Come walk with me in the peak Autumn beauty of the Northwoods. To say that I love this time of year is an understatement. Most everyone can appreciate the colorful falling leaves---it reveals the 'true self' of a tree when its leaves are no longer producing chlorophyll. Their true colors are revealed, and there is something simple … [Read More...]
Follow the River
They met on the River—the great Mississippi River—while on the rowing teams at University of St. Thomas. Anne had taken a circuitous route to St. Thomas after being accepted at another school and with other obstacles that reasonably would have steered her away. But something compelled her to pursue it. And to those of us who know her, she is a force. It was there she met her friend Erik who was introduced to us via Facetime when Anne was visiting—by then, more than just a friend. Anne worked at Star Lake wilderness camp with our kids—always ready for an adventure with Nature or with people and preferably with both.
Anne and Erik were married last weekend at a ceremony overlooking Lake Superior in Duluth. They had just returned to Minnesota after a long stint at Berkeley where Erik had gotten his doctorate and Anne had advocated for women in sports—planning and participating in marathons, triathlons, hiking, and most unbelievable to me, she had swum from the island of Alcatraz to the California shore! She is a force!
On our way to Duluth for the weekend, we stopped at Jay Cooke State Park where the tumultuous St. Louis River winds through the Northwoods towards Lake Superior. We crossed the Swinging Bridge—the 5th iteration since the original was built in 1924. Floodwaters have destroyed the bridge numerous times—the Civilian Conservation Corps rebuilt it in 1934 and again in 1940. The last damaging flood occurred in 2012 at the highest level ever recorded, and once again the bridge was restored.
The water was brown with tannins and white-capped with the furious flow over rocks, a raucous rootbeer float of a river. Standing on the Swinging Bridge was exhilarating with the cacophonous water ringing in our ears and flowing under our feet!
Emily and I left the bridge and followed the River trail, a vestige of the canoe portage that had been used by Native Americans, fur traders, explorers, and missionaries for centuries past. The St. Louis River was a critical link between the Mississippi River waterways to the west and Lake Superior and the other Great Lakes to the east. We were walking on history.
And while the River continued to tumble over the rocks on one side of us, the forest brought calm and quiet. In Spring form, as Winter was not long departed from this area, the ferns were just unfurling their ‘fiddleheads.’
Sustaining food for animals and people alike—Wild Strawberries and Blueberries—were blooming and will soon produce fruit.
The water was calmer in areas between the large rock formations that had pooled from the Spring flood waters, but the piles of logs and debris on top of the rocks and even up on our trail were evidence of the power and might of the rushing water.
Delicate beauty that curves on stems of nodding Yellow Trout Lilies and Yellow Lady’s Slippers is sometimes overlooked or unseen on the bustling path of adventure and advancement. Looking closely, one sees the light and the shadow.
The rocks have a billion-years-old story to tell, complete with sand and seas, faults and heaves, volcano lava, and icy glaciers. The tilted rocks are slate and were quarried near this location in the late 1800’s, early 1900’s.
Stripes of a hidden Jack-in-the-Pulpit flower mimic the stripy leaves of the plant behind it—all a story of light and shadow, design and texture.
Following the River can be rough at times and navigating it impossible, but if you keep at it, you find a bridge that is high above the rough waters and will connect the two sides.
Anne and Erik found one another on the Mississippi River and have rowed and flowed with the river ever since. They have already weathered the rough waters of graduate school and cross-country moves, yet they have many more obstacles in front of them. I know they will design an interesting life for themselves, cognizant of the light and the shadows in themselves, one another, and the people surrounding them. May they always remember and be able to count on the family who came before them. May they stop and notice the delicate beauty in one another and in the world around them. May they be nourished by good food, knowledge, great friends, and much love. May they find the bridges necessary to get over the rough waters and to connect with one another. And if a bridge is washed out, rebuild and restore. An old adage advises that if one is lost, find and follow a river. It will bring you back to safety, to people who love you, and to the place you need to be. I think Anne already knew that.
To Have and To Hold
I’m breathing a sigh of relief. Fourteen months into this pandemic and Chris and I are vaccinated. I saw my Mom for Mother’s Day. The CDC is saying vaccinated people don’t have to wear masks. Venues and organizations are outlining plans to ‘return to normal!’ We survived a pandemic! Chris and I have also survived thirty-nine years of marriage as of this weekend. It doesn’t really sound very good to say the word ‘survive’ when speaking of your marriage, but it is the truth. When we said our vows, we had no idea what our future would hold—for better, for worse. The year of the pandemic was not the worst year of our marriage—in fact, there were lots of ‘betters’ sprinkled in among the oddities, losses, and unknowns of the ‘unprecedented’ pandemic. But we have navigated other unprecedented events in our years together that have fallen into the ‘worse’ category—things we couldn’t plan for, things that broke our hearts, things we could never imagine would happen—and it is those things that we have survived.
As a naïve young bride, I thought marriage would be simple—as simple as the name Spring Beauty for these delicate ephemeral flowers. To love and to cherish sounded simple to me, for I fiercely loved this man, and I was pretty good at cherishing things.
What I didn’t know how to handle was the first time I realized that in this moment I hated him, which, as we learn, says much more about me than him. By that time, we had had over twenty-seven years together, so like the Leatherwood shrub, I learned to be more flexible, more forgiving, of him and of myself.
We discovered over time what side of the creek we were on—the Democrat married a Republican, the sports-lover married a sports-dare-I-say-hater, the horse-loving country girl hitched up with a city boy. But we also waded across the clear, cold creek to see and feel what it was like on the other side—he learned to ride horses, and I eventually learned to like football!
Sometimes things were a little murky. We kind of knew what was going on, but there were things we either didn’t know or we just didn’t have the mature skills to navigate with finesse. We bumbled through it. First-child parenting comes to mind. Okay, make that all-child parenting. All house buying and selling. All job changes. How many murky moments in thirty-nine years?!
We learned about perspectives. What’s real? What’s just a shadow? Which one is taking up the most space? The shadow of fear took up a ton of space in my life and darkened far too much of our relationship and my ‘being’ in the world. In sickness and in health. In shadow and in light.
There were mysteries unveiled of bodies and minds, of past and present, of life at large. God’s holy ordinance allows for mysteries, embraces them, and lifts them up for our participation and our wonder.
We learned to be rocks for one another. It always seemed like Chris was my rock, as I talked so much, cried so often, hurt so deeply, but over the years I realized how steady I was for him—in making a warm home, in explaining the science of things and the emotional aspects of relationships, and in always having topics to converse about. To have and to hold.
There have been so, so many bright spots in our life together, especially our three children. It is an honor to bring other human beings into the mysteries of life and relationships.
And yet, beauty and goodness can be caught in a tangle of rubble, unreachable and unpreachable. There are hard, messy things in life that are beyond our control. For richer, for poorer.
There are trees, and there are forests. There are details, and there are ‘big pictures.’ There is the here and now, and there is the future. We have learned who is the tree person—the detail person, and who is the forest person—the ‘big picture’ person. And we have learned the exceptions to the rule.
How long can one hide, and what is the reason for hiding? There’s almost always a reason, a very good reason. For a very long time the very good reason is often hidden from the person who is hiding. This riddle is the journey of our lives.
As young marrieds, we knew little of death. Then a puppy died, and another, and then a young dog, an old dog, many cats, my beloved horse. We chopped off heads of chickens to put in our freezer, butchered a pig we named and cared for. An infant nephew died, my dear friend, an uncle, an aunt, my Grandma, Chris’ parents, my Dad, Chris’ brother….We know about death now. It is a lesson that brings many lessons. Till death do us part.
There is spirit in marriage, there is science, and there is art. I think you need all three to make it thirty-nine years, to survive, to thrive, to become the person you are meant to be. Thereto I pledge thee my faith.
So, we have made it this far together. The fir-cone strewn path stretches on before us. We see the trees and the forest. We know precious new life and have walked with death. We respect the simplicities and complexities of life. We have experienced love and hate, fear and peace, sorrow and joy. We appreciate beauty and mystery. We go on. From this day forward.
