I share these photos because even in our heartbreak and loss we saw the beauty and we want you to as well.
The evening before Andy died there was a song circle outside our bedroom window. Beautiful voices of friends and family helping Andy find his way.
And in the morning after he passed we lovingly prepared our cabin to hold his body for two days and our farm to receive visitors to say goodbye. An around the clock vigil was set up with friends and family taking shifts sitting inside the cabin and also outside at a fire that continuously burned.
And then food arrived and tents to protect from the rain and so many children and friends. In the midst of deep ache there was comfort in our surroundings. The girls and I walked many times from cabin to fire to house and back again. Always held.
And on the last morning the beautiful box that Andy’s dear friends had built arrived and we placed him in it with cedar and pine and so many beautiful flowers and small tokens of love.
And as the children sang and collected more flowers his body was carried up the hill behind our house to the place his dad and brothers had dug one shovelful at a time.
And beautiful words were said, and another song was sung, and we took turns tossing sacred earth into the hole. And we stood in a circle and looked inward at each other and recognized that Andy was now there in each of us, and we turned outward and looked beyond at the greatness of nature that is now Andy. And then out of nowhere the fawn appeared.
Our hearts have much healing ahead but please know that each and every one of you who has held and supported us will never be forgotten. Your comfort is felt. We love you so.
Jonel and Andy
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.
It’s been raining here, a lot. The river in town is out of its banks, again. At dinner we talk about how much it’s flooded in the last few years. Iris asks, “is this because of climate change?” and we answer honestly.
As the years go by they have more and more questions. They listen to adults talk about the news, they leaf through National Geographic again and again. And I watch them as we try to shape honest, and somehow hopeful answers, but I can see: It’s hard to grasp that the weather is being changed by our actions, not for the better, and this is a terrifying problem they will inherit. It’s hard to grasp that white people still kill unarmed black people. That violence against women is widespread and real. It’s hard to grasp that animals suffer in confinement pens so that we can eat more meat than our fair share. It’s hard to grasp that there are people in the world eating nothing, while we shop at Walmart and fill our carts with everything…
And it’s hard to grasp that your dad still has cancer. Sometimes I worry that there is no way out from under all this heaviness. That they’ll be squashed by this inevitable flood of knowledge that slowly robs them of childhood.
But then I remember. Joy lives here too. Even in adulthood. Even with floods and cancer and Donald Trump. In fact sometimes I think that joy lives here because of floods and cancer and Donald Trump. We seek it out, we welcome it in. We notice it, we hold it, we keep it present. And they grow up surrounded by hardship and worry, laughter and joy. And I like to believe it will make them durable. Resilient. Sturdy. Hopeful. Wise.
I’m not sure what more we could ask for.
Summer is so gorgeous. Sometimes I think I love the mornings most, with the fresh dew sparkling in the morning light, the flowers in full bloom by 5:30, the air full of bird song, the otherwise quiet cool. But then sometimes I think I love the evenings best when the moisture descends into the valleys and the shadows make everything green in a new way. Sometimes I think I couldn’t love this place more. And then I do. We are so lucky.
We spent a weekend in the Twin Cities recently with friends and family. An annual retreat for us to city and poolside. Always such a pleasure and always so good to come home to this lush country.
Andy built a new screen door for us this week out of butternut boards he had milled from a tree that came down in my dad’s neighborhood. It turned out really lovely.
Tuesday we head to Mayo again for two days of testing and discussion. Maybe we’ll decide what’s next, maybe we won’t. It really couldn’t be more unknown right now.
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.
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.
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