camping

wild rice

For several years now we’ve been joining friends for a weekend of harvesting wild rice in the north,(Well, except for those couple of years when Andy wasn’t up for it. That stays fresh in our minds and made the trip and time all the more beautiful this year).

Generally the ladies stay behind and tend camp and rice. That means cooking, collecting firewood, tending the children and turning the rice for drying. The guys head out on the water for the long, hot labor of knocking rice into the boat for hours and hours. Usually I’m not much for “typical gender roles” such as these, but somehow knowing that this is how it’s been done for thousands of years (or more) makes it feel a little bit magical. It certainly takes a village, and the role the women played in gathering rice was not little. Keeping the fire, the village fed, and the rice drying was just as important (and sometimes difficult) as harvesting the rice itself. In today’s world it feels good to step back, take that role, and feel part of this community effort. And as a bonus we’ll enjoy pounds and pounds of beautiful wild rice all winter long.

Ricing season solidly signals the end of summer. We return home to crisp cold weather, loads of tomatoes to process and the start of a new year of (home) school. Blessings on the fall.

badlands, eclipse and the black hills

Bison in camp!

Fossils in the creek bed

Bison bones!

Camping with friends in sage brush country

Arms full of sage

Devils Tower

Spearfish Canyon

Crazy Horse Monument

Crazy Horse museum

Iris trying her arms and legs at hoop dancing

Beautiful way to see the hills

Jewel Cave

Last night buffalo viewing

What an amazing trip! After Andy got the green light to wait another couple months to scan again (i.e. No Treatment!), we made quick plans to see the eclipse in its totality. This brought us to southwestern SD, and eastern WY to meet friends for a couple of days. The eclipse was spectacular, and my few photos (I was determined not to stay behind my camera for long) don’t even begin to do it justice, so I won’t post them here. I was mesmerized by the shadows and light, the dusk falling in every corner, the way my body felt in two+ minutes of sun shadow. Andy couldn’t take his eyes off the corona and was able to see Bailey’s beads (whatever they are) and stars and planets and all matter of mysterious things. The kids were just giddy and not as aware as we were about this being a BIG deal. It was so worth the drive!

Then we parted ways with our friends and spent the rest of the week exploring the Black Hills and Bad Lands. Several hikes, great campfire food, dry warm breezes through the tent and freezing cold mornings. No showers for 8 days, meeting interesting people, spending 2 hours in the belly of the earth, watching the wrangler girls run the show at Rockin R ranch and knowing our girls were inspired. Skipping the crowds at Mt. Rushmore and spending an afternoon instead at the Crazy Horse Monument, watching native dancers and artists, and understanding, a little, the story of what happened out there. Diving into the 50 degree cold of a mountain stream at 9am, eating ice cream more than you should, watching falcons, golden eagles, and coyotes up close. Finding fossils and beautiful stones and letting mama hunt for just one more golden agate. Filling the car with armloads of sage, skinning knees on many boulder climbs, reading by headlamp light, listening to the story of Sitting Bull and (unrelated to the Black Hills) Roll of Thunder Hear My Cry as the miles sped by.

So sweet to find the beauty in these moments together.

august

We spent the weekend with friends in the Yellow River State Forest. Just across the border in Iowa and clearly still part of the Driftless, we enjoyed hiking, playing in the river, napping in the shade, cooking meals together, playing 4-square (new for our girls), laughing around the campfire, and ninja moves with sparklers at night.

Summer is flying by. The garden is pumping out cucumbers and zucchini. I’m harvesting elderberry for the freezer and soon the tomatoes will be on. It’s all so normal, and I couldn’t be happier.

Boundary Waters

The trip to the Boundary Waters and our beloved Big Lake was lovely. The route we chose in the BWCA ended up pretty tough and it pushed all of us. We paddled and hiked in six hours, crossing 6 lakes and 6 portages (and yes, we did have to do each portage twice due to all our gear!). The mosquitoes were fierce on land and we couldn’t get back on the water fast enough. I feared our campsite would be intolerable. Luckily at the end of the first day (after seeing Mama moose and her baby) we found a site on an island that had a breeze that kept the bugs at bay the whole time we were there. The weather was on and off beautiful, some sun, plenty of rain, lovely still evenings.

Blueberries weren’t ripe yet but were plentiful. Might be worth a trip back!

Floating bogs! With carnivorous sundew and pitcher plants (which were blooming!).

Good fishing!

And plenty of relaxing.

Phinn, the newest, littlest-ever pooch did great. He rode like a pro in the canoe, didn’t mind bugs or campfire smoke, and even did a tiny bit of reluctant swimming in order to chase some sticks. He especially loved sleeping in Iris’ bag. Yes, he is growing on us.

Back home now with work and camp, calls to Mayo, appointments to make, research to do. I think we are feeling like our trip north fed our souls and gave us strength for what lies ahead. We’ll keep you posted.

BWCA

Late last week we finally heard from Mayo. Andy’s tumor genetics did not match with the National Cancer Institute trial we were hoping to get into. That doesn’t mean we won’t find another trial, but it does mean we are back to the drawing board searching out new treatment(s). Mayo wants us back for another scan, blood work and consultation about what next. And we’ll go. But first we’ll take 6 days and head north to do some paddling in the Boundary Waters (BWCA). A last minute decision but after all, the time is now.

Andy and I did a couple BWCA trips before kids, and Andy did lots in his teens and twenties but we’ve never taken our kids before. The last time we did a “wilderness” canoe trip was five (!) years ago in the Sylvania Wilderness Area. It was gorgeous, but tiny (and we chose a route with only one portage). The kids were so little then!

Now we’ll be a little more ambitious. The route we plan for this week has 6 (short!) portages but it looks like we’ll have enough gear that we’ll have to trek each one twice. We tried all the gear in the canoe in the lawn and it fit! I figure the kids are bigger now, but the dog is smaller so it’s a trade off, with weight anyway!

Everyone is excited and a little exhausted from all the rushed packing, but I’m hoping a few days on those beautiful quiet lakes of the north will be just what we need to recharge and be ready for what lies ahead.

Right now the gear is packed, the canoe is on the car, and I’m working at settling back into being fully present. Feeling grateful for these moments now.

rice camp

For several years Andy has helped a friend harvest wild rice up north. Usually the girls and I hang out back at camp with kids and whoever is not ricing at the moment. Andy loves the labor, being on the water, knocking the rice in the boat and the satisfaction of seeing it all drying on tarps. He loves the community of ricers and learning the skill. We also love the sweet share of rice we get for the winter!

Last year we were in the depths of chemo and could not make the trip. This year we went without hesitation. Three days and nights of playing with friends, jumping in the water, sitting around the fire, catching leopard frogs by the tens, and falling asleep to the deep hooting of the barred owl, left us exhausted but ever so thankful.

Thankful for this community of caring friends, for the sweet clear waters of the north, for late night conversations around the fire and for the continual opportunity to celebrate being together.

northern love

Oh Big Lake. We can’t go a summer without you. We even took the old pooch and she swam and dug in the sand and had a grand old time.

Before we hit Superior we joined friends to paddle the Brule (and that was extra lovely-so clear!) and the girls had a great time playing with their friends, eating loads of s’mores and building the classic mossy/ferny fairy forts.

Elsa caught her first fish and couldn’t stop begging for more. They were all too little to keep but she was determined to catch one she could “roast”. Maybe next time.

It was good to get away, to laugh, sit around the fire, snuggle in sleeping bags, and get every pair of socks and pants wet and grimy. We soaked in every minute and literally dragged ourselves away at the end. It’s hard to come back knowing we are closing in on fall. In another month Andy will have a scan again and we’ll know something else. I think we are both trying to stretch the moments long enough to forget about that right now. Mostly it works. The days are bright and beautiful and we watch them unfold with an understanding of time and love that still feels new.

road trip part three: boondocking and a birthday

We learned a new word while we were on the trip. Boondocking. By definition: parking/camping (for free) in the “boonies” without electric, water or sewer hook ups.

We loved it! The west is covered in BLM land where this kind of camping is easy to find with views and solitude that can’t be beat. And usually some mud to go along with it.

Not even a week after we returned, Elsa turned seven! With a special-request pool party, nonna-made pool cake, and a visiting cousin and grandparents, it was a truly sweet day (even if she had to share it with her mama just a bit, it being mother’s day and all).

Seven. Each year I find myself a little bit nostalgic to realize our baby is growing up. But mostly I am awed by her spunk, delighted by her independence, and so eager to stand by and watch her light up this world.

From rocking her cello, to riding her bike, to climbing a tree and loving her cat. This girl is full of good humor and laughter. Everywhere she goes she makes the world seem so fun. And that’s exactly what we’ve all needed, every inch of the way. We are so, so lucky to have her. We love you Elsa Mae.

road trip part two: pushing our limits and courage in the desert

There has been a lot of fear this past year. Enough living on the raw edge of emotion and plenty of shots of terror adrenaline to last our systems a lifetime. So why push it? Why ask for more?

Well, first off, let’s be totally honest: it wasn’t my idea. I was feeling quite comfortable with my feet on the ground. But the whole thing wasn’t something we talked about or analyzed. It went like this. Andy: “Should we do some climbing while we are out west?” Me (from the comfort of the couch): “Sure”. But know this, we don’t “climb”. Our climbing experience consists of a time or two at the gym climbing wall (like 20 years ago) and the kids wouldn’t know a climbing harness from a horse halter.

That’s me, almost to the top. And yes, it’s wide, but the drop-offs are stunning.

And here’s the other thing. I have a fear of heights. It’s real. It’s not a huge deal, unless I’m on a very tall ladder (see Mesa Verde), standing on a lookout platform (see Mesa Verde), or hiking along cliffs (see every hike in Utah). Normally this doesn’t happen often enough to impede my life. You might not even know this about me. But when I do have to be up, way up, I’m sick to my stomach, my legs are really, truly shaking and I don’t trust my next step. Fear immobilizes me. I become totally clumsy and completely positive that I’ll bumble right off the edge. I usually get stuck, unable to go up or down. There was a time not long ago that our family was on a look-out platform high up over a marshy area. There were railings, of course, but the “floor” was steel mesh (read: see-through). The kids were running from railing to railing in excitement. I had to sit down and scoot. Seriously. Thankfully we were the only people up there and I didn’t have to pretend there was something wrong with my feet.

So, maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly when I agreed to go climbing in canyon country.

Riley, with Moab Cliffs and Canyons, greeted us with a smile, loads of gear, and the expectation of a good time. We had signed up for “family rockineering” assuming we’d be with a whole load of people, but we had him all to ourselves. Just us four and Riley for 5 hours of climbing in Kane Creek Canyon outside of Moab. Riley was amazing with the kids, steady, confident, cheerful. He was full of information about the local flora and dedicated to desert preservation. He has climbed all over the world (the life of a climbing guide apparently consists of banking the bucks during the summer climbing season and then traveling to places like Thailand to bask in the sun and pursue your own climbs in the winter season—sweet) and guides people on some of the most technical climbing in the west. And he assured me (when I finally let on about my, um, fear of heights, as we tumbled out of the van with our gear) that he “deals with this all the time” and “you’ll do great”. Adding some sage advice about it all being a “mind game” and to let yourself “trust your abilities”. Oh boy.

Surprisingly, going up was easier for me than going down. On the rappels I went last, not really wanting to watch the girls (who were having a blast) hanging over the edge. I’m certain that as this picture (above) was snapped I was saying to (relaxed) Riley “I don’t like this. I don’t like this.” with a shaky voice.

At some point during that afternoon I realized what I was doing. I was showing myself (and our girls) once again that I can overcome fear. That I can look it in the face and find something positive to focus on (like getting down). That we can push ourselves even when we don’t want to. To be strong, to be hopeful, to be resilient.

The 35 foot ladder one must climb (with the canyon floor looming hundreds of feet below) in order to get to the ruins at Mesa Verde.

Seriously? What is the Park Service thinking?

You’d think that after a year of facing cancer, a guided canyoneering trip or a escorted Park Service hike into the ruins of Mesa Verde would be, just a walk in the park, so to speak. Controlled, safe, easy. For me, it didn’t feel that way, yet still I welcomed the challenge. I wanted to push myself further. I think I wanted to find new edges of fear that had nothing to do with trips to the emergency room, or long days of chemo or the next scan. These new edges rose up to meet me each step of the way. They were red rock, sandy and oh-so-tall.

And these girls. A bit should be said about their eagerness to climb, to bike, to hike in the hot sun. I have to admit I anticipated some whining, but it really wasn’t there (o.k. sometimes after 6 hours on the road it turned up). But they couldn’t seem to get enough. Iris, whose bike was more equipped than Mae’s for mountain riding, took several rides with her dad and emerged beaming (even with the new challenges of sand, and rock uneven trail surfaces). Mae’s little legs and low center of gravity made her a confident and nimble climber and her smile was a bright as the sun itself when Riley lowered her over the cliffs of Kane Creek Canyon.

Andy was Andy. Cheerful, positive, game for everything. He felt great and it showed.

Turns out that fear in the desert now feels like more like courage. And so back home as I shake more of that red sand out of our shoes, I remember the feeling of exhilaration and determination.

And I know that’s why we went.

road trip part one: gift

When we turned the calendar to April is said GIFT. And that’s exactly what our trip west was, a present, an offering, a gift. So many gifts, in fact, it’s hard to find words. So, maybe I won’t. Maybe (for part one!) the pictures are enough.