizing is not uniform, so how was I going to translate the paper outlines to real kid sizes? The only answer was to be sneaky.

Both families with kids were due to visit in June. During each stay, stealth Grammy took action. When no one was looking, I swiped jammies lying in the hall. I snuck into their bedroom and rummaged through the pile of laundry. Suitcases held samples as well. I dashed into the laundry room with them, taking critical measurements and laying them on top of the patterns to match them to a size. Sometimes their clothes rendered different results. Waist measurements seemed to range all over the board. Were these well-fitting garments, or about to be discarded as too small?

My brain was spinning with the mental gymnastics and angst of trying to get the best fit. It was all a guessing game, but I ultimately had to commit to seven sets of patterns to use.

From there I was in familiar territory. I had already procured more than enough fabric. Now it was just a matter of cutting out the pieces and sewing them together. Soon I had seven little piles ready to go.

Three solid days of sewing later, the line-up was complete.

It was tempting to leave them out to admire, but I needed to package them up before I began to second-guess my work. That part was easy. The only fitting presentation was to use the same Christmas fabric wrapping bags that hold the Grammy Jammies every year.

It was so hard to wait…

But indeed, we have Christmas in July!

Sharing Adventures

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We met at the same time our kids did.  Erik and Katie were on their high school Nordic ski team, Betsy and I were team moms – baking brownies, holding out warming capes for the kids in their spandex racing suits, riding the team bus and cheering at the meets.  As the spark grew between our young skiers, so did the friendship between the two parent couples.  Sharing a wedding ceremony between our children cemented the bonds for all of us.

When Amazon lured Erik and Katie out to Seattle two years ago, I wondered how they would feel about living in a temperate climate, leaving behind Minnesota winters and skiing.  Little did I know that it would only be the beginning of mountain adventures for them, including skiing, snowshoeing, ski mountaineering and (gulp!) avalanche training.  Enticed by the stunning snowy mountain photos, I spent a week with them last winter including a picture-perfect day snowshoeing on Mt. Rainier.  I was hooked – I had to do it again.  And I knew the perfect companion.

“Say Betsy, how about Moms trip to Seattle?”  That’s all it took.

The plan was to hike or snowshoe together during the week while Erik and Katie worked.  For the weekend, the kids had something special arranged – three days skiing in The Methow, the largest cross-country ski trail system in North America, in the Cascade Mountains.  Not only that, but they had snagged a cancellation for one of the highly sought-after ski-in huts for our first night. 

We left in the dark, bleary-eyed but excited at 5am.  By 10am we were at the trailhead, and loaded our overnight gear in a sled for the snowmobile tow service.  Mountains of sleeping bags, food, water and clothing zoomed off as we – accompanied by pooch Finley – skied up the trail.  I looked up at the surrounding peaks, snow laden and glistening in the sun as my skis slid over the snow.  It just didn’t feel real!

That first day was magical.  The grooming was impeccable and we skied companionably in a group taking it all in.  Our hut was at the top end of our portion of the trail system, dictating we climb most of the way to get there.  Our original plan had been to ski up to the hut, relax over some lunch then venture out again.  But it was far too enticing to just continue skiing and cover more of the trails.  We didn’t have a morsel of food with us, but our hunger for the trails was stronger.  Onward we went.

There are five ski-in huts in all and we made it a point to stop and explore the locale of several others.  The clear favorite was Rendezvous hut, with spectacular views.  It speaks for itself.

The trails are groomed for both classic and skate skiing.  The others classic skied, and Betsy skijored with Finley.  I chose to skate ski, vainly hoping it would help me keep up.  But speed was not of the essence on this trip.  It was all about the experience.

By the time we reached Heifer Hut, we had skied 27 kilometers and were ready to settle into our rustic quarters.  It was perched on the mountainside surrounded by stately pines.  Leaning our skis against the wood exterior, we eagerly went inside to explore.  A woodstove, bench and double bunks lined one side, and on the other was a kitchen area with a propane stove and a table with benches.  A ladder led to the loft where three more double mattresses awaited.  The propane lights reminded me of Coleman lanterns, and were supplemented with solar lights fueled by a tiny solar panel. With the woodshed and outhouse across the way it had everything we needed,

Getting the fire started was our first order of business, along with fixing some food.  Hot tea and snacks refueled us enough to unpack, claim bunks and stash our gear. Soon it was cozy inside, and we traded our ski wear for comfy cabin clothes.  The remainder of the afternoon and evening passed quickly, with hot wild rice soup and fixings followed by lively rounds of Hearts played around the table.

Erik and I were the first ones up in the morning, and donned snowshoes to explore the terrain behind the cabin with Finley.  We meandered in deep powder, sunshine and silence, the perfect start to the morning.  Katie and Betsy joined us, and Erik headed inside to prepare breakfast.  I think those were the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten!

If reaching the cabin was all uphill, it meant our second day was the opposite!  Erik and Finley took off down the black diamond trail back to meet the snowmobile at the car while Katie, Betsy and I skied to a distant trailhead where we would meet them.  Erik managed to ski up to us en route, and we sent him off to get in some good fast kilometers (in prep for the Birkie), and he still caught us again just before we finished.  We completed the day with a low key snowshoe on Patterson Lake before heading off to our hotel in Winthrop. 

For our final day, we chose the opposite end of the trail system near Mazama.  There we skied in the valley, on trails that more closely resembled Minnesota.  The gentler trails passed through woods and open fields, where we were reminded of our locale with mountain views once again.  While we had encountered few skiers the prior two days, the easy access and terrain of this area invited many more skiers including families.  We skied a number of different loops before our departure time drew near. 

While we were sad to see the skiing and weekend come to an end, talk quickly turned to next year.  Betsy and I were hooked.  Clearly we have more shared adventures already looming in the future.

A Matter of Degrees

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“You might not want to come home just yet.”

We heard this refrain from multiple people before flying home from Hawaii.  After basking in the sunshine and tropical near 80° temperatures for two weeks, we were returning to a severe Minnesota cold snap.  Double digits below zero at night, with days barely creeping above zero dominated that first week at home.

I used to think nothing of going out in that weather to cross-country ski or plunder the snow in some fashion, but age has weakened my tolerance.  I have set new limits for my outdoor excursions, willing to brave the cold but not the frigid.  The huge climate swing between Hawaii and Duluth heightened my aversion.

That first week back, just traveling from front door to garage was enough to strengthen my resolve.  I knew the blue sky and strong sunshine were false signals, enough to lift my spirits but not the temperature.  I sought refuge in the Y swimming pool, choosing laps over the ski trails.

I might have remained in my cocoon had it not been for my son, Carl.  “Mom, I’m in dire need of a winter adventure.  I’m thinking of taking our two oldest kids to the cabin for a weekend.  Are you interested?”

“I’m in!” came my speedy reply.  Rich was intrigued and the plan morphed into renting a cabin on Thousand Island Lake in the UP for a long weekend.

With over 30” of snow on the ground, it was the perfect winter playground, but -15° when we rose the first morning.  The kids begged and pleaded to go outside but Carl held firm until it the temp inched closer to zero.  By 10am even I was eager to get out there.  We all donned our heaviest jackets, snowpants and boots and bolted out the door.  For the next hour we went sledding, tromped on the frozen lake and unearthed the playground equipment from the heavy snow.  Exhilarating.

By early afternoon I was ready to tackle the local ski trails. The Sylvania Outfitter trails in Watersmeet featured narrow classic tracks that wound through the woods.  I found myself enjoying the sun’s rays alternating with shadows across the trail and the ground undulating beneath my skis.  I had to smile when the double tracked bits split, leaving a patch of trees in the middle.  It wasn’t a system for speed, and I puttered along without haste.  Somehow the 6° temperature was immaterial.

Carl was eager to explore the Sylvania Wilderness Area which is like a mini-Boundary Waters.  After he took a long circle route through the frozen lakes and portages, I donned snowshoes for my turn.  With only a snapshot of an online map, I decided it was easier to follow his tracks than try to navigate on my own.  Once I left the popular ice fishing bay behind, I tromped out onto a sea of white, broken only by Carl’s backcountry HOK skis, flanked by forest.  I didn’t have to think, I could let my mind wander along with my feet.  My body warmed with the effort, and as my confidence grew I ventured from Carl’s path and managed to find the portage into a small untouched lake.  Winter wonderland indeed.

In between all that fresh air and activity we had plenty of time to enjoy cabin life with the kids.  It didn’t take long before cars and trucks competed for floor space with wild animals, and stuffed animal friends lay strewn everywhere.  We read books, snuggled on the couch by the too-warm fire, and worked Maren’s first jigsaw puzzle together.  Make-your-own pizza night was a hit with everyone.  Carl and I sweated in the steamy sauna each night.

A flashlight walk revealed how different everything looks in the dark!  And Carl caught the first rays of sunshine skiing on the lake in the early mornings.

It took the right incentive to get me outside, beyond my boundaries and back into winter mode.  The enthusiasm of Carl and the kids forced me back out of my comfort zone and reminded me how much I do love winter.  Cold or not.  I know now, it’s only a matter of degrees.

From Alaska to Hawaii

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The year was 2009.  Our middle child, Carl, had just graduated from college, and our tradition was to take the new graduate on a week-long trip of their choosing.  Just them and us. A final hurrah before they went out into the world on their own.

This comes from my journal of the trip, the first week of August:

Carl chose to go to Alaska, and wanted to stay in rustic places and have an active vacation.  So we lined up an itinerary that included hiking, kayaking and fishing.  We chose accommodations that were primarily cabins with a lodge and B&B thrown in – perhaps a little less primitive than Carl originally had in mind, which was a compromise for traveling with Mom and Dad.

Our trip started out on the Kenai Peninsula, south of Anchorage.  We stayed in the very small town of Hope, off the main highway on the Turnagain Arm.  That turned out to be our favorite lodging of the trip, at Bowman’s Bear Creek Lodge.  They had 5 log cabins, which were around a small pond, and ours also had the creek running behind it.  They were very basic cabins, just for sleeping and relaxing, with a bathhouse shared by all the lodgers.  We rather liked that, because it limited the guests to people like us who like things simple but in beautiful surroundings.  They also had a little café, which served fabulous food.  Our first dinner of the trip was on their outdoor deck – at 8:00 at night it was still warm enough and plenty light to eat outside.  Carl and I chose fresh salmon, which was as good as promised.  What a great start to the trip!

Our hosts at the lodge were Kent and Melanie Bowman.  We took to them immediately, and loved their approach to life which was embodied in a “free spirit” canoe that floated in the pond.  “If you can catch it, feel free to paddle around.”  Kent provided us with great advice on renting kayaks, fishing spots and knowledge about the general locale.

We spent three nights at Bowman’s Lodge, keeping active and enjoying our downtime just hanging around, playing cards, reading and lighting a bonfire late at night when it was finally close to dark.

When we left the Kenai Peninsula it felt like we were old friends with Kent and Melanie by then.  They had given us lots of ideas and recommendations – all of it good. 

The remainder of our trip brought additional adventures, sights and places to explore and precious alone time with Carl.  We stayed in other great places, but Bowman’s still stood out as a highlight.

That could have been the end of the story.  But it wasn’t.

Enter FaceBook, that love it or hate it app that connects people everywhere.  I don’t know who friended whom, but Rich and Kent soon became FB Friends and kept in touch.  Tired of hearing news second hand, I too friended Kent.  So it was that I happened on a series of comments that drew my attention.

After working many years on the North Slope in the winters, Kent promised Melanie they would move somewhere warm when he was done with that gig.  He was as good as his word and had posted a photo of the home and extensive land they had bought on the Big Island of Hawaii.  It also included a guesthouse.

It was Rich’s comment below the post that drew my attention, which went something like this:

That looks gorgeous!  We might have to go over and stay there!

Now I’ve always been interested in going to Hawaii, but Rich was not so inclined.  Seizing my opportunity I entered the fray:

I saw that, Rich.  You’re on!

A few years and Covid intervened, but Rich also kept his word.  For our inaugural trip to Hawaii we booked into Bowman’s Big Island Guesthouse for 10 days.

Nestled next to Lava Tree State Park near Pahoa, Bowman’s is a paradise all its own.  Entering through a set of private gates, we drove onto their six-plus acres of land and encountered a private retreat.  Expansive grounds surround their house, outdoor living area and other outbuildings, including the guesthouse and a gazebo for guests’ use.  Dotted with palm trees, flowering plants, gardens, greenhouse and a chicken coop (including an early rising rooster) it feels like an oasis.  It is bordered by thick jungly greenery, enhancing the privacy of the space.

Kent and Melanie greeted us with open arms and our friendship was immediately refreshed.  The change in locale only enhanced their friendly helpful approach to hosting, and we loved catching up on the new climate and lifestyle they have adopted.

The simplicity of the guesthouse is in perfect keeping with island life.  Surrounded by windows, open to the breezes, light fans circling overhead, and enough kitchen amenities to be self-sufficient, it meets all our needs.  The large front porch and gazebo provide extended living spaces.  Dining by tiki light has become a favorite of ours.

We are just a couple of miles from Pahoa, which is a delightful small town that boasts multiple coffee shops, some good restaurants, and even a free 50-meter community pool.  It feels right to be nestled a distance from cities, high-rise hotels and crowds.  This is the Hawaii we came to experience.  Life feels slower here.  There’s no need to rush anywhere. 

Being located on the east side of the island, the wet side, means that we are in the midst of lush greenery, with humid weather and occasional showers.  Okay, and sometimes big downpours. The only sounds in the yard are those provided by nature.  The wind in the trees and the rustling of palm branches is all I hear in the background, accompanied by birdsong and the chickens. Nights are profoundly silent.

Just as Bowman’s Bear Creek Lodge defined its guests by its unique set of amenities, the Big Island Guesthouse will also appeal to a specific type of traveler. For us, it’s the perfect fit. And brought us all the way from Alaska to Hawaii.