The question is, can we sustain it without too much damage to the ship? These past two weeks have been wild, getting back to work, back to fencing, back to meetings, back to school. And school starts 40 minutes earlier. That doesn't seem like too much on paper, but at 7am, it makes a difference. I shouldn't complain because school still doesn't start until 8:30 and my boys don't have to get out the door til 8, but mornings are hard for one of my guys.
It's fairly stunning how quickly we go from the lazy days of summer where the boys and I had very little we HAD to do to this madcap pace of fall. We kept busy this summer and went on a serious number of adventures, but they were on our own terms for the most part. Now it feels like we are roaring down a treadmill set a notch too quickly but we can't take our hands off the railings long enough to turn the damn thing down. We're holding on for dear life. And we don't even really do sports on any type of serious level. The kids go to the fencing club when it works. We try to make it work twice a week so that it seems 'affordable', but we don't have to. I don't know how people function who have more kids doing more things.
Anyway- over the course of these last two weeks I kept seeing Luke and Han Solo bouncing around in their dumb old ricketly airship (i don't know what it's called and my boys will kill me for that) as they are trying to 'make the jump to light speed'. For a while there you don't know if the whole thing is going to crack up, but then they blast through and all is calm. They are cruising at light speed. This morning it finally felt like we have the systems in place to keep this machine running at this speed. I'm sure we will run in to an asteriod belt here soon and have to make some adjustments, but for right now we seem to be through the transition.
The question is, how long can you cruise at light speed before you burn through all of you fuel?
Friday, September 16, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
More Dunordian memories
We've been heading north in late July or early August for 9 straight years now. Since Theo was a trippy little toddler who spent the week getting up from falling over the roots and rocks. He's a bit more sure-footed now- and really, that's the magic of DuNord- you get to watch your kids stretch and grow and gain confidence. It's the same type of stuff that happens at any summer camp, but at DuNord the parents get to watch it happen. And surely, given the fact that the parents are there means that growth might not happen in such leaps and bounds as it would at Widji or Menogyn, but it seems as if there's time for that down the road.
Here are some favorite memories of the 2011 trip to our favorite 'cabin tent':
One day late in the week several of the boys in the crew went down to the boat dock to fish while the parents were enjoying a happy hour around a campsite. At some point Haakon made a quick appearance to ask/tell that they were going to take out kayaks. A couple parent representatives took their time getting down to the lakeside to serve as kayak porters and general lifeguards. Turns out that the boys didn't wait for us, but somehow managed to muscle down enough boats for all of them to be on the lake together. I love that they did not leave anyone behind, but must have worked together to get everyone ready to launch. And although they were technically breaking a rule by being on the water sans parent- they were looking out for each other and staying close to shore. We sat by the shore and soaked up the late afternoon sun while our boys scooted around, yelling out fish and frog sightings, and delighting in their new independence.
At the s'more singalong it got a bit brisk right there by the lake. So I zipped Lars into my sweatshirt and we proceeded to get a serious case of the giggles. Not only do I love laughing with Lars, but I adore the fact that all the kids are parented by a village for the week. We have 9 kids down at the cabin tents, and we function as an extended family with kids weaving in and out of the days interacting with a great crew of fabulous adults who love and cherish each and every one of them. One of my greatest joys is watching Eli get his sass going with Amy and Wally. He sasses respectfully, of course, and gamely takes anything they dish out as well.
I think every summer should include at least a couple evenings spent in exactly this fashion. Peering into the water off the end of a sturdy dock with some of your best friends.
While I have never done the polar bear swim, I like that my boys think it is the perfect way to start a day. They come back to the tent all chilled and clean and refreshed and ready for the day. And a cup of hot cocoa, of course.
Pete, Jay, and Max started coming up to DuNord last year. This summer they celebrated their 10th anniversary while there. My mom and dad made brownies and the 27 of us on our crew gathered after lunch out on the porch of the lodge to toast them. Great addition to an already great week.
Dunord, with the lake and the trees and the blueberries and the saunas and the sunshine, is truly a little bit of paradise. But what takes it over the top is the people. Not only our fabulous ghetto-dwelling cabin tenters, but the others we meet while we are there.
Here are some favorite memories of the 2011 trip to our favorite 'cabin tent':
One day late in the week several of the boys in the crew went down to the boat dock to fish while the parents were enjoying a happy hour around a campsite. At some point Haakon made a quick appearance to ask/tell that they were going to take out kayaks. A couple parent representatives took their time getting down to the lakeside to serve as kayak porters and general lifeguards. Turns out that the boys didn't wait for us, but somehow managed to muscle down enough boats for all of them to be on the lake together. I love that they did not leave anyone behind, but must have worked together to get everyone ready to launch. And although they were technically breaking a rule by being on the water sans parent- they were looking out for each other and staying close to shore. We sat by the shore and soaked up the late afternoon sun while our boys scooted around, yelling out fish and frog sightings, and delighting in their new independence.
Kid Sauna!
Every summer when we go to DuNord we stay over on the 'other side of the tracks'. The 'cabin tents' at PinePointe are always the last to get rented. They are kind of their own little village that sometimes smells a little too strongly of the nearby outhouse, and sometimes get a little swampy after a hard rain. But they are the only place we have ever stayed. And we love them. One of the reasons is that it is a little village- every tent with their own private space and fire ring, but a definite community feel as well. We stay with 3 other families and the kids run as a pack- visiting fire rings, looking for things to burn in the woods, tumbling off together to fish at the nearby dock or take out a kayak or play at the little 'park'. And we adults have monopolized and fully appreciated the quiet little barrel sauna that the rest of DuNord forsakes in favor of the authentic wood-burning Finnish sauna. They can have it- we love our barrel. Mostly we love it for the convenience and availability, but love it we do. Every night ends with the parents taking a trip to the sauna and then a dip in the lake. Every now and then over the years we've been able to entice the kids inside to try to sweat off some of the dirt and grime they've accumulated through hard playing in the woods- but its always taken a bit of convincing. This year was different. They declared Kid Saunas several times over the course of the week. I think the pictures below sum up how they felt about it....
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| Heading to the lake |
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| I love Eli's face in this one.... |
Nature's bugspray
Every summer as we head to DuNord I do some serious wondering/fretting about bug levels. DuNord is a little piece of paradise for sure, but sometimes the bugs don't allow me to realize that. The thing is- they come and they go. A week may start out with the flies nearly driving me out of my mind, and just when I'm ready to throw everything in the car and get out, they disappear. Other weeks start out relatively bug free only to spring a mid-week hatch of black flies on us. I've never been able to put my finger on conditions or events that trigger either the birth or death of the fly population. I guess it's always been enough to know that things can change dramatically at anytime- which is more soothing knowledge when the flies are bad than when they are not around.
2011 was one of our best bug weeks yet. Almost no mosquitoes or flies for the most of the week. This was a huge surprise, given the wet conditions of this summer. But there was something about Thursday of that week that brought out the flies. It started with a nip or two on the ankles at breakfast. By mid-afternoon we were at the beach with towels over our legs to ward off the onslaught. So I geared up in my full bug avoidance regalia for the evening auction out by the lake.
As we settled onto the benches for the event I noticed that there were quite a few dragonflies buzzing around. As the evening progressed, the dragonflies increased in number. And these weren't your dainty little damselflies. We're talking the big mamas that conjure images of prehistoric bugs, or aliens. They were dipping, looping, sailing all around us. And as the dragonflies increased the flies decreased. It was nature's bug spray, dancing all around us. More beautiful and less toxic than the type that comes in a bottle. I thought a perfect auction item out there at camp would be for someone to capture and train up a boxful of these critters- auction it as a person fly protection system. Wouldn't I love to open the box at my feet as I cooked dinner. Standing there sizzling up my peppers for taco night while dragonflies buzzed all around taking care of the pests. And then once they eat their fill they land back in the box for a nap, until I need them again. Man, I'd pay big bucks for that.
2011 was one of our best bug weeks yet. Almost no mosquitoes or flies for the most of the week. This was a huge surprise, given the wet conditions of this summer. But there was something about Thursday of that week that brought out the flies. It started with a nip or two on the ankles at breakfast. By mid-afternoon we were at the beach with towels over our legs to ward off the onslaught. So I geared up in my full bug avoidance regalia for the evening auction out by the lake.
As we settled onto the benches for the event I noticed that there were quite a few dragonflies buzzing around. As the evening progressed, the dragonflies increased in number. And these weren't your dainty little damselflies. We're talking the big mamas that conjure images of prehistoric bugs, or aliens. They were dipping, looping, sailing all around us. And as the dragonflies increased the flies decreased. It was nature's bug spray, dancing all around us. More beautiful and less toxic than the type that comes in a bottle. I thought a perfect auction item out there at camp would be for someone to capture and train up a boxful of these critters- auction it as a person fly protection system. Wouldn't I love to open the box at my feet as I cooked dinner. Standing there sizzling up my peppers for taco night while dragonflies buzzed all around taking care of the pests. And then once they eat their fill they land back in the box for a nap, until I need them again. Man, I'd pay big bucks for that.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Travel stories from yesteryear
Recently my cousin Jodi asked me to refresh her memory of the old 'rest stop story'. I think she wants to use it to let her kids know that their parents haven't ever really goofed up- I mean, they never left them at a rest stop. So I searched through this here blog, sure I had already aired this laundry, but alas, I could not find it.
Sorry Mom and Dad- here's the tale of how you left me at a rest stop. Twice. I may not be totally accurate on the dates/places. Many years have passed since these things have happened, and I've mostly moved on and left them behind. Mostly.
We were coming home from some long car trip. But we didn't just take car trips, we took van trips. And our van was one of kind: orange, with racing stripes outside and carpeting on the walls inside. My dad had kitted it out himself so the back had one bench seat right behind the driver, then the rest of the back was taken up by a queen sized bed with a lovely velour bedspread. This was the 70's. The bed rested on this plywood stand under which we stuffed all of our luggage. Or ourselves when we were playing hide and seek or looking for where my parents had hidden the christmas presents- but that was only when the van was in the garage- we never traveled under the bed. So we're in this van travelling east from some ramble out in the mountains. We stopped at a reststop. I know now that it was near St. Cloud, but back then, when I was just a wee elementary student (maybe 9?) I had no idea where we where, or how far from home. We stopped. Rodg and my brothers go out to pee. My mom and I were laying down in back- she was sick and I was trying to pass the time. I said I didn't have to go. My mom kept sleeping. Then, when the guys were all gone, I thought I had better get out and go, because Rodger did not take kindly to a kid asking to pull over and I knew I'd have to hold it for several hours if I didn't take advantage of this stop. I jumped out. My mom kept sleeping. I ran into the reststop and into the women's bathroom.
When I came out I headed toward the van. Or where it used to be. Gone. My first thought was, "Well, it is a big van, maybe someone made my dad park it in the truck parking..." but a quick look in that direction revealed no orange vans. So I walked down toward the highway, thinking, "it's big and bright, maybe I can still see it and can wave it down". Nope. Nothing orange in view on the highway. At this point I was getting a little nervous. I started looking around on the ground for a dime to use the pay phone. To call someone. Not sure who. Don't even know if this was pre-911 or not. But I couldn't find a dime and started getting a little teary. It was along this time that an elderly couple noticed the lone little girl and approached me. I told them that my parents left me and they asked if I gave them lots of trouble. I said, "No, but my brothers do." They must have talked amongst themselves and somehow contacted the police. A short while later a cruiser pulled up, sirens on, wheels spinning a bit on the dramatic pull in. This must have been a big moment of excitement in a troopers otherwise boring day.
Right away he asked me for the basics: name, age, phone number, home town. And this is where I really started crying. I wasn't sure of my hometown! I knew I lived at 210 Heritage Lane, and I could have sworn it was in New Brighton, but as we travelled with my parents and people asked where we were from, they always answered "The Twin Cities". So I was imagining this trooper having to drive all around both the Twin Cities (whatever they were) and New Brighton, looking for my little green house at 210 Heritage Lane. The officer didn't enlighten me that it was probably New Brighton, nor where in the heck we were. I didn't even know if we were back in Minnesota. He plopped me into the back seat (the back seat! Behind the bars!) turned his lights and sirens on and we took off onto the freeway.
As he was speeding towards the cities, he asked some questions (do you fight a lot with your parents? No, but my brothers do...) and gleaned the important piece of info that the van was equipped with a CB. Yep. It was the 70's. No cell phones. But CB's. He asked what channel they listened to and I told him that I remembered hearing "Breaker 1-9" with some regularity.
Meanwhile, back in the van: Jean's sleeping. Rodg is driving. Pete and Dave are minding their own business. Until Pete decides to try to get me in trouble for sitting in the front seat (these were tall backed seats that went up above our heads...) without a seat belt on. The conversation went something like this:
Pete: Gret, put your seat belt on!
Rodg: Gret's not up here.
Pete: Huh.
He then starts looking around- under the bed, and under the covers on the bed. My mom wakes up.
Jean: Pete, what are you looking for?
Pete: Gret.
Jean: WHAT????
Lots of crazy screaming action. I think. I wasn't there. I was in a cop car. Eventually they get on the CB and ask if anyone has heard anything about a lost girl. Some truckers indeed are chuckling away over the girl (me!) who was left at the rest stop and they hook my parents up with the trooper who has me. By this time the van has turned around and is travelling back towards the rest stop. The cop tells them to pull over and wait for us. Soon enough (30 miles from the rest stop???) we (the cop and I) see the big orange van on the side of the highway. He gets a little thrill by cruising through the center median and kind of spinning to a stop behind the van. He asks me to stay put while he asks my parents a few questions. Apparently he believes their story about an accidental misplacement and doesn't get too concerned about the brothers fighting thing I mentioned. He returns me to their custody with a stern warning to keep a better watch on their kids.
And they do. For a few years. Until one time while we were heading north for an epic bike ride in the canadian rockies with a second van full of cousins. I was WASHING THE WINDOWS of our van when my mom walked past me, got into the front seat, and drove away. Leaving me holding the window washer squeegie thing in the air. Wondering. Was this a new way to wash these big-ass windows? She'd pull forward, I'd stand still with the squeegie then she'd kick it in reverse and come back. Back and forth back and forth and the window is done. But no. She didn't kick it into reverse, didn't come back. Kept driving.
I acted quickly this time. I dumped my squeegie and jumped in the cousin van. They were concerned....did they want me to catch up to my family? Alert them that I was in their van? No. I did not. I was done with traveling with them and would be riding with my cousins for the rest of the trip.
After that, they did indeed keep me closer and never lost me again. I don't think I am too scarred from the experiences. There were several years where I did not get out of a car without making sure I was in possession of the keys, but beyond that, I was able to move on. Forgive them even. Now that I have my own kids, I do see how it all could happen. Although it hasn't. I'd like to get that on the record.
Sorry Mom and Dad- here's the tale of how you left me at a rest stop. Twice. I may not be totally accurate on the dates/places. Many years have passed since these things have happened, and I've mostly moved on and left them behind. Mostly.
We were coming home from some long car trip. But we didn't just take car trips, we took van trips. And our van was one of kind: orange, with racing stripes outside and carpeting on the walls inside. My dad had kitted it out himself so the back had one bench seat right behind the driver, then the rest of the back was taken up by a queen sized bed with a lovely velour bedspread. This was the 70's. The bed rested on this plywood stand under which we stuffed all of our luggage. Or ourselves when we were playing hide and seek or looking for where my parents had hidden the christmas presents- but that was only when the van was in the garage- we never traveled under the bed. So we're in this van travelling east from some ramble out in the mountains. We stopped at a reststop. I know now that it was near St. Cloud, but back then, when I was just a wee elementary student (maybe 9?) I had no idea where we where, or how far from home. We stopped. Rodg and my brothers go out to pee. My mom and I were laying down in back- she was sick and I was trying to pass the time. I said I didn't have to go. My mom kept sleeping. Then, when the guys were all gone, I thought I had better get out and go, because Rodger did not take kindly to a kid asking to pull over and I knew I'd have to hold it for several hours if I didn't take advantage of this stop. I jumped out. My mom kept sleeping. I ran into the reststop and into the women's bathroom.
When I came out I headed toward the van. Or where it used to be. Gone. My first thought was, "Well, it is a big van, maybe someone made my dad park it in the truck parking..." but a quick look in that direction revealed no orange vans. So I walked down toward the highway, thinking, "it's big and bright, maybe I can still see it and can wave it down". Nope. Nothing orange in view on the highway. At this point I was getting a little nervous. I started looking around on the ground for a dime to use the pay phone. To call someone. Not sure who. Don't even know if this was pre-911 or not. But I couldn't find a dime and started getting a little teary. It was along this time that an elderly couple noticed the lone little girl and approached me. I told them that my parents left me and they asked if I gave them lots of trouble. I said, "No, but my brothers do." They must have talked amongst themselves and somehow contacted the police. A short while later a cruiser pulled up, sirens on, wheels spinning a bit on the dramatic pull in. This must have been a big moment of excitement in a troopers otherwise boring day.
Right away he asked me for the basics: name, age, phone number, home town. And this is where I really started crying. I wasn't sure of my hometown! I knew I lived at 210 Heritage Lane, and I could have sworn it was in New Brighton, but as we travelled with my parents and people asked where we were from, they always answered "The Twin Cities". So I was imagining this trooper having to drive all around both the Twin Cities (whatever they were) and New Brighton, looking for my little green house at 210 Heritage Lane. The officer didn't enlighten me that it was probably New Brighton, nor where in the heck we were. I didn't even know if we were back in Minnesota. He plopped me into the back seat (the back seat! Behind the bars!) turned his lights and sirens on and we took off onto the freeway.
As he was speeding towards the cities, he asked some questions (do you fight a lot with your parents? No, but my brothers do...) and gleaned the important piece of info that the van was equipped with a CB. Yep. It was the 70's. No cell phones. But CB's. He asked what channel they listened to and I told him that I remembered hearing "Breaker 1-9" with some regularity.
Meanwhile, back in the van: Jean's sleeping. Rodg is driving. Pete and Dave are minding their own business. Until Pete decides to try to get me in trouble for sitting in the front seat (these were tall backed seats that went up above our heads...) without a seat belt on. The conversation went something like this:
Pete: Gret, put your seat belt on!
Rodg: Gret's not up here.
Pete: Huh.
He then starts looking around- under the bed, and under the covers on the bed. My mom wakes up.
Jean: Pete, what are you looking for?
Pete: Gret.
Jean: WHAT????
Lots of crazy screaming action. I think. I wasn't there. I was in a cop car. Eventually they get on the CB and ask if anyone has heard anything about a lost girl. Some truckers indeed are chuckling away over the girl (me!) who was left at the rest stop and they hook my parents up with the trooper who has me. By this time the van has turned around and is travelling back towards the rest stop. The cop tells them to pull over and wait for us. Soon enough (30 miles from the rest stop???) we (the cop and I) see the big orange van on the side of the highway. He gets a little thrill by cruising through the center median and kind of spinning to a stop behind the van. He asks me to stay put while he asks my parents a few questions. Apparently he believes their story about an accidental misplacement and doesn't get too concerned about the brothers fighting thing I mentioned. He returns me to their custody with a stern warning to keep a better watch on their kids.
And they do. For a few years. Until one time while we were heading north for an epic bike ride in the canadian rockies with a second van full of cousins. I was WASHING THE WINDOWS of our van when my mom walked past me, got into the front seat, and drove away. Leaving me holding the window washer squeegie thing in the air. Wondering. Was this a new way to wash these big-ass windows? She'd pull forward, I'd stand still with the squeegie then she'd kick it in reverse and come back. Back and forth back and forth and the window is done. But no. She didn't kick it into reverse, didn't come back. Kept driving.
I acted quickly this time. I dumped my squeegie and jumped in the cousin van. They were concerned....did they want me to catch up to my family? Alert them that I was in their van? No. I did not. I was done with traveling with them and would be riding with my cousins for the rest of the trip.
After that, they did indeed keep me closer and never lost me again. I don't think I am too scarred from the experiences. There were several years where I did not get out of a car without making sure I was in possession of the keys, but beyond that, I was able to move on. Forgive them even. Now that I have my own kids, I do see how it all could happen. Although it hasn't. I'd like to get that on the record.
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