Dividing Mom’s treasures

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We just weren’t ready to do it right after the funeral.  We knew we’d have to divide up Mom’s worldly goods among us four children, but emotions were high and the loss was too recent to do it then.  There were plenty of other arrangements to make, practical matters to attend to, and a house to sell.  We put it off until later.

Nobody really wanted to face the task.  There was too much at risk, and family relationships at stake if it did not go well.  But with two siblings coming from far reaches of the country at the same time this summer, we all knew it was inevitable.

I mentally set aside three days for the task.  Being the family organizer, I set the meeting time for the first day at 9:00am with dire warnings not to be late.  “Do we really need to start so early?” my sister asked.  “How long do you think this will take?”  How I wanted to share in her optimism!  I generously allowed everyone an extra half hour in the morning, but we didn’t have any spare days.

We had family heirlooms handed down through multiple generations, and favorite items that meant a lot to each of us.  All of it was treasured, used and cared for lovingly by our parents.  And memories were wrapped around everything.  How ever could we respectfully divide these things among us?  But time is a great healer.  The tempers that flared in the aftermath of losing Mom had mellowed and been replaced by a generous spirit.  “I want” became “who would like this?” and “I think you should have it.”  Even the few items with the strongest contention were ultimately resolved gracefully.

While it was a herculean job, and the hours of identifying, hunting, sorting and deciding were tiring, we also managed to have fun.  We were easily sidetracked, lured off task by the items we discovered that led to stories, questions and often a lot of laughs.  There were things whose purpose totally escaped us.  We learned some new terms – nappie, compote, candlewick, fretted.  We delved into old books, and sifted through memorable record albums (yes, the old vinyl variety).  We played with the wind-up toys we’d given Mom over the years.

We did manage to get through all the main stuff.  And best of all, nearly everything of importance found a new home.  Just knowing that the family treasures were staying in the family made me happy.  My oldest sister walked away with her “take” in one shopping bag.  My brother will have to come back with a U-Haul.  A big one.  My kids will have some furniture to flesh out a new apartment, china and silver to remind them of Grandma’s love for entertaining.

Everyone is happy with their selections and we’re all still talking to each other.  Mom would be proud of us.

Cycle Touring

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I admit I tend to be a bit hard core. Put a goal out in front of me and I develop tunnel vision.  It becomes a mission.  I push to the max to reach that target or higher.

Preparing for our Trans-Superior Cycling Tour has been a bit like that. I’d never done long distance cycling before, but as soon as the snow melted I was out there training day after day, increasing my distances in rapid succession. Just like in marathon training, I like to press on. Mile after mile, no stops.

So when my husband, Rich, and I set out for a bike ride this weekend, I found my style challenged. Why does he keep stopping, I kept asking myself? Time for a photograph. Time for water. Time to take in a nice view. Time to slow down and look around while we cycle. Harumph – let’s get going!

We had selected a new route that would take us over roads we’d never traveled before. It’s always nice to see new territory, and we had a gorgeous sunny day on which to do so. We cycled inland from Two Harbors and around to Beaver Bay surrounded by beautiful farms and forest. Road surfaces were good, and the lack of cars made any lack of shoulder a non-issue. Not even the eight miles of unexpected dirt road in the middle could spoil the route. If only we could just keeping going. But I was informed in no uncertain terms that on our upcoming cycling trip, Rich had every intention of sightseeing and stopping along the way. Just get used to it.

Upon our arrival in Beaver Bay, Rich headed straight for The Big Dipper. Ice cream in the middle of the morning? Didn’t seem too outrageous to me – weren’t we cycling 50 miles on a hot day? The smoothies on the menu instantly appealed to us, and they were the best tasting ever! Hmmm, I began to feel my attitude shifting slightly. Perhaps this stopping thing had some merit? The remaining miles took us down the North Shore, largely on the Gitchi-Gami State Trail which kept us blissfully separate from the car traffic. Lake Superior was at its best, brilliant blue and sparkling in the sunshine. It was a glorious sight and eased my resistance to this new leisurely pace. Silver Cliffs provided a terrific view, and yes, we stopped, got off our bikes and took pictures. I even took the time to read the information boards. And enjoyed it.

I think I get it. The Tour in Trans-Superior Cycling Tour. I hope the scenery is good.

Trans-Superior Cycling Tour Update

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It’s just one month away! After all these months of planning and training, we are in the final countdown to the Trans-Superior Cycling Tour. Mentally, I’m ready – I’d be happy if we were leaving tomorrow. Well, except for the packing. I haven’t even started that list yet. The trick there will be what not to bring, as we have only 2 paniers each to fill for 9 days’ worth of travel. But since we are not camping, we need only fit in our clothes and a few personal items. Simple enough, right?

I’m feeling good about my preparations so far. I’ve logged over 2,000 miles of cycling this year. I cycle nearly every day of the week (okay, I still consider myself a runner and can’t resist running now and then). I’ve done a number of 50+ mile distance rides, and have been out in cold and rain as well as hot humid weather.

As far as logistics go, our itinerary is set and we have made all of our lodging reservations. We did discover one important detail – the ferries between Isle Royale and Grand Portage only run on certain days of the week. So we had to shift our start date by one day in order to make it work. It pays to do one’s homework on these things. There is no wiggle room on this trip – hotel rooms and ferries are not flexible! We’re in for the distance each day, no matter what the conditions.

So, what’s next? I think it’s time to attach and fill my paniers to get used to riding with the extra weight on my back wheel. That will be entirely new to me. And I have signed up for a bicycle maintenance class at Erik’s bike shop. This week I will spend two evenings in the Novice Class working on my own bike learning to do basic repairs. I figured it was time I learned more about my bike and how to take care of it. Not to mention recovering from the inevitable breakdown on one of my rides.

The only thing remaining between now and our trip is time. And more training miles!

Life Comes Full Circle

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All families have their own way of doing things.  It needn’t be formal traditions, simply the everyday activities, customs and favorite pastimes that make up the uniqueness of family life.  We are no exception.  But when we were raising our young family, little did we realize how those customs would become embedded in the lives of our children, and that we were laying the groundwork for future generations.

Now that we have grandchildren, we are seeing our children delight in revitalizing those family activities.  Suddenly, old toys take on new lives, perhaps enjoyed the most by their original owners the second time around.  The huge bubble maker came out again recently.  It still works as well as it did before, and brings the same smiles.

Each of our children had a “playak” at the cabin.  They provided hours of fun, going beyond a simple floating boat to becoming pirate ships and swimming platforms.  For now, they have been renamed “yellow boat.”

Birthdays meant picking a theme for the party, and then creating a shape cake to complement the decorations.  We had great fun planning and decorating them together.  Not only has my daughter carried on that custom, but has shown great prowess in her designs!

I think one of my favorites is a true tradition.  When my father was baptized, someone hand made his baptismal gown, complete with tucks, lace and a matching under garment.  I and my sisters all wore the gown, as did all of my children.  98 years later, it is now on its fourth generation.

What a joy to watch the great circle of life, and see just what family customs have been treasured enough to repeat.

Experiencing Habitat for Humanity

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It was my first time volunteering to help build a house. I know nothing about construction, but I was warmly welcomed and put to work. In this case, the project was nearing completion – after only 8 “volunteer weeks” the house was ready for indoor finishing work. I spent two and a half days wielding a paint brush, coating countless feet of trim and interior doors with coat after coat of semi-gloss paint. It was not exactly challenging, but it was work that needed to be done and it was a task that felt safe and comfortable for me. On my final afternoon, however, that changed. Without doubting my capabilities, the site supervisor assigned me and a young partner to trim the doorways. In no time, we were measuring, cutting, mitering corners and hefting powerful nail guns powered by compressed air. What looked so simple when he demonstrated for us took a lot more thinking on our parts, but we mastered it! And the result was not bad. I may have felt timid at first, but the resulting sense of accomplishment was the highlight of my tenure on that project.

But I gained a whole lot more than that out of the experience. I learned that Habitat for Humanity is as much about the humanity as the habitat. Like most people, I did not really know how the organization operated. It’s not just building affordable houses, it’s setting up new homeowners to succeed. Habitat families must put in 300-500 hours of sweat equity, helping build their own home and other Habitat houses. They must meet specific income requirements, and qualify for their mortgage. They attend classes on managing their finances and home maintenance. It put the homes in a whole new perspective.

But there was another side of the humanity. Working alongside other volunteers, I met people from a variety of backgrounds. We were encouraged to talk, take breaks and eat lunch together. Each day I partnered with different individuals, learning more about them through the course of our work day and I was inspired by their stories. I worked alongside a young woman who was just diagnosed with MS. Despite dealing with the side effects of her new medications and the lurking uncertainty over her future health, she worked tirelessly and eagerly. A young architecture student was putting in 8 weeks at Habitat this summer, gaining practical knowledge for her future profession. Retired folks were there for the entire week, some lending expertise from their former careers. One of them put in over 60 days on Habitat houses last year. One man took a day of vacation from his job to work with us. A Hmong brother and sister, college students, chipped in for a day. We were a motley crew, but made to feel appreciated.

I wonder what I’ll learn next time?

Nature Lessons

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Being at the cabin is not like home.  There is so much more to experience, particularly outdoors.  This past week we were able to indulge our love of nature in many different ways.

Watching the loons and hearing their hauntingly beautiful cry was one of them. Seeing baby loons in early summer is always a treat. Looking for the bald eagles is a favorite. Going over to inspect the eagles’ nest in the next section of the lake is a ritual. Over the years we have watched numerous baby eagles peering over the edge of the enormous nest, and seen some of their earliest flights. Sadly, this year the tree that was home to their nest has finally succumbed to its awkward angle and fallen into the lake. But fortunately, they are not the only nesting pair on this lake. One evening, I saw an eagle in the distance swoop down and catch a fish. He brought it to a tree not far away from where I was kayaking, and I was able to get close enough to watch him devour his meal.

This cabin week we were treated to one of the sunniest and warmest ever. Every morning but one, as I gradually gained consciousness I could peer out our bedroom window to see the sun coming up over the glassy calm lake. Sometimes I caught a beautiful red sunrise. The sunsets were equally spectacular, particularly when I had enough energy left at the end of the day to kayak out to see it from a better vantage point.

On one of our bike rides around the area, my husband and I cycled through a swarm of butterflies!  Shortly after we turned onto a little used road, there were thousands of Red Admiral butterflies perched on and along the side of the road.  Most of them were lined up just to the right of the white line.  As we approached, each one took flight until they filled the air around us and occasionally careened into us.  It went on for well over a mile, and then ended as abruptly as it began.

It’s the nature of a cabin to bring the outdoors into close proximity.  And we love the first-hand lessons that come along with it.

Cabin Time

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At the beginning of the week the days stretch out luxuriously. The vacation seems endless and each day feels like there is ample time for everything. Plenty of opportunity to swim, go fishing, take out the kayak, go for boat rides, play yard games, and sit on the dock reading and soaking up the sun. But as soon as midweek arrives, time speeds up. The days feel shorter, and there is an increasing urgency to fit everything in. Even though by definition there is no “to do list” at the cabin, there is still the litany of favorite activities that define time at the cabin. And we wouldn’t want to miss out on any of them.

The cabin is timeless. The things we enjoyed years ago are still the things we come back for year after year. The undeveloped nature of the lake, the wildlife, the feeling of remoteness are all key ingredients. Our self-powered boats often get more use than our motorboat, and our original little fishing boat still has its appeal. When the lake feels inhospitably cold, a hot sauna will coax anyone into the water. Evening bonfires, hanging out in the hammock, reading books and watching sunsets never change over time.

Time seems to stand still at the cabin. We occasionally pick up the morning paper, but the outside world encroaches little on our slice of paradise. The important focuses are the weather forecast and the latest local news gleaned from the regulars at the bait shop. And some might add the Fishing Hall of Fame board posting the latest catches – large and small.

At the cabin we live by sun time. Life is simple and there is no reason to make elaborate plans or live by the clock. My watch (yes, I’m of the age that I still wear one) stays at home. We don’t set alarms. The exact time doesn’t really matter. In summer we easily slip into a later dinner hour, savoring the long days, reluctant to stop to eat while there is lingering sunshine. In winter the evening meal comes sooner, as darkness defines an earlier end to the day.

The cabin is made for family time. There is no better place for it. Sharing unstructured, stress-free time and playing in the outdoors allows plenty of opportunity to build lasting memories. Our children have grown up coming to the cabin, and have now begun making cabin trips on their own as well as with us. And we’ve now added a third generation to the cabin family. What a joy to spend extended time together with them at our special place.

All too soon, however, it is time to go home. What seemed endless at first did in fact have an end date. Packing up and loading the car while the sunshine and the lake beckon feels like torture. But we all cling to the knowledge that we will be back. And we can’t wait for next time.

Doing without Electricity

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We pride ourselves on our lack of technology and unnecessary appliances at the cabin. But truthfully, over time improved cell signals have enabled some devices to creep into use. I will admit to occasionally checking email myself. And then there was the arrival of wireless Internet at the bait shop. Suddenly the trip for the morning papers took longer than before.

But all that's a moot point without electricity. When the storm took out our power the other night, little did we know that days later we would still be managing without it. The smartphones were the first to go. The storm hit in the evening, when the devices were already depleted from searching for distant signals. Common cell phones fared better. We all switched to airplane mode to conserve what little life was left. iPads without a data plan hung in there, but the Kindles were the clear winners – they can go forever without a recharge. Good thing, as reading is a high priority at the cabin.

On the more mundane side of life, we have bemoaned the loss of our fans in the continuing heat, humidity and lack of wind. But the lake has served to cool us off. Opening the fridge is severely restricted, and has been supplemented with a cooler of ice. We normally grill most of our meals anyway, and have been using up our fresh fruit and salads. By chance, my son brought his camp stove – that's our next option. And thank heavens for the old fashioned outhouse… Without electricity, we have no water pump.

And then there are the creative solutions. We have swapped the usual evening board games for 20 Questions. Booklights and headlamps are in demand for nighttime reading. Our son, the newly minted electrical engineer, fashioned a recharger out of batteries and a dissected charging cord. Since it produced smoke, we opted not to plug in any of our precious devices. We patiently awaited my husband's arrival today, as his car held an electric converter. Although we earlier poked fun at our neighbor who recharged her iPhone in their truck, the idea has since become more appealing. If this keeps up tomorrow morning, we're going to plug in our coffee maker. Communicating with the outside world can wait. There is only so long we can go without our morning caffeine.

Cabin Storms

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Boats were absent from the lake, the thrum of their motors replaced by the whine of chainsaws. The resort’s raft floated peacefully out in the middle of the lake. The calm waters belied the turmoil that raged the night before. Neighbors were out inspecting the damage, swapping stories and wondering when power would be restored.

The storm was the worst I’d experienced in 22 years at the cabin. It came up in a hurry, whipping the lake into whitecaps that were then replaced by a horizontal spray covering its surface. We were on the receiving end of the wind, driving straight down the lake toward the cabin. We lost the lights immediately, at the same time we were emptying out the tiny closet in the interior of the cabin for safe cover. Fortunately, we didn’t need to cram into that small space. With flashlights in hand, listening to the weather radio and cuddling two young grandchildren, we could only wait it out. The winds tapered while the rain droned on, but the worst was over. What a relief to be able to reopen some of the windows and feel the cool air left by the storm. At least we would have better sleeping weather that night.

Pine tree down in the yard

Venturing out when the rain subsided, it was immediately obvious that we had been lucky. Nature had neatly downed the big dead pine tree on the edge of our yard, relieving us of the chore. At the lake, we were amazed to see two big birches blown partially over, taking up a huge piece of the shoreline with them creating a watery cavern. Nestled underneath were five sections from the neighbor’s dock. But they suffered worse than that. Three huge trees had come down alongside their cabin, and a fourth lay squarely on their roof. Fortunately everyone was okay.

Birches ripped up the lakeshore
Trees down on the neighbor's cabin

We’re marooned this morning. Cut off from the main road by power lines draped across our road. It looks like restoring power won’t be imminent. But there is plenty of cleanup work to do. And our two year old grandson continues to sing his refrain from last night’s storm, “Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day.” He seems pleased that in the end, it worked!

I’ve Been Bridged!

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I could see it from a distance. The red light that meant the bridge was up. Being on the Park Point side of the Aerial Bridge when the roadbed is raised means staying there until the boat passes through. There is no other way off the narrow strip of land that forms the Duluth Harbor.

Most people don’t mind. They know that when going over to Park Point there is a distinct possibility they may need to wait for the bridge in order to return. And today I was solidly in that camp.

I’d chosen to do an easy bike ride instead of a hard workout. It was one of Duluth’s finest days, with sunshine playing off Lake Superior and comfortable warm temperatures. Cycling along the Lakewalk is by definition a leisurely ride, as it is shared by numerous runners, walkers, dogs and tourists, and winter has provided more than a few heaves in the pavement. Besides, it is prime territory for just looking out at the lake.

Cycling down Park Point and back is easy going. It’s flat and straight, with plenty of shoulder. I love looking at the jumbled assortment of houses along the way, from tiny cabin-like homes, to huge modern structures built high enough to see over the dunes to the lake. They are wedged close together and sometimes one in front of the other, all trying to get a piece of the prime beachfront or harbor shoreline. And there always seems so be an abundance of flowers. The area must be a magnet for zealous gardeners.

So approaching the end of the line of cars waiting for the bridge, it was an easy choice to swing onto the pier and just take it all in. It didn’t matter that the bridge was only half way up and that it was the Vista Queen tour boat going under instead of an ore boat of foreign freighter. It was an opportunity to slow down, take a break and have a closer look at what was around me. Like the bridge coming down, right over me. Like the view of the bridge, from below. Like seeing the bridge from the harbor side – how often do we look at it from there? No need to rush back and cycle over when the bridge was back down. After all, I had all the excuses I needed. I’d been bridged.