Standards. Probably in the grand scheme of things standards
are set by numbers; numbers that can be applied in any fashion or form to
verify or prove what you're trying to attain. Although, when used for
good and not evil, numbers do have the potential to inspire us to greater
heights, and possibly set us free. I suppose it's in the way that you use
them.
Yesterday I awoke at 3:00, couldn't fall back
asleep, and so instead I got up to correct some papers I wanted to return to
students at school. I also had time to write in my daily journal and
read. My day had begun early and was only interrupted twice before
everyone else got up. Once was when our older dog, Kati, came out to the
living room, in confusion as to why I was up, and needed to be ushered back
onto her pillow in our bedroom. The other time was when our puppy, Kora,
threw up something she had apparently eaten in the yard that afternoon. Dogs;
got to love them.
After a busy day at school, and a night full
of parent/teacher/student conferences I came home by 9:00. As a family,
we talked and caught up for an hour or so before they all headed to bed and I
began prepping for today's adventure. I cleaned up the kitchen to give
myself some work-space; washed up the dishes and utensils I would
need; cut, cubed and grated the food I would cook; and then went to bed a
little after midnight.
They say that there is "Strength in
Numbers", and I believe there are. After having been awake for
twenty-one hours, I got three hours of sleep before Kora began lurching for the
second night in a row. It was 3:30 and we had another chewed object that
came back up. The dogs were taken out. Dogs were brought back in
and returned to bed. I got up a little before 5:00; after tossing,
turning, talking with my wife and deciding to start the day. I journaled
and then read. 6:00. I
organized our necessary gear and put antifreeze in the van so my wife could drive
it to a shop to be worked on today. I also drove over to school to pick
up some forgotten supplies. 7:00. I began getting dressed for the outside
and putting the gear into one day pack and one framed backpack. 8:00.
My wife headed out to take our kids to high school, as men tied in some
way to our school district, past or present, began arriving at our home
(we had a day off after the late night conferences).
Excited chatter. Excited dogs.
Negative twelve degree temperature. Negative twelve with zero wind.
Three vehicles. A twenty minute drive. Blue skies and zero
clouds. Four of us don packs filled with food and supplies. It was
simple pleasures, for simple men, on a simple adventure. We had a
forty-four minute hike along bluffs, beside the river, and through the woods
and bottom-lands. Over a foot of snow was on the ground. A single
file line of men. Light conversations, in tight air, that left puffs of
smoke with each breath. The destination was "just around the
bend" on the last hook of land possible. One fire fueled by sixty to
seventy small pieces of wood, monitored by two to three men.
Two large
frying pans were pulled out of the pack. One large pot of water was set
beside the fire to (sort of) boil. Eight personalized cups readied for an
appetizer of "Not from Concentrate", full-pulp orange juice that
froze around the outside of the cups. Five pounds of cubed potatoes,
split into each frying pan. We used one stick of real butter; one half
for each pan.
Once the taters were cooked to perfection, each individual
pan received its own contents of six cubed Johnsonville stadium brats, a dozen
eggs (minimal roughage of calcium/shells) and six ounces of
shredded Shullsburg Colby Jack cheese. A couple of dashes of salt and a
couple of dashes of pepper are all that were needed, as the food was cooked and
finalized. More wood was added, and then two other members joined in to
hold the handles of the pans, and stir its contents, while eight plates and
eight spoons (large size) were passed around to each of the eight ravenous men.
One thankful prayer was said to God. A prayer of unity was given in
the face of life's typical hecticness. Sighs of contentment were evident
while eating. A moment of peaceful silence ensued, other than the
scraping of utensils on plates. Second helpings were offered
all around. Two plates were set for two hard working dogs. Zero
food left. Another round of orange juice, topped off with a generous cup
of lukewarm cocoa (complete with orange pulp floaties).
Zero whining from
eight men who shared three stirring spoons and heartfelt laughter. One
massive clean-up left everything packed. Order restored, eight men hiked
out on both conversation and silent reflection, along the long line. Two
dogs led the way back through the woods. Heat was again generated through
physical labor. One break was taken to induct the four new members into
the unofficial "Gulo Adventure Clan". Four membership cards
were passed out. Four of the five core adventurers (for one couldn't make
it today) welcomed four into the fold. Membership has
its privileges when adventures are deemed necessary and/or worthy
every so often. We witnessed infinite beauty in nature. One
hypotenuse cut off the bluff trail section on the return. We endured one
and four tenths miles of "man-up" trudging. Ages ranged from
thirty to seventy-two. Eight smiles of satisfaction were seen. We
had one drive home in three vehicles. Four hours of time together. Eight
core men who enjoyed four hours of a simple adventure of hiking, cooking,
eating, and hiking. Simple, core men; with a simple task of living life
as an adventure (for at least that one moment in time).
A standard was
set, seven years ago, when we first thought about the idea of gathering men
together and doing something out of the ordinary of everyday life; something
uncommon. It's something uncommon, but also something simple. For
one of the three cores of every man's heart, "is a desperate desire for...an
adventure to live." (Eldredge) A desire like that sets a standard beyond any standard; which makes it much more than a numbers thing.
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