Un-Common Core

        

        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 the following day'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 the 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 were 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 were 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 dashes of salt and a couple dashes of pepper are all that was 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 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 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 re-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 as they say, one of the simple desires of a person's heart is the quest for some sort of an adventure.  A desire like that sets a standard beyond any typical standard; which makes it much more than a numbers thing.  

        See you along The Way...

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An Epic Story

"We learn all of our most important lessons through story, and story deepens all of our most important lessons."  

(John Eldredge, Epic)

     We live in the midst of a story.  It's a story that began before time.  It's a story that we get to play a part in.  I find comfort in knowing that.  Perhaps it's because I'm able to be a part of something.  But it probably leans more toward the fact that, although God invites me in to be a part of that story, it's not like a "wrench in the machinery" if I mess up along the way.  The wheel in the sky is going to keep turning regardless.  So am I important in the grand scheme of things?  Dude, He created me; created me with a purpose!  He can use me to make a positive difference; a difference in the lives of family, friends and acquaintances.  Whether you see it as the "Butterfly Effect" or the "Trickle Down Theory"; either way it's living life with a purpose.  It's living while knowing we leave behind an influential legacy.  Is that lived in perfect alignment?  Hardly!  (Insert raspberry sound here.)  Disappointments abound.  Where others look to folly or drown their sorrows behind unfulfilling masks, I press on.  That requires learning from life's lessons; training while relying on an ultimate truth.  The Apostle Paul expressed this concept by saying, "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all surpassing power is from God and not from us.  We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed." (2 Corinthians 4:7-8 NIV)  Although frail at times, like an earthen pot (and at times "half baked"), I "Keep on, keepin' on".  Life is hard, but life is rewarding.

     I took my wife Cindy out to the woods today.  It was her turn I suppose.  Not because she had earned it or deserved it.  If that was the case, and taking her out was the reward, then I'd never leave the woods.  Hmm, that's an interesting concept there!  We went out to hang out and do something together.  She was apprehensive; rightfully so unfortunately.  In my zest to have her join me in my escapades, early on in our marriage, you might say I over did it a few times.  Gun shy?  Perhaps, but you'd hardly notice the twitch in her eye when I ask her to join me for an adventure these days.  I know better now.  I may be a slow learner but I do learn.  I simply need to preface when and where we're going and for how long.  We have different passions that spur us on, but have no fear; we also have our mutual loves.  Don't misinterpret her; however, she's no wimp.  She's a living miracle and inspiration despite her thoughtful, quiet disposition.  We share our love of humor and wit, literature, writing, family, sports and games as well as travel, nature, art, creativity and photography.  It's part of our story.  Not a perfect story, but definitely a story of ongoing grace and forgiveness.  Faith and hope are powerful entities that fuel us on.  They are entities that provide us with the life lessons we learn from and build upon.

We cooked our brunch over an open fire on the banks of a river while the dogs played and explored.  We talked about our stories and how they are being lived out while intertwining.  Sometimes it seems like we're not living the dream or where we thought we might be at this point in our lives.  But on this day we tried to encourage each other that this too was our story.  Although the river was hidden beneath a layer of ice, it was still flowing.  Occasionally it would boom and echo to remind us.  Likewise, Cindy and I carry on; sometimes swirling in an eddy, sometimes in a stagnated side-channel, but in the big picture we're always moving.  Moving with direction and moving with purpose.  

     It was a good move to go to the woods together today.  It was a chance to talk.  And maybe when we look back, years from now, we'll see it as a notch in our family's stick; an important time when we saw life, and our relationship together, in a different light.  Craig Nova quoted his wife, Christina, in his book Brook Trout and the Writing Life.  She said, "We always seem to see things a little more clearly after you come back from the river."  I'd agree.  Cindy and I have spent our fair share of time together on rivers.  It's a great metaphor for God's power and life in an epic story.  We're in the midst of one in the making.  
     See you along The Way...

Sharing The Love

'Tis the season; and stores began pushing it as soon as Christmas ended.  Pink, red and white decorations; heart shaped with lacy edgings.  All dressed as warm and chocolaty sensations.  Indoor fluff disguised in a greeting card fantasy.

Outdoors it's in the single digits with a 20 to 30 mile an hour wind, making for negative temperature wind chills.  Although frigid, the skies are relatively clear now that the sporadic squalls have moved on from the morning.  It’s crisp, clear, bone crackling, vivid air.  Alluringly sensuous, yet deathly cold, the frosty love of the river bottom-land beckons me.  Perhaps it's a challenge.  Perhaps it's a rite.  A passage into the woods on any day; warm or cold, dry or rainy, windy or calm - is a day of anticipation, preparation and exploration in the midst of tribulation.  That kind of suffering is well worth it though, if you have thought through and then double thought through what is necessary to survive.  Other than the times I stopped to take just the right "selfie" pictures with a mitten-less hand, I managed well. 

       My body core remained constant, with several layers of clothing, and the dogs were doing fine despite the deep drifts over thick-matted marsh grass.  It was my club-like hands and fingers that took the vengeance of Mother Nature's northwest wind head on.  In a few months she would be warm and comforting and full of promise.  Presently, she was harsh and slightly abrasive to any stranger of her land.  I, however, saw her as being someone's Grandma.  She may get after the kids cutting through her yard, and complain to the neighbors about the growing traffic in her neighborhood, but when those who know her visit, she lets them see her true self.  Even Mother Nature in February can serve milk and cookies; it’s all in the perception.  I love winter. The snow and cold are the icing on the cake.

    After working a few moments with an exposed hand, it would take 10 to 15 minutes for it to feel normal again.  When I finally got the picture that sort of showed what I was up against, I finished the hike back into the river's edge.

       I had brought a camouflaged, burlap sheet to act as a wind break, but instead found a ditch that had been hewed from the bank.  The ditch had been formed when spring's rain and snow melt had drained off the low-land and down into the river's channel.  It worked perfect as a place to hunker down and cook a late lunch of breakfast food.  Week after week, throughout the winter months, I never grow tired of my meal of potatoes cut into cubes and cooked in butter.  Eggs, shredded cheddar cheese and sausage (cubed, stadium brats) are added in once the taters turn soft.  I love it.  I crave it.  The fire and meal is like driving the last few miles of a long journey; sitting on the edge of your seat all jittery.  My dogs never get table food at home because I don't want dogs trained to be constantly begging for handouts.  When I hike in, however, and cook like I do, I break the norm and save a little bit for them.  I figure they've earned it, and we're in a little different environment than back at home.

    I was able to start the fire after only a few strikes of the steel on the flint.  A small pinpoint of glowing ember on a piece of char cloth wrapped in a nest of dry grasses is what starts it all.  With tender coaxing and fresh oxygen, flames leapt as I began adding small sticks.  I make small fires because I only need one big enough to cook and warm up water for cocoa; in addition to my hands.  Fires are living, breathing entities that require constant attention.  To make anything bigger brings undue attention.  I try to be stealth.  A bigger fire requires more wood that needs to be found and cut up.  Anything else is what has commonly been called a, "white man's fire", which for anyone with an eye for nature would be seen as overkill.  A small fire is all that is necessary. 

     My total trip was a little over three hours long; perfect under conditions that most people would deem as a day unfit for human meanderings.  Sharing time in nature with my dogs early on allowed me to share time with Cindy, my love, later in the afternoon.  We had a great meal at a restaurant across the State-line in Janesville, Wisconsin.  It was a chance to get out and talk together about life and our family.   Later we watched a movie at home, finishing just before the kids returned from an evening out with friends.  The family, back together, was once again under one roof on a cold winter's night.  The dogs, curled up on their pillows after the day's excursion, occasionally yipped softly and twitched in their dreams.  It was a perfect ending to Valentine’s Day; sharing the love with those you love.  

     See you along The Way...

Wanderlust: The Bewildered Blood Dance

        The concept of "wanderlust" is enticing and edgy but not a true description of what I feel within the confines of my heart.  I like it, but I guess it goes deeper than simply traveling and checking out interesting destinations and cultures.  It also goes beyond living without an agenda or time restraint.  Both are great aspects to fire the soul.  And it's exciting to dream without any cares or limitations.  But my feeling of exploration resonates deeper than that. 
        I grew up in an area that was a tourist's utopia.  I've walked those beaches, swam those lakes, browsed those shops, hiked those paths, skied those slopes, and ran those trails.  I've driven those two-tracks, biked those hills, paddled those rivers, fished those creeks, climbed those trees, and marveled at those sights.  I'd do it again right now at the slightest invitation, because I simply don't tire of it.  Being able to immerse yourself into both wild and tranquil surroundings, and live life to the fullest within those opportunities, is like eating tacos for me.  I don't get full of them, I simply stop eating them; but only after numerous helpings.  Perhaps Mark Twain described it closest to how I feel, when in his story Roughing It he wrote, "Even at this day it thrills me through and through to think of the life, the gladness, and the wild sense of freedom that makes the blood dance in my veins..."
        In a simplified fashion, my son Todd and I explored beyond my usual boundaries and exploits yesterday, to find a spot to cook out on the banks of one of my favorite

rivers.  Favorite, because I can get lost in some of the area's leading back into that moving water.  Most people try to avoid getting lost, which is understandable in some areas and situations.  In Northern Illinois and Southern Wisconsin, however, you have to work at getting lost.  It's work that's worth the effort though.  Once, in a blinding snowstorm, with flakes the size of small flap-jacks, a friend and I got turned around in a small wooded area in the river's bottom-lands.  We found ourselves back at our original starting point after 15 or 20 minutes of trudging.  We laughed, adding that mistakes that happen in the woods stay in the woods.  So I'll only reveal that between the snow and the wind it got really confusing for the two of us.  Was it fun in the end?  You bet it was.  Confusing fun.  Not quite the challenge of ultimate survival or hoping you can live to tell kind of fun, but it was genuine under the circumstances.  Even Daniel Boone once said, "I can't say I was ever lost but I was bewildered once for three days."  That's classic rhetoric from a frontiersman who saw an untamed wilderness that hadn't been seen before and will never be seen again.
        Our trip was only for a couple of hours, but Todd and I still marked into territory that was new to us.  Along the route that I had mapped out in my head, we walked through deep snow, saw roosting bald eagles and worked hard to get our fire started.  It was a good mixture of awe and strain.  Maps are handy like that.  They can help you find areas in which to get lost; if not lost in the terrain, at least lost in spirit.  Conrad Anker, of the North Face Climbing Team said, "It's nearly impossible to get lost these days.  So you have to find adventure within yourself."  Adding to that, mountain biking author Bill Strickland added, "But if you can get lost in spirit and don't, you'll be missing a whole lot more than just a few new trails."

        Todd and I walked and talked while our two dogs ran and explored.  Topics ranged from school to friends and dreams to life.  I found the bewilderment wasn't in our wanderings or destination, but in what was unfolding before my eyes.  I shouldn't have been surprised as to what my wife and I have been prepping and training for - for almost eighteen years.  The little boy who once dawdled beside me, jabbering a mile a minute while swinging a stick at some imaginary arch-villain, had moved well into being a man-child and was now on the precipice of entering adulthood.  More than once I've said my own Dad is one of my best friends.  We seem to understand each other.  He listens and offers advice, has similar interests and models life with a purpose.  I should be so fortunate as to duplicate that into the next generation.  These years, as a Dad myself, it has definitely been an adventure; one that will be ongoing along a trail I am not going to miss out hiking.  True, it is a trail that leads on ahead of me, bending slightly into the unknown.  It is an adventure in which I am not sure I always have the right knowledge or equipment for.  It was and continues to be, however, worth every bit of effort.  I'm proud of my son Todd, and having him hiking alongside of me makes the blood dance in my veins as we move forward into unmarked territory together.  Wanderlust indeed.  
        See you along The Way...

Prepping For An Adventure

        There is something about the anticipation of a big adventure. Whether it's a big adventure due to the buildup in my mind or big because of its very nature, it doesn't really matter.  It's important to have places of escape. Getting ready to visit that place adds to the experience exponentially.  Part of the excitement in that preparation is setting things out, going through supplies, gathering history and information, making contacts, looking at maps, and dreaming.  A strange sidebar to that is cleaning.  How that fits into the equation of preparing for an adventure is beyond me, but somehow it has wormed its way into mine as a necessary factor.

        As a kid it drove my sisters and I crazy to have to wait for the moment we would all pile into our vehicle and pull out of our long gravel driveway.  Along with my parents, my sisters and I first had to put things away, straighten up rooms, and have the dishes washed.  And for our family that also included having everything around the farm prepared for whoever we had lined up to do the chores.  It was preparation for the preparation, or at least preparation before you could prepare.  Mathematically speaking it was preparation squared (P²).  On the flip-side, the return home was much easier to face when you walked from your adventure back into some form of normalcy.  

        Fast forward 30 some years, and I continue the madness - I mean continue the tradition.  Late in the summer, when my kids were younger, my wife Cindy and I would escape with them to the North, and the shores of Lake Superior, to camp as a family.  We'd alternate between the Porcupine Mountains, Copper Harbor, or Grand Marais in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.  Our destination didn't matter as it was "Up North" and a chance to breathe deep before the next school year started.  My wife would plan, shop, and put the food together.  I would pour through the supplies and the kids would lay out the items I wrote down for them to bring. Somewhere in the midst of getting ready for the trip the garage was swept, the lawn was mowed, trees were trimmed and the garden mulched.  The tasks were all of the "necessary" to-do's on the check list before you could leave. Now as my children's involvement in other activities has increased, our family time together has turned down other lanes.

        I have individually, however, been able to continue to head North these last few years.  I meet my cousins for a several day excursion "out in the bush" of Northern Lower Michigan; within my boyhood environment.

Before I can pack my old Jeep with all of the essential gear, I first have to prep.  That means I need to take care of the things necessary to leave the outside yard looking good, as well as completing inside chores to erase my guilt for being gone that long, spread the love, and pave the way to take off with a clear head and a free spirit.  Most of the "to-dos" are of my own accord and infliction; a far cry from my childhood.  

        As a family, we still have our trip to Southern Michigan and the original roots of my family.  We've done that trip so many times the preparation is mindless for the most part. In fact, when it comes to prepping for something that has become a constant, even though you might sense the basic outcome, it's that known entity that fuels your drive.
        Day to day the anticipation for an adventure may look different. Two items come to the forefront of my mind in conjunction with my interests.  The first is preparing for fishing.  That is an entry for a later time, with enticing and specific details, that center around gear and location.  The other item is one that I experienced today. It involved contacting a friend of mine.  Scott, who even in life's busyness and the family responsibilities of being a father of small boys, is typically game to join me.  

        We've trained and run races together.  And like today, we enjoy hiking the dogs through the bottom-lands of local rivers to make a small fire from flint and steel, cook a meal, and then hike out. Our personas are pretty easy going and so are our conversations. Getting out is a chance to decompress and simply be ourselves; unencumbered by life's restrictions, albeit for a short time out of one day.
        I began the day, after taking my son to track practice, by washing up the dishes in the sink and clearing off the table and counter tops.  Next I cleaned my accessories from last week's excursion and then cut and prepared the food.  I laid it all out, checked it over, and then carefully placed it into my old, familiar backpack.  I've done this type of thing for the last few years; since the kids were little and I took them on "Daddy Outings."  They continue to join me for an outing at least once each winter but at other times I go solo, with Scott, or include others after a special invitation.  Last year I made it out for nine weekends in a row, as the winter and early spring season is a great time to head to the woods.  The mosquitoes are non-existent and poison ivy is dormant.  
        It's important to have places of escape.  It's important to have secret destinations that you routinely can get to - or that you dream of.  It's also important to prepare in advance.  For in working to get ready, you ignite the anticipation for having an adventure.  To that end, the component of heading into the unknown first begins with the known.  
        See you along The Way...