He Sowed She Sewed

By Jared

Thoreau’s Walden Pond.  Annie Dillard’s Tinker Creek.  Wendell Berry’s Lane’s Landing.  There’s a long and marvelous history of people communicating their love of the outdoors, respect for nature, and the joys of living in wild places, by writing about their specific place – and the adventures offered in the land around us.  While our blog is about more than just that, we deeply enjoy sharing the ways our family has come to love where we live.  It’s our life on the Little Fork.

The Little Fork River is a small, meandering river in far northeast Minnesota.  Its waters take shape somewhere east of our small town, and flow west for a while before absorbing the Rice River, then turning northwest and ultimately spilling into the Rainy River along the Canadian border.  It’s often finicky on our end, relying heavily on gurgling swamps and springs for water level as it gathers the momentum that will carry it into Canada.  It can quickly change depth several feet in either direction depending on recent rainfall or snowmelt.  We’ve swam in chest-deep waters after a downpour in June, and skipped through ankle deep trickles after a dry-spell in July.  It’s our lovely spot on the Little Fork, and it shapes the way we enjoy this place.

Winter brings more stability, though not as much as you may think.  The ice forms at one level, but as the water depth gradually decreases, the ice becomes just a shell, and will sometimes pop and collapse where there’s no support beneath it.  And no amount of cold can keep the springs from doing their thing.  It’s currently -30 degrees on this clear January morning, but I can look over the bank and see fresh water spilling from the ground and sliding its way beneath the ice, ready to make the journey west and north.

We’ve spent the winter observing this river, learning about its moods and behaviors.  I’ve skied a few miles in either direction, noting the springs, soft spots, and beaver dams where the ice might be tricky.  We’ve got a pretty good grasp on the thing now, and can ski, sled, and explore confidently as we enjoy or frigid world.

We woke last Saturday, and after enjoying our family breakfast, we bundled up to go enjoy the last morning of above zero temperatures forecast for several days.  I tied a few ropes together and hooked the sled to my belt.  Cait grabbed the camera and we set off up the river to spend the morning skiing and sledding.

Our oldest child has been on a bit of a Narnia kick lately, so with a stick in her hand and her little sister at her side, she quite quickly decided that she would be the Queen of Narnia, her sister the Dwarf servant, and me, of course, the reindeer charged with dragging the sled around.  Caitlyn, by default, got to be Aslan.

This is how we spent the morning, and by the time we returned home it was time for hot cocoa, a little lunch, and a Saturday afternoon nap.  This is life on the Little Fork.

I know we have all moved past Christmas and are now on to bigger and better things like New Year’s Resolutions and getting our houses back BUT I must show you a couple pictures I have looked through since the big day.

This is my absolute favorite- It is of Sophi walking down the stairs on Christmas morning.  I love the excitement on her beautiful face,

Jared’s parent’s drove all the way from Colorado to spend Christmas with us.  We had such a wonderful time with them and got to experience Jared’s mom’s famous carmel rolls that morning.

Jared’s sister sent some double bladed ice skates over from Michigan and Sophi would not take them off all day.  She kept saying, “These are my training skates!”  I am surprised she didn’t break her ankle that day.  And I guess the battery opperated toothbrush (hers and Aleah’s) were a big hit.

I love Christmas morning, it is fun to still feel that excitement myself but even more fun to see it on the faces of my girls.

Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas.  Doesn’t it already seem like forever ago?

Originally written for publication in the Cook News Herald; Wednesday January 2, 2013; By Jared

A mentor of mine used to say, and I believe he was quoting Scripture in some vague way, “Never treat as ordinary that which has been consecrated to you.”  In other words, if something is special, treat it as such and don’t let it become mundane.

A few weekends ago my good friend and partner in youth ministry, Tom Burnett, led a trip into a remote area off the Echo Trail for a winter retreat in a rustic cabin.  We were joined by Tom’s son and five other young men from Nett Lake, and the eight of us trekked through the snowy woods with headlamps and backpacks until we arrived at the cozy, one-room cabin deep in the forest.

We arrived in the dark on Friday evening, later than conventional dinnertime, so without hesitation Tom started a fire in the wood stove for the duel purpose of warming the taco meat his wife had prepared and to establish the heat source that would sustain us through the night.  Meanwhile, a few of the young adventurers and I wandered our way through an un-trodden trail until we arrived at the sauna, somewhere between the cabin and the lake.  We kindled the fire in the stove and amply stoked it, though it would be a couple of hours before we’d return in our swimsuits.  Our headlamps then guided us to the lakeshore where we stepped out into the soft, snow-lit darkness of the vast ice field; the quiet solitude of the winter forest disturbed only by the conversation of friends.

Reconvening at the cabin, we filled our tortillas with meat from the cast-iron skillet and enjoyed our meal under the glow of lanterns.  Two of the older boys then dug through their backpacks and handed Tom packages of wild game they’d brought to share.  Tacos were followed by strips of delicious venison; and finally, the chocolate chip brownies we’d all been eyeing since arriving.  Our food settled in our stomachs and we collectively settled into the warmth of the small cabin while stories, jokes, and laughter flickered like firelight.

As the evening continued, Tom and I found ourselves in the sauna with the two youngest travelers.  We joyfully dripped sweat from our chins and occasionally slipped outside to flop in the snow or to collect buckets-full for eating and pressing against our faces in the heat.  When the fire waned we waltzed again through the darkness and this time found the cabin floor covered with high school boys sprawled out playing UNO between piles of sleeping bags and pillows.  More stories. More laughter.

Eventually we dowsed the lanterns and spread out among the bunked queen beds and spare mattresses, settling in for the night.  My experience in these sorts of settings is that this twilight time – the time in the darkness before sleep sets in – often fills itself with meaningful conversations and pressing questions from inquisitive young people.  This night was no exception.  As Tom and I lay on our backs we entertained questions about God, eternity, and the stories of our lives in which these questions become relevant.  Sleep captured the youngest first, but gradually the space between words grew longer until we all slumbered and snored until daylight filled the cabin.

The morning was spent wandering the woods, munching down pancakes smothered in tasty venison gravy, and listening for wolves howling across the wooded hills.  When it was time to leave we stuffed our backpacks and swept our way out the door, this time navigating our way by daylight on an oddly mild December morning.

“Don’t treat as ordinary that which has been consecrated to you.”  Perhaps this story would be better had we encountered a pack of ravenous wolves patrolling the lakeshore by moonlight, or been stopped by a slobbering troll beneath the Little Indian Sioux River bridge.  But this was an ordinary night in the woods in an ordinary cabin with ordinary folks.

However, it is precisely these sorts of experiences that are consecrated to us: Nights free from distraction and discord.  Nights where we can get down to the business of doing nothing.  Nights where we fill the spaces between us not with the endless noises that insulate us from one another but with laughter and warmth and thoughts about God.  Don’t treat them as ordinary.