"It Wasn't My Line"

I came across An Inspirational Video by Sebastien Montaz-Rosset the other day, called "Revelation: A Visual Poem"  In a rare moment of quiet in my home, I was able to sit back and really take it in, the words and images which are so inspiring.  My favorite line came early in the clip, "I towed the line, it wasn't my line".

It wasn't my line.

Ah, how many times have I felt that way?  How many times have you?  As a wife and mother, I have always felt that my family is perfect just the way it is.  We each have our separate personalities which I have made a point to glorify.  I have spent my entire adult life supporting and promoting the dreams of my husband and my children because, without even being conscious of this desire, it is very much my desire to help them become who they are; not someone else's idea of who they are.

Somewhere in all of that, though, I got lost.  There are only so many hours in a day, and most moms devote so much of their time to the family (as it should be) that little time is left for anything else.  At times, I think to myself, rather selfishly, "Who will I be, when the kids are grown up?"

Once I get over myself and think rationally again, it occurs to me that the choices I have made were mine.  I do not regret them.  Now that the kids are growing older and need less of me, I am faced with the question of who I will be when they go away.  I will always be their mom.  I just won't always devote all of my time to their needs because they will be doing what I have raised them to do; making their own choices and being responsible for their own lives.

What will be my line?

Gathering strength from the deep philosophical views on Pinterest, I've been thinking about my future.

I just like this one!

Yada, yada, yada.  Where does my heart lead me?  What is fun for me?  What do I dream about with passion?  Whatever the question, the answer is always the same.  I must be in my beloved woods.  How do I turn my walks in the woods into a career?  Therein lies the problem.  But then I receive inspiration from a random video, and with it comes the hope that someday, a long time from now, I can tow my own line.

When I envision who I will be, it falls under the category of part-time semi-adventurer.

It most certainly will not include yoga on a tightrope between mountain peaks.  It won't include running through the woods; I walk briskly, at best.  It won't include mountain climbing or off-road cycling or jumping off a cliff with a parachute.  But I think that maybe, just maybe, the line I tow might include inspiration.  Possibly, I can experience the outdoors with less adventure and inspire others to do the same.  I don't know if I can make a career out of it, but according to Pinterest, I can.

I spend what amounts to too much time, according to my family, alone in the woods.  From my perspective, I don't go there often enough.  We're working on finding that balance.  In the meantime, I take what I can get with the family's support, using each experience as a lesson for the future.

People have asked me why I want to leave my family to go off alone in the middle of nowhere.  My answer is simple.  From time to time, I briefly leave my family, but my family never leaves me.

Last February when I was walking Drummond Island alone, at the sight of a massive 14pt Buck I instinctively pointed it out to my son, only to remember he wasn't at my side.  Hiking the woods near the Two Hearted River by myself, I exclaimed over a pretty wildflower that my little Bean would love, had she been walking with me.  Out in the middle of nowhere, I think of all the things I want to tell my daughter who is soon to leave for college.  I walk alone, but I feel my kids and my husband in my heart, I silently speak to them, and I take lots of pictures to share with them later.

I travel alone because it is only in solitude that I can open myself up to being nothing.  I don't need to be in a role in the wilderness.  I belong to no one but God.  It is this time alone, a time of being nothing, that allows me to come home and be everything my family needs.  I go alone and empty myself so I can come home and be filled up again by the people I love most.  Put that on Pinterest!

I don't know yet what my line is.  I'm okay with it.  There is time yet for me, the right time is just ahead.  And the woods will be there waiting for me, while the mountains call to the real adventurers.  For now, I will focus on my family, taking a few days here and there to self impose a time-out while I live in a tin can, push myself to my physical unpotential, search for my elusive wolf, and walk alone in the woods.  The time alone is my line reconnecting me to the rest of my heart.  If I walk that line very carefully, keep it delicately balanced between home and the wilderness, it will never break.  

You've Got Four Wheel Drive, Right? - Part 1

Two women set out on an adventure.  It was supposed to be a three hour tour, but like the Captain and Gilligan, things didn't quite turn out that way.  We got hopelessly lost in the wilderness of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, where friendly strangers who give helpful directions are few and far between.  We did, however, encounter a few strangers who gave bad directions.  They were lost, too.

But being lost in the wilderness isn't always a bad thing, if you are prepared.  We were not.

As we gathered ourselves that morning, we discussed the plan.  Debbie was really nervous about retracing my earlier steps to Clark Lake, but I was being stubborn because I so wanted her to experience it.  I promised her a quick ten minute hike, since I now knew I could drive to the parking area instead of walk to it, take in the beauty of an uninhabited lake, walk ten minutes back to the car and she would be done.  I compromised on the rest of the plan, promising that we would drive more and hike less, and she could stay in the Yukon any time I set out to explore.

I gave us an hour in the plan to see Clark Lake, then we would drive another 30 minutes or so, according to my map, to the Two Hearted River.  This was a very personal quest for me; when I was a young child, my parents took me there, but due to a series of mishaps we only spent a few minutes at the river and I have always dreamed of going back.  Debbie planned to stay in the car for this part, so I gave myself an hour to explore the river, then another 30 minutes back to civilization in the form of a brewery at the Upper Tahquamenon Falls.  I said to Debbie,

"Trust me.  Three hours from now you'll be sipping wine and surrounded by people".

This isn't my idea of exploring the wilderness, but I was so happy that Debbie had agreed to join me, I was willing to alter my adventure to give her some peace of mind.  I wanted her to enjoy it, pushing a little bit outside of her comfort zone without ruining her recent appreciation for camping.

I put a couple of bottles of water in my Yukon, a blanket, my hiking stick, and my gun.  Debbie came out of the tin can wearing designer boots (at least the heel was flat), a ski jacket beautifully accessorized with a silk scarf, and carrying a telescopic pole in one hand, a can of pepper spray in the other.  Huh.
I once again reassured her that we would not see any snakes or bear, or moose, or mountain lions.  Trust me.

Rooney jumped in the back of the Yukon and we set out.  The road to the Clark Lake trail head was only two miles away, but the two-track to the trail was not in very good shape, so it was slow going.  Once we parked, Debbie did not want to get out of the car.  She was a bit dismayed by the fact that we really were in the middle of nowhere, and far removed from civilization.  She admitted to being really scared, but took a few deep breaths and got out of the car.  It wasn't until we had been on the trail for a few minutes that I realized just how frightened she was.  I started regretting my decision to push her, but in the spirit of adventure Debbie forged on.

She kept up a constant stream of noise, holding her pepper spray out in front of her.  She called out to the bear, "Yoo hoo, bear, we're coming!"  She whistled.  She talked.  Loudly.  Finally I begged her to just take in the incredible quiet and beauty around us, but she was incapable, so I joined her by singing patriotic songs at the top of my lungs.  There we were, hiking up a stunning trail in the wilderness, me with my gun at the ready, Debbie calling out and pointing pepper spray in every direction, pointy pole poised in front of her, singing "God Bless America".  Rooney looked back at us like we were crazy.  Maybe we were, but Debbie was out there, putting one foot in front of the other, and I was about to show my friend a place of untouched natural beauty and calm.

Prepper Debbie!

As soon as we came within sight of Clark Lake, Debbie fell silent.  Our surroundings made her fear fall away and her exhilaration return.  Clark Lake is that beautiful!  We sat on the ground at the top of a steep bank overlooking the lake.  There was total silence, broken only by a quick wind.  Even Rooney stopped panting and simply stared at the water.  This is what I wanted Debbie to experience, to feel.  I wanted her to breathe in her surroundings and feel the touch of God on her shoulder.

I think Debbie was a little less scared on the hike back.  Rooney's escapade of stealing the bowl of butter toffee peanuts came back to haunt him several times on that walk.  We never found out if a bear shits in the woods, but Rooney definitely does.  Debbie was visibly relieved to see the car, but she was quieter as we walked, and I hope that she was feeling a bit of what I feel when hiking in the wilderness.

Me, Rooney, and Clark Lake

It wasn't until we drank some water and were safely driving back out the two track that I confessed my dirty little secret to her.  When I had hiked out here a couple of days ago, I saw a snake.  So much for trusting the firewood guy.  Or me.

Rooney tangled around a tree

We were headed to the River!  I was so excited to see it again!  I turned onto a dirt road, County Road 500.  Having studied Google Maps for hours, I knew right where to go.  As we drove north, we passed a turnoff for Culhane Lake.  It looked intriguing.  We turned around and went back to take pictures, encountering three men who were scouting out fishing places.  Chatting with them, I mentioned where we were going, and they remarked that they didn't know where the Two Hearted River is, but assumed we were heading to Crisp Point to see the lighthouse.  Since Debbie has never seen a lighthouse, I asked them how far away it is.  They said it was just seven miles up the road, saying,

"You've got four-wheel drive, right?"

We altered our plan a bit and followed signs for Crisp Point.

Crisp Point was one of four original Lake Superior Life Saving Stations.  Fifteen acres of land with a quarter mile of Lake Superior frontage were purchased in 1903 for $30, and the light became operational in 1904.  Since then, the severe weather conditions of Lake Superior have decreased the acreage through erosion to less than 3 acres today.  The tower stands 58' in height, and the station included a service building attached to the tower, a two family brick keepers house, a fog signal building, a boat house, oil house, and barn.  Over the years, all buildings have been so vandalized that in 1965 the Coast Guard destroyed all buildings except the lighthouse tower and the attached service building.  Storms and erosion have also taken a toll on the structures.  In 1993, the light was decommissioned, but since then the Luce County Historical Society has taken over the lease and raised funds to restore the service building, build the visitor center, construct boardwalks, and bring in large boulders and vegetation to slow down the effects of erosion.  Today, it stands as a reminder to days gone by, and is wonderfully restored for visitors to enjoy.

The dirt county road 414 to Crisp Point was treacherous as soon as we left 500, but well marked with signs telling us how many miles we had to go.  About a mile in, I had to stop and engage four wheel drive, then we blundered onward.  Those seven miles took about 45 harrowing minutes to drive, but worth every second of panic when the wheels spun and  the car slid around hairpin turns.  All of a sudden the road ended and we were staring at a concrete building with a parking lot.  I said to Debbie,

"Oh, thank God, there's a bathroom!"

We parked, and as I approached the bathroom I burst out laughing at the sign on the door.

Debbie and I went into the Visitors Center, where there is information about the Lighthouse and sweatshirts and other trinkets.  We each bought a Crisp Point sweatshirt to always remember our adventure by, then Debbie asked the keeper about wildlife.  He took us outside and showed us the tracks of a very large bear that had walked through that morning, with her cub.  Debbie's eyes got very big at the sight of them, and she asked the keeper about coyote (yup) and foxes (yup) and moose (plenty) and mountain lions.  The keeper replied, "We have cougars.  Those are mountain lions".

"Trust me?  TRUST me?" she said to me.  I'm pretty sure Debbie will never trust me again.

Debbie and the Bear Track

The Keeper's Camper

Crisp Point Lighthouse is immaculately cared for by a procession of keepers who have the privilege of guarding over it for a 5 day stretch.  This keeper had his motorhome parked by the shop, he told us he was only able to get it there because the road is in such good shape at the moment.  That was the road in good shape?  I wouldn't be able to drive it if it was in bad shape.  We walked out to the lighthouse, climbed to the top, and snapped pictures of the breathtaking view.

Boardwalk to Lighthouse

Back at the car, I let Rooney out and asked the keeper if he could walk on the beach.  Normally, that's not allowed, but there were so few people around, he said it would be okay.  Of course, he was unaware of Rooney's digestive problem, and I forgot about it.  Rooney and I joined Debbie on the shore of Lake Superior, I unsnapped his leash, and he had the time of his life!  Running head down into the waves, diving, swimming, running out onto the beach, up to the woods, and back again.  He acted like a puppy, and I loved being able to allow Rooney to have his own adventure!  As we walked, he ran down the beach when suddenly I saw him stop, back up, and squat.  I yelled "Nooooooooo!" but it was too late.  Marking the spot with a piece of driftwood, I later had to walk back with a plastic bag.  Damn butter toffee peanuts.

Rooney Enjoying the Beach!

Walking back to the parking lot, we encountered an older couple who called out "Hey!  It's Rooney!"  Wondering how my dog got to be so famous, I then recognized the couple from the campground.  They couldn't remember my name, but they knew my dog's.  Whatever.

We spent two hours at Crisp Point, and even though we were way off schedule, it was worth it, because the beauty and the peace we experienced walking on the beach rejuvenated us for the rest of the day.  Debbie got to climb to the top of her first Lighthouse, we took our shoes off and let the frigid waters of Lake Superior numb our feet, and Debbie didn't make any noise walking on the beach.  It was blissful.

As we were leaving, I asked the keeper if he knew how to get to the Two Hearted River from Crisp Point.  He had never heard of it (apparently he doesn't read Hemingway either) but I thought if we retraced our route back to 500, I would be able to get us there.

Rooney was passed out in the backseat, the sun was warming our faces, and this unpredicted gorgeous day in October was just about perfect.  Our water bottles were empty, we were getting hungry and didn't have any food, but we would still make it to the brewery by 2:00pm, I assured Debbie, and with my four wheel drive engaged, we left Crisp Point for the Two Hearted River.   Only 30 minutes, and I would make another dream come true!

That 30 minutes turned into 6 hours, but that's a story for another day.

I'm Not A Real Camper

Yesterday I reached a personal goal of 500 pageviews on my blog.  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to the people who have taken the time to check out what Peace In A Tin Can is all about.

Serious writers and bloggers may think 500 views in one month is no big deal, but since I am new to blogging it is a very big deal for me.  In my excitement, I sent a text message to a few friends sharing my reached goal, and was surprised to hear such encouraging and positive comments back from them.  I floated through my afternoon with a warm, fuzzy feeling in my heart, proud of myself for moving on from a lost job that I loved to something positive.  Writing has been a dream of mine since I read "A Little Princess" by Frances Hodgson Burnett when I was 8 years old.  I was so drawn into the story that I promised myself one day I would write a story that filled someone's head with dreams and pushed them into doing something they never thought they could do.  I still have that dream, but sadly no story to tell yet, so I am dipping my toes in the literary waters by blogging.

The friends who responded to my text were all young people who have worked for me in the past at the Lake.  Because we worked long hours in the summer season, I got to know these young adults, and I'm pretty sure I earned their respect.  Many of these kids have become close family friends and heros to my kids.  Coming from them, kind words mean so much, since they are all studying for college finals right now and preparing to enter the real world, yet still share in my excitement.  Still riding on that high, I called an old friend, one I rarely see but keep in touch with.  She is a camper as well, and since I had sent her links to my blog I was anxious to hear her reaction.

Her reaction was not what I expected, and left me speechless.  The first thing she asked was what is my blog about.  I guess I can safely assume she is not one of the 500 pageviews.  I told her it's about camping in Michigan, with some personal reflections thrown in for good measure.  Her next comment broke my heart a little bit.  She said,

"But you're not even a real camper."

Huh?  Apparently she thinks that because I camp in the tin can, I am not a real camper.  She went on to say things like microwaves and air conditioning have no place in the woods, a comfortable bed is not camping, and so on.

It occurs to me that my friend has paid no attention whatsoever to the things I've been doing the past several years.  I love tent camping.  Shorter trips require nothing more for me than a tent, a sleeping bag, some food and water, and a campfire.  I often seek solitude in the woods and gravitate toward a more rustic experience.  BUT, I also enjoy longer trips in the Airstream.  It should be noted here that my unrestored Airstream is not luxurious.  I do not have air conditioning, the tin can isn't even insulated.  There are holes in the floor.  I added the microwave last year because sometimes it rains and I can't cook over an open fire.  The tin can is basic and simple, a bed inside and a sink where I can wash my face and hands.  My husband graciously had the plumbing re-done, so as of this year I can use the bathroom and shower.  When I camp for two weeks, at some point I need a shower!

Whether I camp in a tent or in the tin can, I am outside all day regardless of the weather.  I ride my bike on single track trails, I hike, I chop wood, I cook over the fire.  I do not sit in my camper and watch TV, I go outside to roam my beloved woods and streams, I wade into lakes and kayak down rivers.  I only go in my camper late at night, after my fire has burned down, to sleep.  I consider that camping.

Truth be told, I consider every person in a campground to be real campers, even the retired folks in the fancy RV's.  They choose to be outside, they embrace the nature around them, they are walking and moving and spending quality time outside.  That's camping.

My friend's comments were hurtful and petty.  I have always considered her to be my oldest and dearest friend and now I'm wondering if that's true.  I don't think she really knows anything about me, who I am and what I do, what matters to me.  I will hesitate to share good news with her again.

Maybe I'm not a real camper.  I like to decorate my campsite with pretty things from home, I can't go camping without my laptop because then I couldn't write.  I prefer sleeping in a tin can, off the ground, snake-free.  I make my bed every day in the tin can, which means I straighten out my sleeping bag and zip it up, because I like a clean and organized area.  As shameful as this is, I bought an antenna for the tin can and go in the camper every day at 5:00pm to watch a fuzzy broadcast of the local news and weather.  I am obsessed with weather.  I actually plan my hikes so I can be at the camper at 5:00pm. But by 5:20, I'm back outside.

I'm not a real camper.  I should be embarrassed that I shower in the tin can in a 3ft. wide space that includes the toilet.  I have to turn the water on and off while I shower, because I only have about 2 minutes of hot water.  Not comfortable, but you won't hear me complaining.  I don't pee outside.  I have a little heater.  Goodness, I even have real dishes…AND a coffee pot that brews automatically at 6:00am every morning.  I am a fake, a fraud, an offense to real campers everywhere.  I deal with it.

So maybe my old friend gave me an hour or two of self-doubt yesterday.  Old habits die hard and it takes little criticism for me to start feeling bad about myself.  Fortunately, my friend Debbie contacted me later with words of support and encouragement, and I moved past the hurt and focused again on looking forward.

I can always count on Debbie.  She is the 5-Star Luxury Resort kinda gal who fought my efforts to get her into my woods for years.  Then a couple of years ago, Debbie was going through a rough time and just needed to get away for a while, so out of pure desperation she joined me for 2 nights on my Fall camping trip.  The 2 nights turned into 4, and Debbie was hooked.  She now accompanies me occasionally, and I am always happy when she joins me.  Of course, Debbie's not a real camper either, she brings wine.

Along with Debbie, and the friends I texted yesterday - Alex and Charles - I have daily support from my husband and children, who believe in me even when I don't.  And I have 500 readers.  That's enough for me.  How lucky am I to have so much support?  I think I can live without the endorsement of all the real campers.

Today, I hope my readers will go outside.  I will think no less of you if getting outside means driving with the car windows down, or just walking to the mailbox.  We all do what we can to enjoy the outdoors, and I am proud of you for trying.  Keep on keeping on, eh?  Have a spectacular day!