The view from our bedroom door/window. |
Last week my family and I spent seven days in a cabin on an
island in northern Minnesota. We found this Shangri-La two years ago and
honestly thought we would never be fortunate enough to experience it again. But
as luck would have it, there was a cancellation the week of the Fourth of July and the caretakers offered it to us on a whim. At nearly 11pm on a cold
February night I responded to the email without question, “Yes! We will come!”
Six months passed and our allotted time finally arrived. On
the heels of a week full of family visiting from out of state, we took off for
the island exhausted and ready for the quiet peacefulness offered by a small
piece of land completely surrounded by beautiful clear lake water. With our first
visit back in 2010 vivid in my mind, I could hardly wait to sit out on
the deck in the cool breeze, read the books I had brought, fish the abundant
waters, fill myself on camp food and nap whenever the need arose.
The day before we were set to take off, John (of John and
Kim, the owners/caretakers) called us to warn us that they had had record
rainfall and that the lakes were at least three feet above their normal levels.
There were no beaches and most docks were completely under water. He assured us
that he had created a makeshift solution and we should have no problem getting
onto the island. John, the eternal optimist.
When we arrived at the mainland dock, we were immediately
amazed at the height of the water. He was right, there were no beaches and
everyone’s docks were under water. What we also noticed was that due to the
damming of the lakes being fed by the Mississippi, the waters were full of
tannin. Tannin is humic acid that is left in the water from decaying
vegetation, primarily leaves. Our clear lake water looked like root beer –
dark, dark brown with a reddish tinge. On a positive note, as John put it,
“it’s as warm as bathwater”. And it most definitely was!
Our first day on the island. |
Our first day there was mostly spent setting up camp and
running back into town for groceries. Our week would eventually include my
oldest daughter and her family as well as my parents, so this food haul would
be a big one – about $500 worth. Running to the store is no easy endeavor when
you are on an island, so we wanted to get everything all in one trip. Being that
our day started around 5am, we had traveled over half a day to get there and
the temperature was creeping near 100 degrees with high humidity (no air
conditioning in our vehicle or in the cabin)
– we ended our first day absolutely exhausted. I use the word “we” very
loosely as I did very little of this work. Just managing to stay cool and not
get sick was my number one priority. This was Saturday.
Sunday was another very hot and humid day. As the afternoon
approached the skies turned a thick dark gray. With a storm on the horizon we
told the girls that we could go out on the pontoon for only a short while. I
think we left around 6pm. After less than an hour of fishing, Dave gave the
two-minute warning. Not wanting to end our first trip short I joked with, “Ah,
just five more minutes?” Nope, we’re heading back. There was to be no
discussion.
You hear stories about people not having time to react when
bad weather hits. I’ve learned not to take this fact of nature lightly. When we
arrived onto the island we walked up the hill toward the cabin. I noticed that
the girl’s suits and towels were still hanging on the line. I told Dave he
should grab them so that they don’t get all wet. As he walked over to the line
I noticed this wall coming across the water. It was not a wall of rain. It was
simply a wall and it was coming fast. I yelled at him to leave the suits and
come into the cabin. We barely made it into the cabin and the floor began to
shake.
The cabin. |
There is no basement. The cabin sits atop a hill on a cinder block foundation. The only place for us to go was to situate ourselves in
front of the stone fireplace on the opposite side of the wind. Before we could
even get huddled together on the stone ledge the trees around us began to snap.
Some being pulled completely out of the ground, others were snapping off half
way to the top. The noise was like nothing I have ever heard. For our
teenagers, the whole ordeal was somewhat like a roller-coaster ride. Nervous
laughter filled the air. For me, wisdom and experience made this the most
frightening storm of my life. In a matter of less than ten minutes, our
peaceful island looked like a war zone.
This picture was actually taken on our 2010 trip, but gives you a good idea of where we sat during the storm. |
We were standing in front of the window to the left just as this tree went down. |
Every building was spared. Not one tree fell on a roof. The
largest tree fell right on top of the clothesline that Dave had been standing
at when I yelled for him to come in. It literally fell right between the two
trees that were holding the line up. For the next couple of hours we sat in the
dark as storm cells passed through. Around 11pm we heard a faint voice calling
out in the dark, “Is everyone okay?” It was John! Somehow he had made it on his
barge/pontoon across the lake. As my husband said that night, he looked like
the old man and the sea. Covered from head to toe in rain gear and a small
headlight attached to his forehead, he came walking toward the cabin with
coolers and ice in hand. By nights end he had supplied us with a place to put
our food and lamps to see by. Night
number two, we fell into our beds exhausted and hot, barley sleeping in order
to keep our ears open for the next storm cell. That was Sunday.
John, the day after the storm hit. |
This is the tree that went down on the clothesline. |
One of the trees that snapped in the middle. |
Monday morning John and Kim arrived with their good friends
Ed and Gloria. The kind of friends that you can call at midnight the night
before that hop in their car, no questions asked, and drive for hours with chainsaws
in hand in order to help you out in a bad situation. The kind of friends that
spend the next two days from sunrise to sunset in stifling heat and humidity
cutting, lifting and raking all the while with smiles on their faces and
laughter to ease the pain. All the while making sure we had what we needed –
even a generator to run the fridge and water pump so we could have water to
drink and a toilet to use. Remember, everything has to come over by boat. And
once here, has to make it’s way onto the island and up a hill – a hill now
covered with fallen trees. I’ve never seen people work so hard. That was Monday
and Tuesday.
Ed, making his way through the next tree. |
John..."Everything has a process." And so it does. |
From left to right: Kim, John, Gloria and Ed. "The Fearless Four"! |
By Wednesday the sky had cleared and the electricity seemed
as if it was going to stay on. Finally, we could cook, see clearly at night and
run our fans! I called my daughter as well as my folks and told them that they
might want to consider staying home. Even though the storm had finally moved
out, it was hot and the electricity situation was sketchy at best. Neither took
me up on the suggestion. By Wednesday morning Aleela, Keith and baby Adella
arrived. By Wednesday afternoon my parents stepped foot on the island. By
Wednesday evening the second storm was on its way. This one forecasted to be
worse than the first, 80+ mph straight line winds, damaging hail and
lightening. This time we all barely made it off the island. Thankfully we had
rented my folks a motel room in town due to the heat, so we all headed that
direction. Let me tell you, I was in complete panic mode. When Keith notified
me (he has satellite internet service on his phone) that the storm was on its
way, my heart just sank. How could we have put all these loved ones in this
danger? Why didn’t I tell them all to stay home? But there was no time for
remorse, we packed up the bare necessities, ran down the hill and boarded the
pontoon. Every second we were on that water seemed like an eternity. All I
could imagine was that wall coming across the water again. There was no way we
would stay afloat. Once again, we barely set foot on shore, ran up to our
vehicles and the wind hit. Branches blowing across the road we sped towards
town. We waited storm number two out at the Timber Lodge Hotel and by nightfall
we were back on the island with no electricity. That was Wednesday.
Emma and Leslie coloring by sunset. |
Thursday the heat and humidity moved out and we had a simply
lovely day. My parents had purchased a one-day fishing license and Thursday was
the day. We spent the morning and the better part of the afternoon under the
shade of the pontoon canopy pulling up sunfish barely big enough to swallow a
hook. And swallow it they did! Most of our catches were thrown back in only to
be gobbled up by the eagles that surrounded us. One keeper in all, but it was a
perfect outing. It’s been years since I have fished with my mom and dad. I will
cherish those hours for the rest of my life. As our luck would have it, for
some random reason the electricity went out again Thursday evening. There were
thousands still with out power, so my guess is that whatever the fix was, it was
temporary at best. That was Thursday.
Keith, finding a few hours to fish between storms. |
Friday we awoke to extremely overcast skies, torrential rain
and no electricity. It rained all day. The temperature dropped significantly and the cool breeze made it sweatshirt weather. A welcome change!! Thanks to
Aleela and her ability to make just about any situation fun, the teenagers had
a wonderful last night at the cabin. They stayed up late playing cards and
pictionary and I was lulled to sleep by the sound of their laughter floating up
the stairs to our room. That was Friday.
Adella and I, watching the rain at 5am, waiting for the electricity to return. |
The girls playing cards Friday night. |
Saturday morning we all awoke at 4:30am with my granddaughter Adella. She was to be the alarm clock and with perfect timing she awoke on schedule. By 6:30 they were packed up and back on the mainland and by 7:30 we were in our van and heading into town. As we rode our fully loaded pontoon back to shore the weather could not have been more perfect. The air was crisp and still, the water like glass, the sky deep blue and the loons, not more than 20 feet away, calling back and forth to each other to greet the morning and bid us our farewell. It was surreal. No one spoke. There was only listening. There was only that moment, in that place, in that time.
I’m pretty sure if I could have listened into the minds of
my teenagers I would have heard quite a different “tune” than what I was
experiencing in that moment. By day three they were asking if we were going to
stay or go home. Roughing it is not exactly a 16-year-old's idea of a vacation.
Although, if they admit it or not, they had their moments of fun. Moms know
these things.
So here I sit. It’s Wednesday of the following week. We’ve
been home four and a half days and I’m still recovering. I think adrenalin (and
pain medication) kept me going and it was not until we arrived home that I
realized the toll the past two weeks took on me. Thankfully there was literally
nothing for me to do when I got home. Our daughter Anna stayed back this trip
due to work, and made our homecoming simply delightful. Once she heard how the
trip was going, she made it her goal to make sure I was able to rest the minute
I walked into the door. The house was absolutely spotless, the plants and
gardens watered, the laundry done, the refrigerator stocked, the garage clean,
the sheets changed…she didn’t miss a detail – even a welcome home sign on the
kitchen whiteboard. It was a gesture of love and compassion in its truest form,
and I was moved beyond words. This is my daughter, Anna.
I knew I wanted to write about the week eventually, but for
the first few days I really struggled - one, because of pure exhaustion, and
two, because I really did not know what or how I wanted to write. I wanted to
recount the week and its details, yet something was pulling at me, as something
always does. Something bigger.
As life will do after any vacation, it hit me pretty hard.
Even though our time on the island was full of it’s share of struggle and daily
maintenance, it was still a reprieve from the “norm”. And despite the coming
and going of weather and electricity, there were moments pregnant with beauty
and all that nature sings to our hearts in the spaces of stillness. These
minutes were enough to carry me away from the pain of illness, to empty my mind
of the family crisis and struggles left behind back home and to bring me comfort. There were times when
even though I felt like I was literally drowning, there was peace to be found
under the water. The peace that comes when you give up the struggle only to
realize that you can float. The peace that comes when you stop fighting against
what “is”.
Enjoying the last evening on the island after the rain cleared. |
This is the lesson I brought home with me. I didn’t realize
it at first. When life “hit” and I lay in bed crying, filling my head with
stories of “I can’t” and “this is too much” and the pain of things I have
absolutely no control over came rushing in like the flood waters up north – I
finally just let myself go under. Like the moment Dave looked at me during the
first storm and said, “Honey, this is all we can do” – I just had to let go. And
you know what – I float. When we stop struggling, we float. We just need to
rest enough of ourselves below the surface of things until we find ourselves
upheld. Believe me, this is not an easy thing to do. But the heart of
trust is believing you will be held up when you let go. It’s only under the
surface that we become weightless and things slow down. This letting go - this is faith. That we
cannot stay under for very long only affirms that we must let go again and again in
order to live life to its fullest.
Why didn’t we just head home after the first storm? That
seems pretty obvious to me now.
Peace,
Peace,
It's a little bit funny...
(for Sara Jane)
It's a little bit funny this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live
If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you
And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite cross
But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song
It's for people like you that keep it turned on
So excuse me forgetting but these things I do
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue
Anyway the thing is what I really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen
3 comments:
I am sorry that you faced so many struggles during your time away. But thank you for writing about it because it has reminded me of the fact that I need to "float" more and freak out less. It sounds like you have an amazing family, especially your daughter Anna!
Gosh,
I cannot believe all the caos that happened to your family during these "chosen" days. As I read it seemed like mother earth would not give up her lessons.
Thank goodness you were all okay..
I know your nerves were shattered..
but again- you let mother earth speak her words and you translated the meaning into your own heart.
You said so much,, I am still absorbing all your words.
love
tweedles
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