The boys and I were lucky enough to be able to once again make the trek up to our friend's cabin on a little island in a big lake just over the Canadian border. Just getting there sets the stage for adventure. We drove five hours north from the cities and parked our car at a little resort on the edge of Minnesota. There we unpacked our bags from the trunk and dangled our legs in the water while we waited for Dick, my friend's 80 year old powerhouse of a dad to appear on the horizon. Our friends had been at the cabin for a few days already and there was no way to contact them to let them know we had arrived. We had set an approximate time back before they had left and we had hoped to both hit it. Within a half hour of our arrival Dick zipped up in his boat and the boys' friends jumped out to help load us up. Dick could not let us leave 'civilization' without stocking up on ice, drinking water, and of course, an ice cream treat. Then it was off to Canadian customs (housed on a little island where the agent's kids swam happily in a bay as she did the hard work of asking us if we had any liquor or firearms. Firearms, no, fireworks, yes! but we didn't reveal that to her) and then north to the one acre island owned by Dick and Cec. Within 20 minutes of landing on the island Eli had slipped into the lake off a mossy rock and drenched 1/2 of his wardrobe for the week. But things dry.
We arrived on Monday and left on Friday and in between we let go of all our connections to the larger world and reveled in this little piece of paradise. Every morning after a breakfast that featured blueberries in a major role, Cec would attempt to intice the boys into an adventure or programmed activity of some sort. Although I do believe they appreciated her attention and desire to keep them occupied, they denied her each and every time. For they had their own plans. To make weapons out of sticks and forts out of reeds, to build their own civilization (complete with road blocks, customs, taxes, and perhaps a little piracy- where did all those no-bake bars go to?) to jump off rocks into the water and then to dry in the sun.
The adults were left to fend for ourselves, so we had to turn to books, or swims around the island, or to the blueberries. The endless fabulous beautiful blueberries. I spent a lot of time picking and not only did we eat blueberry pancakes, scones, and pies, but I returned with about 2 gallons of the little lovelies, although now I'm thinking why did I stop there? I am greedy for more, now that they are out of reach.
One time the boys were able to entice us out of a blueberry patch and over to the neighboring uninhabited island to play a game of capture the flag. I never captured anything but a lot of jail time. I swear I didn't realize the jail was located next to a particularly healthy blueberry bush until after my knock-down drag out capture. I did not give up with ulterior motives to sit in the sun and the wind and pick some treats for myself.
At one point I showed the boys how much fun a swamped canoe can be, if you swamp it on purpose and are ready for the consequences. After that they spent hours each day playing in and on and under the canoe, their shrill yells piercing the quiet day and reminding us that it is a terrific thing to be a child unleashed on a little piece of paradise. Theo made it through the entire week without once saying "Mom, I don't know what to do," a phrase which had been his refrain in the weeks leading up to this trip. And here's the beautiful thing- that week unleashed and unplanned and unplugged has had lasting effects. We're 10 days into our return into civilization and Theo still has not remembered those words. He has rediscovered the ability to make his own fun. I know it will not last forever, but maybe by the time it starts to wear off it will be the summer of 2011 and we will be once again sitting on a dock in northern Minnesota, dangling our legs in the cool water, and looking for Dick on the horizon.
No comments:
Post a Comment