Escape and Explore!

Upon returning home from a week in New York City, my own rural home on the Ten Acre Wood wasn't enough for this country girl. Saturday morning Dale and I packed up the pickup truck, loaded up the pooch, and headed north in search of a quiet campground and some fall color.

After a series of disappointing phone inquiries (we were a bit silly expecting to find a good campsite on a Saturday afternoon), we landed in the last possible campsite available in the electric loop of Banning State Park. As you can see, we were right next to the bath house with flush toilets and showers. At least it didn't smell like a pit toilet. It was a bit more noise and traffic than we prefer, but Cribbage games and a campfire with an amazing starlit night were worth the trip. I'm glad we packed the propane heater, too.

On Sunday we slept in, had brunch around 10, and set off for a hike. Banning has a self-guided trail along the Kettle River where pink sandstone was quarried at the turn of the last century. It was pretty fascinating. And we learned about the geology of the area while scrambling around on the rocks of the Kettle River, peering through potholes, and helping the Jack Russel Terrorist improve upon her Mountain Goat and Portuguese Water Dog imitations. We viewed Hell's Gate and Dragon Tooth rapids. Kayakers were enjoying the challenge. We stayed high and dry. Well, except for the dog.

I managed to get myself onto one ledge about 25 feet off the ground with a sheer cliff below me and no footholds low enough to climb back up to the trail. After handing the dog up to Dale, I needed him to lift me part way up so I could get purchase with my feet and haul myself up to the trail. Arthur could have pulled himself up with his fingertips. I still can't do a pull-up. But I am working on it.

The fall color was just starting with a few early maples displaying their fiery yellow and red. I'm thinking we may have to travel north again next weekend. We'll see.

Mostly I'm grateful that the State Parks are open so we can enjoy our traveling home away from home whenever we so desire.

And I'm grateful for a husband of 24 years who still likes to go outside to play. Thanks for the guided hike, Dale. I'll never forget what a Horst is, and I think there are still a whole bunch of Minnesota State Parks that we have yet to explore. Whatcha doin' next weekend?

Becky Thatcher

It felt like a Becky Thatcher sort of day.

Let me back up a little bit to explain. Last week marked the beginning of the late summer birthday season in my family. My father-in-law turned 79 on Wednesday, my father turned 72 on Friday, my stepmother turned 55 on Sunday, my youngest turns 20 this Saturday, and my Most-Perfect-Uncle will turn 60 a week from Wednesday. And the birthdays continue into September, too!

So last week my father-in-law asked if the family could join him for fishing on the float in Alma on the Mississippi River to celebrate his birthday. "Bronny, you should come, too," he insisted. (Yes, there is a small population of humans who get away with calling me "Bronny;" my college classmates and my husband's family. Period.) Today worked out as the only day most of us could show up. So my husband, his brother Larry, one of our sons, Joren, and I piled in the pick-up truck this morning to go join Grampa on the raft for a day of fishing.

My father-in-law is a bit of a prankster and I take it as a sign of affection and approval that he likes to tease and try to play pranks on me. But now and then I have to zing him back, just to maintain respect. So today I grabbed my antique fishing pole to take to the raft. Last month Dale and I found a 14 foot long bamboo fishing pole in the rafters of one of our sheds. We're relatively certain it hasn't seen the light of day, much less the kiss of cool water, for over 30 years.

Grampa DuWayne just laughed when I brought my over-long, unsophisticated fishing pole on the raft today. It got all kinds of longing looks from the old timers. And the youngsters (anyone younger than me at almost 50) looked at it like it was some strange device, perhaps akin to a telephone that actually dials and doesn't require electricity. Using a combination of DuWayne's tackle and my fly fishing gear, I tied a line to the thin end of the bamboo, loaded it up with a big, old red and white bobber, added a sinker, a modest hook, and a juicy big worm. I tossed the rig into the water and waited . . . .

I had a sunfish on the line in less than three minutes. WooHoo!

So here's the Becky Thatcher part. I got to spend the day on this amazing raft below the Alma Dam on the Mississippi fishing with a bunch of guys, and no one gave me grief when I just swung my Sunfish over to them for removal. I did grab a couple off the line myself, and I dealt with my own worms 95% of the time. I caught 14 Sunnies with the antique equipment and five of them were keepers.

The guys were mostly spin casting. They caught a lot of Sheepshead, which we keep and donate to the Eagle Center in Wabasha. They were catching Sunnies, too, and a northern and a few Small Mouth Bass. It was a good day to be on the water; upper 80's and humid. Cloud cover that rolled in in the early afternoon kept us from truly baking. Joren caught a nap in the recliner on the porch as well as a number of fish.

We had some excitement over the course of the day, too. Grampa DuWayne caught a 42 inch, 6 1/2 pound Gar with a split lower jaw. This is the kind of fish, that as an avid River Rat, who frequently swims in the Mighty Mississip, I would rather not see. Confirmation of prehistoric fish with a long jaw full of sharp teeth does not warm the heart. But is was impressive, nonetheless.

Several turtles were also caught. After I tired of the knots on my old fashioned fishing rig I switched to Arthur's spin casting Shakespeare rod, in honor of his absence due to work. (He put in a 14 hour day today!) I caught my biggest Sunny with his rig, and the biggest snapping turtle of the day! What a hoot.

And when they finally got him loose from the hook and the landing net, I was perched atop a bench to stay clear of the turtle temper tantrum.

Like Becky Thatcher, as much as I like hanging out with the boys, I'm still a girl who likes to wear pretty dresses at heart. (I did wear my Hawaiian Seahorse Sundress for fishing today!)

We concluded our antics with a stop at the Eagle Center in Wabasha to drop off a five gallon bucket of fresh fish and got a free pass to the staff area after hours and a personal audience with Angel, one of the Bald Eagles in residence. VERY COOL.

Did I mention that while on the raft we were buzzed by the biggest immature American Bald Eagle I have ever laid eyes on.

Wow! What a day. Thank you, Skovemen, for taking me fishing today. It truly was a blessing. Sunnies for supper were outstanding.

Oh, and Happy Birthday, Grampa!

Tenacious

We've been having Red-tailed Hawk drama in our backyard this spring. It began in late March as we became aware that a pair of hawks was refurbishing an old nest in one of the skinny, tall pines in our west grove of woods. Years ago a pair tried to rear a hawk here and we think the nest failed that summer. But a beautiful, big Red-tailed Hawk seems to like our woods and when the boys were little they named her Odyssey.

In April I was home alone one afternoon when our new neighbor to the south pulled in and asked for my help in rescuing a hawk that was hit on the road just in front of our house. We gloved up, armed ourselves with an old blanket and a dog kennel, and foraged into our south grove to capture the injured hawk. We think he was the male and that he is Odyssey's mate. Rob took the hawk up to the Raptor Center at the University of Minnesota. Holding a bird of prey in your hands like that is a pretty awesome experience. We have since learned that the hawk had a badly fractured wing, underwent surgery, is now in physical therapy, and if able to fly well enough to survive, will be released on our property.

We never thought the egg(s) would hatch, especially given the cold, wet spring and only one parent on the nest. But during the second week of May, it was apparent that a hawkling was in the nest. We kept track and kept the woods loaded with squirrels and birds by putting corn cakes out on stumps to make for easier hunting for the single-parent hawk. (There is no shortage of squirrels or birds on our ten acres!) We were treated to many amazing views of this fuzzy, awkward hawk living in the nest over the next couple of weeks.

Memorial Day weekend there was a terrific wind storm an the nest blew down. We were sure this would be the end of the little hawk. But then we found it clinging to lower branches in the trees under the nest location. It is very good at being extremely quiet and still, and blinking at you with one eye closing at a time, all the while  Odyssey shrieking warning from above.

On Sunday of this week we heard a racket in the woods and Arthur and I went out to explore, having seen and heard no sign of either hawk for a few days. Nessie, the Jack Russel Terrorist, spotted the hawkling on the ground and rushed at him. She pulled up short when he rolled on his back, thrusting some powerful talons toward her face. We corraled the dog, took some pictures, convened the rest of the family and called the Raptor Center.

Bronwyn: "Hi, Joey, this is the family of hawk case #XXX and the mate hatched the egg and now the hawk looks like it can't really fly but looks fine otherwise. The only problem is that it's on the ground. What should we do?"

Joey: "Capture it using a blanket and a cardboard box and put it in some branches at least six feet above the ground so the parent won't abandon it. What? You have a platform built near the nest 20 feet up? Awesome! That's ideal. Relocate him and see what happens. You guys are doing great work with these hawks. Let me know how it goes."

Next scene: four Skovs, two cell phone cameras, one Mexican blanket, two sets of leather gloves, and a cardboard box. I think the pictures tell the rest of the story.

The platform is in the Bandit Camp on our property. The young hawk is now named Tenacious H. Bandit. He has already left the platform and we can hear him in the woods. We truly hope he makes it.

We might be friends for life.

U is for United States

I travel a lot for work, and I have been blessed with the opportunity to travel a good amount most of my life. I have been trying to organize my life list for states visited to determine how many and which states I have yet to visit. Sometimes I fly in for a meeting and never see much beyond an airport and a conference center or hotel. Other times I am vacationing or have been blessed with the opportunity to explore. Here's my list. Those in bold are yet unvisited to the best of my knowledge.

Alabama - en route to FL
Alaska - mission trip
Arizona - grandparents, mother
Arkansas
California - meetings only
Colorado - many trips
Connecticut - one meeting
Delaware
Florida - spring break!
Georgia - Atlanta+
Hawaii - two cruising spring breaks
Idaho (or not memorable?)

Illinois - raised there, father GO BEARS!
Indiana - most perfect uncle, etc.
Iowa - state next door all my life
Kansas - driving west, KC meeting
Kentucky - Berea Episcopal Youth Event!
Louisiana - Credo during Gulf hurricane
Maine
Maryland - during DC visits
Massachusetts - goddaughter support
Michigan - born there, cousins

Minnesota - Home Sweet Home

Mississippi
Missouri - Kansas City?
Montana - camping, sister, nephew
Nebraska - driving to somewhere else
Nevada (no, never been to Vegas)
New Hampshire - brief meeting
New Jersey - Princeton and Newark
New Mexico - camping, cousin
New York - I work there sometimes
North Carolina - Kanuga and more
North Dakota - Highway 2 and Salem Sue (MOO!)
Ohio - passing through
Oklahoma - driving only
Oregon - quick consecration celebration
Pennsylvania - Philly for sure
Rhode Island
South Carolina - many meetings
South Dakota - can you say Black Hills?
Tennessee - Nashville
Texas - San Antonio EYE and more
Utah - stood at Four Corners a couple times
Vermont
Virgina - DC, Richmond & more
Washington - Seattle Office
West Virgina
Wisconsin - first legal beer!
Wyoming - Laramie EYE & Yellowstone

By that account I have 41 states leaving nine to go. But I have still never vacationed in or visited the continental west coast states for anything other than meetings. For a girl from the Great Lakes states, it should be no surprise that I still haven't made it to much of New England, the Deep South, or the West Coast.

How does your list compare?

S is for Skiing

(Downhill/Alpine that is.)

I have been an avid skier for 33 years.

My earliest days at this crazy sport were spent at Chestnut Mountain Resort. Having had a taste of skiing the winter before, I spent most of my sophomore year in high school at Chestnut either skiing, working in the gift shop, or partying with friends. It was the winter of 1977/78. The ski hill was only six miles further down Blackjack Road from the Pilot Knob turn-off for my house.

Larry, one of my water skiing buddies, said he would teach me how to handle the rope tow. I followed him right over the edge of the sidewalk in front of the rental shop, by-passing the two bunny hills to stop at the bottom of the #3 rope tow, the steepest of the bunch. Larry promptly turned toward me, grabbed hold of the rotating nylon rope, and slid up the hill backwards saying, "It's easy, Bronwyn, just point your skis up the hill and hold on!"

Needless to say, I was flat on my face faster than you cold say "ski!" Damn hotshot.

Chuck and Phil weren't much more helpful. They didn't even pause to help me and simply headed for Blackhawk with a "Good luck! See you later . . ."

I worked hard that winter. I was fearless and by God they were not going to ditch me for the entire winter. Besides, on weekends the lift lines were long enough that I could catch up to them anyway.

I spent the next three winters skiing as often as I could and working as a lifty bumping chairs at the bottom. Chestnut, also known by locals as Mount Plastique due to the bogus trees prominent in the interior decorating, was my home away from home. Many of my friends gained their livelihood there, and some still do! (Murph? if you're out there I'm certain I have a lifetime season pass!) My favorite thing at Chestnut was being the first and only skier headed to the bottom to start my night skiing shift. The view from the top of Chestnut is pure, unadulterated Mississippi River wildness. Skiing down during a spectacular sunset was simply the frosting on the cake.

Fast forward to Macalester College in St. Paul, Minnesota. During the winter of 1981/82 my boyfriend and I bought passes for Afton Alps near the St. Croix river, just east of St. Paul. Okay - not remarkable enough to comment on.

Then Dale and I settled south of Hastings where we've been raising our sons for the past 22 years. We've had season passes to Welch Village most of those 22 years. Both boys were skiing as soon as they could walk, both no older than three.

The view at the top of Welch isn't as breath-taking as the Chestnut view, but the Cannon River Valley is pretty spectacular. Last year Welch offered an Olympic Anniversary sale and we all bought our season passes for $99. We were such good customers they were able to replace an old chairlift. And the skiing this winter has been FANTASTIC!

The last three weeks I've been heading down to Welch in time for sunset skiing. My goal is at least ten runs in an hour. There haven't been any crowds so I can usually get in even more runs than ten in an hour and still be home in time for supper. I've seen numerous hawks and Bald Eagles. Sometimes I meet with friends and family. Sometimes I simply plug into my iPod, giving thanks for my new helmet with the ear pockets for my SkullCandy earphones.

Tonight I spent part of the night skiing with Suzanne (testing new skis) and Rachel (riding a new board), and the rest skiing with the Bare Naked Ladies and the Black Eyed Peas. It was a great night.

Tomorrow I think I will renew my season pass for $149! I love my ski area. And I am thankful that I am still skiing. Care to join me?

P.S. I've been skiing Chicken quite a bit this week - nice conditions. I still think Apache at Chestnut is steeper and longer. I've only skied Warpath a couple of times, but I think it's the only double black diamond in the Midwest that truly rates the dual status. Guess I'll have to get back down there to check it out.

M is for Marvelous and Miraculous

It was a marvelous weekend and a miraculous return home.

On Friday morning nine of my best friends who volunteer as costumers at Dress Me Up Costumes gathered in my driveway to depart for the annual Galena Girls weekend.  This eclectic group of unlikely friends gathers annually (for 10 or more years) to escape our daily routine for a weekend in early December. We retreat to my childhood hometown of Galena, Illinois, where we rent a home at The Territory through Almost Heaven Rentals. We engage in all of the best aspects of a road trip as we wend our way down the Mighty Mississippi River on the Great River Road. Once in residence in Jo Daviess County we indulge in eating, drinking, shopping, hot-tubbing, and games (not in any particular order).

This year we diverged from an established route down US Highway 61 to LaCrosse and south on Wisconsin 35 to the Dickeyville Grotto. Instead we cruised down US Highway 52 on the Minnesota side and made pit stops in Harmony, Minnesota, to look at the Amish furniture, and in Decorah, Iowa, to try and extract my BlackBerry car charger from my son's car at Luther College. Joren was a little disoriented about his mother and her nine friends interrupting his midday nap at the end of the term, but he handled it politely, remembering to give his godmother and mother hugs.

We stopped at the newly opened Potosi Brewing Company and brewing museum while en route. It's a pretty amazing place where we acquired a "growler" of beer for later consumption. After meeting with Eric, who faithfully leads us to our home for the weekend, Harmony House, we headed back into town for supper at Canova's. YUM.

Saturday morning brought rain that morphed into beautiful snow as the day drew on. We shopped with our Holiday Head-gear on full display. I purchased a new holiday headpiece to replace my destroyed Whoville Mistletoe. I call my new look "Blitzed."

We had a lovely home-cooked dinner (group effort) with my father at our rented domicile and took full advantage of all the amenities before we headed for bed on Saturday night. We slept during the blizzard and woke to a truly bleak midwinter.

Driving home to Hastings, which should take approximately five hours by most standards, took just over nine hours. This marks the first time that we have taken longer to return home than to drive to Galena. I believe that it was about seven hours of wheels rolling time. But Galena to Cabela's in Prairie Du Chien, Wisconsin, was a treacherous road. I, in my trusty Ford F150 with four-wheel-drive, drift-busted for my compatriot, Beth, in her Toyota Highlander. It was a little dicey in some one-lane S-curves east of Fennimore, but we made it. I suspect our average speed for the entire drive today was close to 40 mpr.

Mostly, I am so deeply thankful for this group of women. I am blessed to call them friends. This year we even welcomed one of our youngest to the fold. Katie held her own with the grown-ups and proved herself mature, responsible, and full of fun in spite of a nagging cough. Welcome to the Galena Girls, Katie! We hope you'll stick with us.

Until next trip . . . . .

Godspeed!

F is for FaceBook

Many of us have a love/hate relationship with FaceBook. And most of us who choose to remain in the FB game have settled into a routine about how we manage our Social Media habit. I spent a good amount of time tonight showing a friend who is not on FaceBook how it works and how I use it for both personal and professional purposes.

I love it when FaceBook allows us to connect with people and memories we might not share if left to our Luddite devices. My friend Peggy has a FaceBook page but currently doesn't have access due to her computer situation. Her mother died in July, and Peggy's oldest daughter had scanned in a bunch of old family photos (Grama Gayle's album) into a FB album. We had a fantastic time clicking through the album and hearing stories of Peggy and her family. It was a real blessing.

On an entirely different note I connected yesterday and today with some old friends from my hometown in Galena, Illinois, including an old boyfriend's little sister. Today (10/21) is the birthday of my first full-fledged boyfriend, Chuck. Unfortunately he died a violent and tragic death in 1987. But that's not what any of us are dwelling on today. Birthdays are for celebrating life. He would have turned 52 today.

I started dating Chuck the summer of 1977. He was older than me; I was still in high school and he wasn't. But we had some common friends and had so much fun that summer. We lasted as an official couple for the better part of a year. Neither of us had a clue how to be in a relationship, so it was rocky with all of that teenage stuff going on. We spent most of our time out on the Mississippi River with friends. That winter we all practically lived at Chestnut Mountain Resort, working and skiing and partying our little hearts out.

In the years that followed our inevitable break-up we always remained friends. Now and then Chuck, or his parents, came to my rescue (like the night I tapped on the wrong window when stranded in town because my truck was in a ditch with two flat tires! His parents came to the window and let him sleep while they drove me home. Tom and Donna were such understanding parents.)

Some of my favorite memories include being the first water skiers on the water each year. Chuck, Larry, and Phil used to take their first slalom trip wearing sweatshirts and jeans and jumping off the dock on one ski. Every one of them landed back on the dock, not getting any clothing above the knee wet. They were so competitive but so encouraging of one another. I never managed the jumping off the dock trick, but I can still get up on one ski!

Chuck drove a VW Bug for a long time, but once he was out of high school and working he bought a green Dodge Ram Charger. I remember the fall he bought snow tires. Four days after he got the snow tires on the wheels we had a big storm. My sister and I were waiting for the bus at the end of our rural driveway in the snow when we saw Chuck coming down the road. He was beside himself with excitement as he pulled up in front of us.

"It's a snow day! The bus isn't coming. Let's go four-wheelin'! Hop in!"

He trusted me with anything and everything. He taught me to ski (snow and water) and how to drive (cars, trucks, and motorcycles). The day after I slid his precious Ram Charger off a steep curve on a gravel road (Rocky Hill Road to be precise) and through a fence post into a pasture, he picked me up after school and made me drive home. "You gotta get back on the horse right away," he encouraged. My father was furious that I was stupid enough to drive someone else's vehicle again. Chuck took all of the heat and apologized to my father. (Although it was Larry who picked me up the morning of my 16th birthday to take me to the Driver's Exam station. No, I did not have my parents' permission nor did I know that Larry was coming to collect me that day. It was my Sweet Sixteen gift. and yes, I passed.)

The years I spent hanging out with Chuck and his friends were the years that built upon my own parents' love of the outdoors and of living life fully and playfully. I will always be grateful to Chuck. He was truly a generous soul.

In fact, 33 years ago today, when he turned 19 and was "legal" in Illinois I was with him when he drove through The Stable Inn in Galena, Illinois, and purchased his first legal 12-pack of Strohs. That night I confessed that I hadn't known it was his birthday and apologized for not having a gift ready.

"That's okay," he reassured me, "because I have one for you."  With that he handed me a little brass padlock that had the letter B engraved on the front. I had been begging him for it for months. He told me that it would be my good luck charm. It has been on my keys ever since.

Thank you for everything, Chuck. I kicked back with a can of beer, took this picture, and told this story tonight in honor of you. Happy Birthday.

(P.S. I drive a beat up old Jeep Wrangler now, I have my season pass for the local ski area, my junky old boat is out of the water, and I have my motorcycle permit. I hope that makes you proud.)

B is for Bicycle

I bought my current bicycle approximately 10 years ago. It's starting to show some potentially irreparable wear. But we are still good friends who enjoy going out to play.

I don't remember my first tricycle, but I do remember that first time I pedaled down the sidewalk of Wesley Avenue in Evanston, Illinois, the summer of 1966, on TWO WHEELS. My father was chasing behind me - or so I thought! As I glided into a grassy yard to make a calculated crash landing, certain that my father would catch me before I tipped over, I put my feet down and managed to avoid crashing all by myself. I turned around to see my grinning father half a block behind me clapping.

MY HEART SOARED! I was a big girl now and knew the personal thrill of riding a two wheeler, all by myself. All my hard work and the coaxing and encouragement of my Dear Old Dad had finally paid off. Next lesson, applying breaks and turning corners. I was ready to move on.

My first big girl bike was a blue banana bike with red streamers at the ends of the handle bars. I failed to put it away in the basement within weeks of acquiring it and sure enough, it was stolen, never to be recovered. There were many tears over that expensive lesson. My next bike was a far less glamorous garage sale bargain. But it was a two wheeler and it was mine.

I am still in the midst of my lifelong love affair of pedaling a bicycle. Having moved to Galena, Illinois, when I was 8 years old, I learned the challenge of pedaling or walking my bike up some pretty steep hills. But once you're at the top of said hill, the thrill of coasting down has got to be the next best to thing to personal flight. (Yes, I love skiing on snow and water, too!) I bought my first 10-speed from Allison Gillies for $50. That bike lasted me through high school and most of college.

At Macalester College in St. Paul, Minnesota, my best friend and I bought an old school tandem Raleigh that we named Mrs. Finch. We had grand times riding her about. It was good fun terrorizing boyfriends by insisting they sit in the back and pedal while I steer. Dale once wrenched the rear handle bars clean off when he was sure I was steering us into a tree. For the record, we did not crash and I laughed long and hard at how certain he was of my inability to steer. I think he still regularly scrapes the foot pegs on the motorcycle while turning as a method of payback for that incident.

My current velocipede was purchased when I was still working at St. Luke's in Hastings. We live about seven miles from church and I decided to invest in a bike rather than a health club membership. I actually did ride my bike back and forth quite a bit. I rode that particular patch again yesterday in honor of the 10/10/10 Global Work Party Day to make my personal contribution to reducing carbon emissions in the world. 

I felt good about making my personal contribution to the global effort, but I also remembered all the other benefits of using this basic method of personal transportation. In spite of traffic on the highway, it's still a very peaceful means of movement. I like the technical challenge of trying to maintain a steady rpm by using my gears and my muscles and breathing. I thoroughly enjoy seeing evidence of wildlife, especially when I spot a critter that hasn't succumbed to roadkill.

I find that riding is rhythmic and eventually I am lulled into a reflective if not meditative and prayerful state of contemplating my life and the world. It is a good place to think and pray.

I am thankful for my bicycle. I hope I can remember the benefits and be intentional about riding more often, at least while the weather holds!

C is for Camping

We just returned from our annual Labor Day Weekend outing; Camping with The Village. We are blessed with an extended family of friends who have for years ventured into the wilds of various Minnesota State Parks with us for Memorial Day and Labor Day weekend. (We did cross the river to a Wisconsin State Park last Memorial Day to accommodate some Illinois family members joining us with wee ones.)

Last Thursday afternoon several of us pulled into the primitive group site in Sakatah State Park, west of Faribault and not quite to Waterville. This particular site is situated near the boat ramp but far from the noise and light of the regular camping loops, as most group sites are. We have a beautiful lake view, a convenient place for putting canoes in and out, and easy access to the bicycle trail.

This weekend actually called for a smaller crowd than usual since we were missing the back-to-school collegiate crowd. My goddaughter Maria is the latest to abandon us for adventures in higher education. Dale and I also realized that this was the first time camping on Labor Day Weekend without either of our sons present in 18 years. Wow. They really do grow up!

It was a fantastic weekend with all of the predictable predicaments; cold weather, rain, hail, high winds, major mosquitoes, camp fire smoke in your face, stinky pit toilets, and a discourteous boater with a loud motor heading out for the Goose Hunting Early Opener at 4 am!

But we endure all of these challenges together in order to spend time cooking and eating and hiking and canoeing and biking and story-telling and laughing together. We play cards and ladder ball, dominoes and dice. We engage in coloring projects with the youngest and engage in shopping expeditions with the oldest, always in search of the latest camping gadget that we can't live without.

This time that we set aside twice each year is part of what anchors our friendships and sustains us through the busier times. Our pace of camping is cooperative and far slower than the pace of lives we live at home. We are all growing older, and we even have a regular granddaughter camping with us now. Our tents have increased in size to accommodate cots rather than sleeping pads or leaky air mattresses. Our kitchens and chuck boxes continue to undergo repairs, improvements and upgrades. We are learning more and more about the art of cast iron cooking with multiple dutch ovens.

I come home from these weekend retreats deeply thankful for my treasured friends. I may be a little bitten up from the winged critters sometimes characterized as the blood-sucking state bird, but I return rested, relaxed, and refreshed. My soul is at peace.

Thanks be to God.

A is for Atlanta Airport Adventure

This is Bronwyn reporting from, of course, the A concourse at ATL International. I pray that this blog, expressing mild panic, minor drama, and genuine gratitude doesn't jinx my flight home :)

On my short hop from Richmond, Virginia, this afternoon I was given a complementary "Medallion Upgrade" = First Class Cabin. YES!

A flight that was scheduled to take off 30 minutes prior to ours was "cancelled due to mechanical issues" and their passengers were relocated to our flight. We were all assured that those holding first class seats would still be seated in the first class cabin. One of my new traveling companions was completely skeptical about the reason for the delay/cancellation of his flight. I tend to agree with him since both loads of passengers still totalled a less than full flight, including empty first class seats.

I was seated next to a Army National Guard Cavalry Soldier headed back to Afghanistan for his fifth tour in Iraq/Afghanistan, having been home for a two week leave to be with his wife as she gave birth to their twins; yes, folks, a boy and a girl. All are healthy and mom is well. I warned you there was drama!

I have an affinity for those Army National Guard troops thanks to Mary, Bud, Tom and Beth. Go Guard!

This soldier had never been upgraded to first class before. When I told him the drinks were free he hesitated. I get it, he's not supposed to drink in uniform. I said, "We sure as hell are not gonna think less of a soldier on his fifth deployment if he accepts one cocktail on the airplane." (I do have a reputation for encouraging less than compliant behavior in some circumstances. It's kind of like watering your livestock on the Sabbath. . . .)

"Crown and Coke" he replied to our fashionista flight attendant. She didn't bat a bogus eyelash. But she did return to confess the lack of Crown Royal on the airplane and very discreetly offered him a choice of Seagram's or Jack Daniels. He's a Virginia boy and took the Jack. Heineken in hand, I clinked his glass and offered a toast in thanksgiving for his service, his children, a successful mission, and a safe tour. He downed his cocktail like he was dying of thirst and promptly chased it with two mugs of coffee. Our flight attendant properly announced his presence and story over the intercom before landing and asked us to remain seated at the gate until he stood so we could all see the "true American hero" in our midst. He and I got misty-eyed, and we all clapped enthusiastically. He is praying to fly out of Atlanta within 24 hours to return to his mission. He hates getting stuck in Atlanta with nothing but a uniform when waiting for charter flights to fill. But he did say the local USO would take pretty good care of him. I will continue to pray for peace and the conclusion of our missions in the region.

Once in the airport I made my way from the B to A concourse to identify the location of my connecting flight gate. Upon arriving at A29 I was just in time to welcome the passengers disembarking from Kalispell, Montana. An elderly gentleman tripped over his toe on the door to the concourse and went sprawling to his knees and narrowly avoided a face-plant. I joined two other potential passengers in rushing to him to see if he was okay, my knees throbbing in sympathy pains. He was very slow to get up, announced that he thought he was okay, allowed us to assist him to a chair, and thanked us for the help. I reluctantly left and made my way to the restroom and then on to Houlihans for a Heineken and some Potato Soup.

"May I see your ID, please?' asked the 20-something female server.

HA! Okay . . . .

"Oh crap! I don't have my wallet! It must be in the restroom. I'll be right back!"

Can you imagine the sinking feeling in my stomach? My travel wallet contains my Minnesota Driver's License, Credit Cards, Receipts for Reimbursements, Passport, and Boarding Passes!

Prayer: "Thank you for carding me, ridiculous as it is to card a 48-year-old woman. Please let my wallet still be in the bathroom. Please let some Good Samaritan have found it and turned it in to the cleaning woman who was in there, please, please, please, please, please . . . . . ."

"Excuse me, Ma'am, did you or anyone find a black travel wallet in this stall or at the sink?"

I knew it wasn't there. I have a very visual memory and upon walking back in there I had ZERO recollection of having it in my hand when I was peeing or washing my hands. Damn. And she confirmed its absence. She suggested a couple logical and local places to check on this concourse and sent me away with a prayer for it to be found quickly.

I backtracked to A29 where the falling man had disrupted my normally careful airport routine. As I gained ground my visual memory kicked in. I had my wallet out to check my flight number against the gate information. When he fell I placed it on the counter, let go of my carry-on, and moved to assist him. As I departed I hadn't noticed the black wallet on the black counter and had walked away with my carry-on and tote-bag.

Prayer: please, please, please, please, please . . . .

"Ma'am," did you find . . . ."

She was smiling and holding it out for me. She said she had checked my boarding pass and was getting ready to page me, knowing I probably hadn't strayed too far from the gate of my departure.

"Thank you. Thanks be to God!"

She grinned and said, "You're welcome."

I did stop back in the women's room to let the cleaning woman know that it was found. She was pleased.

I then returned to my table and produced my ID. I thanked the server for carding me stating that it would have been really troubling and even more embarrassing had I not realized it was missing until she presented my bill!

Then again, she wasn't going to serve me a beer without my ID!!!

Therefore I also offer thanks for my vice. Thanks be to beer!!!!

B is for Boating

I contemplated naming this post P is for Pathetic. Perhaps D is for Determined might have been a good subtitle. But I found the silver lining of my boating woes in the cloud of friends with which I am blessed.

Friday afternoon Dale and I headed for Red Wing to try yet another can of Sea Foam in the gas tank of my dilapidated vessel. We were greeted by a full campground and dock loaded with a Glastron Classic Boat Convention. It looked very interesting, but we didn't want to waste any more daylight, so we drained the additive into the gas tank and took off.

Usually when I find myself on the river, especially the Mississippi, I feel as though I can breath more deeply, relax more fully, appreciate creation with wonder. This summer, hopping into my poor ancient boat, my stomach twists into a knot of hopeful anxiety. I find myself intently focused, not on the majestic and peaceful surroundings, but on the boat, wishing its mechanical systems into compliance and desirable behavior, listening keenly for the least little engine hiccup, primed to feel the slightest hitch through the frame of the vehicle.

For the second time in as many days we were able to make it out of the no-wake zone above Bay Point Park and open up the throttle a little bit . . . . and sure enough, there it was, the warning hiccup that precedes certain disaster.

DAMN!

So back we went. We stopped at the fuel dock, barely able to keep the boat running. After inputting a few gallons of gas we limped back to our own marina, fingers crossed, lurching through the swift current. So we tied off the boat and began looking at all the classic Glastrons gathered. Our first boat was a Glastron. We named it The Honeymoon because we spent Dale's pittance of a pension on its purchase when he changed jobs just prior to our wedding.

Sitting on the end of the dock near the boat landing, sipping beers and watching the antics of couples dropping boats in the water and pulling boats out, we were entertained for nearly and hour. We witnessed the near catastrophe of a beautiful big, new, Crownline Cruiser being crashed into by a rookie river guy in a hot rod Glastron. The Glastron was louder than any boat I've ever heard and had a James Bond logo on the stern; "007" with a pistol (white boat at right in photo). He was caught by surprise when the current took his stern, and he yelled at the Crownline owner to protect his boat that was safely tied to the end of the landing dock (was to the right of where the white Glastron sits in this photo) awaiting it's First Mate to back the trailer in (as you can see, she's already there and he has moved the boat to the trailer by the time I got the phone camera on them). Crownline guy (yellow shirt in the photo) scrambled from the dock across his tall bow and over the port side to prevent the crash. His protective handstand on the Glastron's stern became a slow-motion cartwheel atop the offending engine compartment. He flopped on his back, rolled to keep his hands on the hull of his own boat, managed to retrieve his hat from the water, and prevented a nasty scrape in the process, while 007 pretty much ignored the whole incident. Once on the dock 007 turned around lethargically and spotted the body sprawled across his stern, "Oh, ya okay?" Didn't even give the guy a hand to get up and off his boat.

Once we were confident that no one was bleeding, burned, or in the water I looked down our dock at my beloved to see him attempting to stifle the giggles. He burst into laughter that was no longer containable and cackled for a solid five minutes. It was highly contagious and we both laughed long and hard. One of Dale's favorite past times is people-watching at boat landings. Note to self: bring the video camera so we can win big on America's Funniest Videos!

Saturday we were invited to go out on the Truax's boat du jour. They are proud new members of the Prescott Boat Club. They had a pontoon boat reserved and invited several members of the local village to join them for a day of leisure. Some Skovs and a Schlafge joined them in spite of the cool, overcast weather. I gotta give it to Bud. The minute we cleared the Prescott bridges and were on our way upriver, the sun broke from the clouds and we had a beautiful day before us. Danika tolerated me tubing with her and participated in my stunts and antics. We had a great time giggling and maneuvering. We even went down to Diamond Bluff on the Mississippi to try for a bite to eat at the Nauti-Hog, but they were too busy and the wait was too long. Hastings Old Time Car Show vendors helped us abate the hunger. It was a great day with fantastic friends.

Sunday, after church (and a super sermon by Fr. Frank) I went to Red Wing to clean my boat, pouting and scheming that if I'm going to get it running I should sell it right away so I can use the money as a down payment on something more reliable. It was my passive aggressive mode of cleaning when I'm pissed and wishing that I could play with my own toys. Just as I was working up a sweat the rescue team arrived in the persons of Dale, Beth and Tom. Let's go boating in the Wanamakers' new boat.

YES!

So off we went, down to Lake Pepin. I was breathing more deeply, relaxing more fully, and truly appreciating the spectacular view of limestone palisades, marshy sandbars, and eagles. We floated around in the middle of Pepin in our upside down life jackets (diaper mode), played some dice, and even attempted some water skiing. In five tries I wasn't able to coordinate my waning strength and rusty technique to get up on one ski, so we abandoned the plan and decided to call it a day.

Finding both gas docks already closed, we did luck out in getting to tour the model for the newly forming floating condominium concept; The Marquette. It's very similar to our retirement on a barge idea. None of us have that kind of money yet. But the concept is pretty nifty. I posted to the their blog to encourage them to get the motorcycle transport sorted out. We'll see. Could be a deal-breaker for these River Rats.

So this morning, as I get my writing skills honed to create some devotions for work, I sit mostly content, and with many stiff muscles, my heart full of gratitude for friends and opportunities.

And then it occurs to me that I've got to get a different boat. I finally figured it out. The boat is named Never-A-Nuff. That name was already on it. I hate misspellings like that. Cute - not. Clever - not even close. It is rumored that it's bad luck to change the name of the boat. (The paint is the most permanent substance I have ever encountered - much stronger than the mechanical systems.) I think it's bad luck to own a boat named Never-A-Nuff!

So, anyone wanna trade?

H is for Home

I arrived home from the Holy Lands almost two weeks ago. The time zone change and jet lag thing really wasn't that bad either direction. Both times we were flying through the night, so even dozing, if not sleeping, on the plane allowed for staying awake until a normal bedtime in the new time zone. By the second night in either location I was feeling oriented with meals and sleep cycles.

Coming home was harder on my stomach. Two weeks as a pilgrim in the Middle East was a good detoxifying process for my digestive system and mental habits around food and beverage. It was two weeks filled with maximum water consumption, mostly fruits and vegetables, moderate amounts of chicken, beef, and lamb, zero alcohol, and very few sweets. That diet combined with a large amount of HOT weather hiking, a lot of walking, and a healthy sleep schedule truly did this body good.

So part of my re-entry has been to intentionally cling to some of those disciplines rather than immediately sliding into my less healthy habits of my home. It's been a struggle, but I'm adjusting.

I've been doing a lot of thinking and praying about how my heart and brain have been transformed by my pilgrimage. I learned so much about history, culture, religion, politics, and spirituality. It truly is difficult to wrap my brain about it all, and to discern what I'm called to do with the knowledge and passion within me.

Knowing that my readers are a mixed audience of non-spiritual folks and religious practitioners, I think I will continue to keep most of my reflections to myself. I am happy to share with each of you on a more personal level if invited. I have decided that I will get on my political soap box. So either brace yourself for a lecture on global citizenship, or cease reading at this point so I don't make you feel angry or guilty. If you choose to read on anyway, please remember that this is my passion and my hope. But also remember that I carry guilt about what follows, too. My response is to do better and invite others to consider the same.

It has struck me that in general the USA's electorate is apathetic and uninformed. Often we are misinformed if we actually believe all the propaganda spewed in political and campaign advertising. I have learned that our media, the "free" press, that we Americans cling to so fiercely, is still a far more biased press than that which we might suspect or even admit. I didn't accept this statement when it was spoken to me at first. Then I began the research for myself.

If you read an Associated Press story filed by the same writer in a paper published in Israel, compared with the same story in the BBC, and then in the US, you will read three different slants. Editors mess with the story to offer the point of view they want to promote with their publication. If you don't read papers, then take time to compare CNN as aired on the BBC compared with the US version. We citizens of the Global Superpower are being fed, not all the facts, but scrubbed news. I don't know about you, but that simply pisses me off.

The other point I would like to make is that, in general, we take our right to vote for granted. The first time I traveled to Europe in October of 1985 the US became embroiled in the Achille Lauro incident in the Mediterranean Sea. The US Department of State sent travel advisories all over the world encouraging US citizens to guard our passports with great caution, and to pass ourselves off as Canadian so as not to attract the unwanted attention of Palestinian terrorists. It was fascinating to hear what citizens of other nations thought of Americans. Some admired our power, our military, and our freedom. Others despised our arrogance, our pushiness, and our disregard for our affect on the rest of the world.

It has been said that when the USA sneezes the rest of the world catches a cold.

Having traveled to Palestine /Israel 25 years after my first international travel experience I was struck by the similarities. I have always maintained that humans don't evolve very quickly. But you would think that in this global age of instant news we would at least be better at getting along with, rather than bossing around others. The discontent in the Middle East is fueled by millions of US dollars pumped into that region annually to prop up an Israeli military out of loyalty to an historical ally, and as a result of a an extremely powerful and lucrative congressional lobby in the good old USA.

It isn't your average Israeli or Jew that's the problem. It isn't your average Arab or Palestinian that's the problem. It isn't the average US citizen that's the problem, regardless of who the President is or isn't. It's that we all collectively tolerate fundamental extremism within our respective borders, be it religious or military or both, and we forget that most human beings simply desire peace, food, dignity, shelter, respect, clothing, and safety.

My commitment in this transformation I am experiencing is to be an informed, issue-oriented voter who will remember that my vote isn't just about me and what I want as a Minnesotan living in the USA. I will do my best to remember my new friends in the Middle East, especially the Arab/Palestinian/Christian/Episcopal ones, and will vote as a Global Citizen. My relative comfort, safety, and affluence demand that I be an informed and responsible voter, not a narcissistic and uninformed one.

Would you consider joining me?

P.S. Obama is NOT a Muslim.

P.P.S. Not that it really matters anyway!

(Photos from top to bottom: Sunrise over the Dead Sea, Bedouin Camel in Judean Desert, Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, Faithful Muslims at the Mosque)

P is for Pilgrimage

Saturday morning I depart for Part I of my three part journey to The Holy Lands.

Yes, I have been blessed with the opportunity to travel to Israel/Palestine with a group of young pilgrims of The Episcopal Church for two weeks. There will be a total of 45 of traveling in the footsteps of Jesus, mostly by bus. . . .

But it's hot and we only have two weeks, so I am thankful for the bus and airplanes that Jesus didn't have at his disposal. Anyway, Part I is a morning flight to Charlotte, North Carolina, where I will be collected by my good friend and colleague, Abi. We'll have lunch with our pal Mary Cat and then head to Kanuga Camp and Conference Center, trip organizer and sponsor. There we will meet all kinds of friends and colleagues to engage our final trip preparation and orientation. We will worship together and begin Part II of the journey as we go back to Charlotte and fly to Philadelphia. Part III is a long over-night flight from Philly to Tel-Aviv. We land in Israel Monday morning - there is an eight hour time difference from my home zone of CDT.

I AM SOOOOOOO EXCITED!!!!!!!!!

As with all long trips and tours we have a plan that is subject to change. Our hopeful plan of pilgrimage includes the following locations, not necessarily in the order listed:

• Jerusalem - staying at St. George's College Guest House - tour Damascus Gate
• Mt. Scopus, Mount of Olives, City of David, King Hezekiah's Tunnel, Pool of Siloam
• Old City - Shrine of the Book (Dead Sea Scrolls), Rampart
• Bethlehem - Church of the Nativity (Oldest Church of Christendom), Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Peace Center to meet with Palestinian Youth

• Western Wall, Pools of Bethesda and St. Anne's Church
• Ramallah - St. Andrew's Guest House
• Village of Ein Arik - Palestinian Cultural Learning, Orthodox Church (Icons) Ancient Cisterns
• Judean Desert - Old Roman Road, Monastery of the Temptation
• Jordan Valley - Jericho, Nazareth, Mary's Well, Greek Orthodox Church of the Annunciation and Latin Church of the Annunciation (traditional sites of Angel Gabriel visiting Mary)
• Shefa Amr - Sepphoris/Zippori
• Jordan River - Gamla, Golan Heights
• Sea of Galilee - Church of the Multiplication (Feeding of the Five Thousand), Capernum (Synagogue), Mt. Beatitutde and Mt. Eremos, Kibbutz Ginnossar
• Masada (Herod's Palace)
• Qumran (where Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered), Dead Sea
• Bethany - church overlooking Lazarus, Martha and Mary's house
• Palm Sunday Road to Garden of Gethsemane
• Stations of the Cross from Emmaus - Via Dolorosa
• Home

I encourage those of you interested to Google the terms and location names above to learn more about where we get to go. I didn't create links for you because my dial-up connection would be overwhelmed trying to upload so many links when I publish this post.

I expect to be completely off the grid for these next two weeks. I will attempt to post a picture and reflection for the day if I have easy access to the Internet. I will be keeping my own journal that I may attempt to share upon my return - we'll see. One of my fellow pilgrims plans to blog the trip. She is a young adult on the staff at Kanuga. I haven't met Jessica Bodford yet, but her pre-pilgrimage posts on Into The Holy Land have been entertaining and helpful. She sounds as chatty as me, so make sure you have the time when you click over to her blog :)

Many of my readers are Christian believers, but several are not. Part of my thrill in making this pilgrimage is that we will be learning about all three Abrahamic faiths and visiting Holy sites that represent several faiths and their commonalities. There is hopefulness for peace in the Middle East if more people can find ways to respectfully acknowledge cultural and religious differences. So many horrible things have happened over the course of human history in the name of various religions. I'm thankful to have this opportunity to be on a Peaceful Pilgrimage rather than a Christian Crusade.

For my non-religious readers, both family and friends, I invite you to embrace the amazing and ancient aspects of the region in terms of cultural anthropology and human history. For my Christian companions, in addition to the aforementioned, imagine the mystery. I know that all of you will send prayers and wishes for safe travel as I will hold all of you in my prayers.

I pledge to carry each of you with me on my journey; in my heart and with my prayers.

Prayers before setting out on a pilgrimage

(I Googled and pulled this from another Episcopal Pilgrim's Blog :)

God of the guiding star, the bush that blazes

Show us your way

God of the stormy seas, the bread that nourishes

Teach us your truth

God of the still, small voice, the wind that blows where it chooses

Fill us with life

God of the elements, of our inward and outward journeys

Set our feet on your road today.

May God bless us with a safe journey

May the angels and saints travel with us

May we live this day with justice and joy.

Amen.

A is for Adventure

The Skov Family Vacation was truly an adventure. The Tuesday following the previous post was Packing Day and ended up being Departure Day as well. The boys were eager to hit the road once the truck was packed for our Montana Family Rendezvous in my sister's hometown, Choteau(Wiki-link), approximately 1200 miles from our home. We did what we've been doing since Joren was an infant; drove straight through the night to our destination. It's much easier now that there are four drivers, although I seem to sleep less comfortably at this age when it's not my turn to drive.

We had a fantastic time visiting my sister and her family: Wendy, her husband Mike, and their son Calvin. We were joined by my mother's little brother, Eric, and his wife, Deb, and their adult children Rachel and Adam, plus Adam's fiance, Jen. My dad made an appearance, too, which was totally cool.

We spent the weekend of the Fourth of July in Choteau(community blog link) for a variety of events. My personal highlights included the Keg Hockey Tournament (Adam, Arthur and Joren, dubbed "The Foreigners," won one round in five at the fire hose and managed to drench me in the process), the parade (in which a cow boy was literally riding a HUGE steer saddled up like a horse), the Wild Cow Milking Contest at the Rodeo, and amazing fireworks displays (private and public).

In keeping with the theme of this blog, I must admit that the Backyard highlight of the trip was the morning the hail storm that passed through as I was walking the dog. These pictures show the four inches of hail that accumulated between our tent and the sandbox, and the defoliating effect on Wendy's garden. It was spectacular and caused Nessie and me to take cover against a garage in an alley for almost five minutes!

We made our way from Choteau to Glacier National Park on Monday to celebrate Mike's birthday and stayed at East Glacier Lodge the first night with Gramps before we made camp at Fish Creek Campground on the west side of the park. On Monday we had a private Red Bus Tour in the cold, misty, rain. My dad, the semi-professional photographer took this shot at Logan Pass after riding up Going-to-the-Sun Road only 10 days after the pass was plowed clear for traffic.

After an amazing time with family in Montana we headed home (yes, driving straight through) and arrived back in our own backyard on Friday around noon. Marisol (Arthur's delightful girlfriend) and her sister Xillian created a wonderfully colorful and creative chalk mural on our driveway to welcome us home. Marisol kept all the gardens watered and animals healthy while we were gone. She has raised the bar for the Skovmen when I am away from home for work!

We reconnected with most of our friends upon our return over the weekend.  These remaining backyard shots portray Mike's latest project in creating a new yard game in preparation for Barb's family reunion. He and Dale put the finishing touches on the Ladder Golf Game.

Please note two items of personal interest:

1. some golf balls (two orange ones) have an interior that makes drilling and threading particularly difficult and
2. I scored the first Trifecta Toss in the Flinn's Backyard.

Thanks be to God for safe travel, family, and friends!

P.S. Latest news from Captain-Lumberjack-Steve and Princess Kathy: "Old Boat Syndrome strikes again" stated Steve's text message this morning. I understand they broke down near Trempeleau on the Mississippi. Stay tuned! More soon . . . . .