Aug 16: Vacation, The Climb & a Serenade
All ready seems somewhat distant.... But lots of pictures bring back memories--digital photography is awesome! As a point of reference, the camp is on the same lake that the movie "On Golden Pond" was filmed, which gives you an idea of the picturesque setting.
Got to NY Friday night, left for NH Saturday with some communication issues leaving me driving the five hours up by myself. Arrived in time to eat at camp and then jump in the lake, which makes me feel like it is actually a day of vacation instead of just driving.
Sunday: For years I've gone to Church Island for a few reasons. Firstly, it's a boat ride to a beautiful little island in the middle of the lake. Secondly, being in the middle of trees which are hundreds of years old, surrounded by water, often blue sky overhead and the mountains surrounding makes me feel like I'm in one of the most spiritual places on earth. This, to me, is much closer to the divine than being in a man-made structure. So, I'm willing to block out the parts of the service I disagree with (Episcopal, sometimes higher than others) for these two big pluses. But this time I felt like spending the time kayaking with the spirits would have been more beneficial. So, later that afternoon Emma and I went for the longest paddle I've been able to physically do in about ten years.
Monday: Kayaking, walking. John had said a couple months ago that he wanted to be there as I made my monumental (to me) achievement, the weather report decided that Tuesday morning was the best day. As the timeframe spread through the family, first one and then another decided that since we'd be going slowly they might as well come to. Then John didn't want to be the only able-bodied person, so more people started to get added. My problem was that at no time did anyone say that they wanted to be with me as a celebration. It wasn't at all about my struggle and accomplishments over the last six years, it was just we would be going the easy path and climbing slowly. After hours of debate with myself I decided that it was important enough to me to make a fuss, which I really don't like doing. We're a fairly typical New England family where a stiff upper lip rules, so this represented a major change in behavior. Breaking down and crying (which I didn't want to do) I made my case that this was very significant to me on many levels, that for the first time ever with the family I was making something be about just me. Happily, everyone agreed to honor my request.
Tuesday: The Climb. John and I set out immediately after breakfast. He had talked me into the less steep path, which was longer, afraid that I'd only be able to go a few feet at a time on the harder, although shorter, route. It was the right decision. I rested several times, but it was actually a lot easier than anticipated, maybe because I've been 'in training' for so many months. The longest rest was very near the top, because I wanted to be fresh for reaching the summit. As we hiked the last 50 yards the mountains came into view, then all of a sudden the ability to see part of the lake and the islands: I started crying. It was a wonderful experience: I was elated, felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment and pride. But rather disappointing was that the experience wasn't quite as special as climbing the Tor. The feeling was more "OK, checked that off the list" rather than a spiritual experience. Maybe I was expecting too much. Maybe the Tor, with its thousands of years of pilgrimage and religious worship, was even more a part of that first experience than I'd attributed.
The rest of the day I was somewhat tired. There were activities to go to, watching the kids do things. Wednesday and Thursday as well.
I did a couple more wonderful paddles--a kayak on a smooth lake is pretty easy. The weather fluctuated widely: we had a day well into the 90's, some rain, one night went down to 46 degrees. Thursday night was the camp talent show, and for the first time in years none of our family was participating. Everyone else went to watch, but I decided that the smooth lake was more appealing than watching the largely mediocre performances, even if interspersed with a couple really good ones.
As I pulled out of the bite and passed a rocky point, there was a man playing tunes on a hand organ (much better than an accordian), which determined which direction I headed. With the music following me for a while I headed for a very small island, mostly to have a destination. On a small cluster of rock nearby were several birds, and as I got closer two loons took off, flying low across the water. After circling the island and rocks I headed back, the sun had set but there was still a path of light coming across the water, the Rattlesnakes rose before me, with dozens of other mountains behind them and circling the lake, making me feel enfolded in an embrace. Music came wafting out to me again, the hand organist had been joined by a single violin, making an even richer sound. I rowed more slowly, wanting to extend the experience. A couple of other kayaks and a canoe were in the water before the point, also enjoying the impromptu concert. Suddenly a loon popped up, bobbing along, coming within a few yards of all the boats, seeming to enjoy the serenade along with the humans. The musicians eventually finished, I thanked them for sharing and began to paddle back into the inlet towards our cabin's dock. I was thinking that nothing could have made these couple hours any better when the haunting sounds of loon calls began, drifting across the water. These calls have always been thrilling to me; it was like a divine 'amen' to an incredible spiritual experience.
Friday morning I climbed Rattlesnake again, this time with Aunt Beth and Uncle George. They are both almost 80, so that gives you an idea of the lack of difficulty. That afternoon I'd wanted to have another paddle, but a small wind storm made the water very choppy. Evening was the square dance which the kids, now ranging in ages from 14 to 22, still participate in and enjoy.
Saturday mornings are spent packing and loading cars, the cabins are supposed to be vacated by 11 am. I decided to skip breakfast and instead went for an hour kayak on the calm water, the temperature cool but sweatshirt perfect. There were only a few other boats to be seen in the distance, I felt like the lake was mine alone. Three loons appeared about 100 yards away, an additional part of the experience. After packing and loading my car I was still able to have a final swim with my cousin Mark and his family, managing to change in the cabin before the cleaning crew arrived. It was a wonderful end to the week.
Both of my goals were accomplished: climbing the mountain again and having a spiritual experience. The surprise was that they happened at different times.
Thanks for checking in on my life, Laurie
Got to NY Friday night, left for NH Saturday with some communication issues leaving me driving the five hours up by myself. Arrived in time to eat at camp and then jump in the lake, which makes me feel like it is actually a day of vacation instead of just driving.
Sunday: For years I've gone to Church Island for a few reasons. Firstly, it's a boat ride to a beautiful little island in the middle of the lake. Secondly, being in the middle of trees which are hundreds of years old, surrounded by water, often blue sky overhead and the mountains surrounding makes me feel like I'm in one of the most spiritual places on earth. This, to me, is much closer to the divine than being in a man-made structure. So, I'm willing to block out the parts of the service I disagree with (Episcopal, sometimes higher than others) for these two big pluses. But this time I felt like spending the time kayaking with the spirits would have been more beneficial. So, later that afternoon Emma and I went for the longest paddle I've been able to physically do in about ten years.
Monday: Kayaking, walking. John had said a couple months ago that he wanted to be there as I made my monumental (to me) achievement, the weather report decided that Tuesday morning was the best day. As the timeframe spread through the family, first one and then another decided that since we'd be going slowly they might as well come to. Then John didn't want to be the only able-bodied person, so more people started to get added. My problem was that at no time did anyone say that they wanted to be with me as a celebration. It wasn't at all about my struggle and accomplishments over the last six years, it was just we would be going the easy path and climbing slowly. After hours of debate with myself I decided that it was important enough to me to make a fuss, which I really don't like doing. We're a fairly typical New England family where a stiff upper lip rules, so this represented a major change in behavior. Breaking down and crying (which I didn't want to do) I made my case that this was very significant to me on many levels, that for the first time ever with the family I was making something be about just me. Happily, everyone agreed to honor my request.
Tuesday: The Climb. John and I set out immediately after breakfast. He had talked me into the less steep path, which was longer, afraid that I'd only be able to go a few feet at a time on the harder, although shorter, route. It was the right decision. I rested several times, but it was actually a lot easier than anticipated, maybe because I've been 'in training' for so many months. The longest rest was very near the top, because I wanted to be fresh for reaching the summit. As we hiked the last 50 yards the mountains came into view, then all of a sudden the ability to see part of the lake and the islands: I started crying. It was a wonderful experience: I was elated, felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment and pride. But rather disappointing was that the experience wasn't quite as special as climbing the Tor. The feeling was more "OK, checked that off the list" rather than a spiritual experience. Maybe I was expecting too much. Maybe the Tor, with its thousands of years of pilgrimage and religious worship, was even more a part of that first experience than I'd attributed.
The rest of the day I was somewhat tired. There were activities to go to, watching the kids do things. Wednesday and Thursday as well.
I did a couple more wonderful paddles--a kayak on a smooth lake is pretty easy. The weather fluctuated widely: we had a day well into the 90's, some rain, one night went down to 46 degrees. Thursday night was the camp talent show, and for the first time in years none of our family was participating. Everyone else went to watch, but I decided that the smooth lake was more appealing than watching the largely mediocre performances, even if interspersed with a couple really good ones.
As I pulled out of the bite and passed a rocky point, there was a man playing tunes on a hand organ (much better than an accordian), which determined which direction I headed. With the music following me for a while I headed for a very small island, mostly to have a destination. On a small cluster of rock nearby were several birds, and as I got closer two loons took off, flying low across the water. After circling the island and rocks I headed back, the sun had set but there was still a path of light coming across the water, the Rattlesnakes rose before me, with dozens of other mountains behind them and circling the lake, making me feel enfolded in an embrace. Music came wafting out to me again, the hand organist had been joined by a single violin, making an even richer sound. I rowed more slowly, wanting to extend the experience. A couple of other kayaks and a canoe were in the water before the point, also enjoying the impromptu concert. Suddenly a loon popped up, bobbing along, coming within a few yards of all the boats, seeming to enjoy the serenade along with the humans. The musicians eventually finished, I thanked them for sharing and began to paddle back into the inlet towards our cabin's dock. I was thinking that nothing could have made these couple hours any better when the haunting sounds of loon calls began, drifting across the water. These calls have always been thrilling to me; it was like a divine 'amen' to an incredible spiritual experience.
Friday morning I climbed Rattlesnake again, this time with Aunt Beth and Uncle George. They are both almost 80, so that gives you an idea of the lack of difficulty. That afternoon I'd wanted to have another paddle, but a small wind storm made the water very choppy. Evening was the square dance which the kids, now ranging in ages from 14 to 22, still participate in and enjoy.
Saturday mornings are spent packing and loading cars, the cabins are supposed to be vacated by 11 am. I decided to skip breakfast and instead went for an hour kayak on the calm water, the temperature cool but sweatshirt perfect. There were only a few other boats to be seen in the distance, I felt like the lake was mine alone. Three loons appeared about 100 yards away, an additional part of the experience. After packing and loading my car I was still able to have a final swim with my cousin Mark and his family, managing to change in the cabin before the cleaning crew arrived. It was a wonderful end to the week.
Both of my goals were accomplished: climbing the mountain again and having a spiritual experience. The surprise was that they happened at different times.
Thanks for checking in on my life, Laurie
posted by Laurie @ 7:24 PM
2 Comments:
At 8:01 PM,
Kevan said…
Just reading your blog made my blood pressure drop a few points. Sounds like an absolutely great week. Thanks for sharing.
At 10:24 PM,
Katie said…
I'm so glad you were able to get back and conquer the mtn. I know that it may not seem like the spiritual aha moment you were wanted but I guarantee it did wonders for you psyche. Beautiful beautiful recap!
Post a Comment
<< Home