5 Lessons I Learned in Minnesota

This past weekend, Jeremie and I drove ten hours north to go canoeing in Minnesota’s Voyageurs National Park. We rolled into our first campsite at the frigid hour of one o’clock AM, used headlamps to set up camp, and slept quite comfortably. When the sun rose, the Ash River dock served as a great breakfast table – we ate leftover hummus (see Lesson 1) and watched fishermen and people with homes on the lake put their boats in. Conversation was friendly but cautionary. Boaters whose voices belied Minnesota or Wisconsin roots warned us how cold it gets at night and wondered at our choice to camp. With every indication of doubt, my concern grew. We had been fine last night, but maybe these locals know something I don’t know. Jeremie pointed out that from the perspective of a houseboat, camping would appear a little crazy; our willingness to engage with the outdoors was different and we would be fine. We loaded our gear into our rented, red “Old Town” canoe and set out. Paddling out in that gorgeous wilderness, I learned some valuable lessons which I now impart to you.

Lesson 1: The World’s Best Hummus is Hiding in Minneapolis

On the drive up, our hunger for dinner and our arrival in Minneapolis happily coincided. We used Jeremie’s iPhone to find The Holy Land, a well-recommended Middle Eastern restaurant on the fringe of town. In one step, you go from nondescript sidewalk to bright, loud, gathering of nations. Jeremie and I stood in the swirl of language and activity smiling – this was going to be a good place to eat. I had a chicken kebab platter and Jeremie tried the souvlaki. We dipped fried pita chips into thick, creamy hummus drizzled with olive oil. Now, let it be said that Iowa City is home to some very popular hummus. Oasis serves the best. Or, so we thought. With all due respect to Oasis, The Holy Land has the best hummus my mouth has ever had the privilege of experiencing. Not only did we take leftovers to eat for breakfast the next day, but we stopped for another round of souvlaki and hummus on our way home on Monday.

Lesson 2: Canoeing is Communicating

If anyone wants to build better communication skills, I would highly suggest taking up canoeing. There’s no way to get from Point A to Point B in a variable-sensitive vessel without learning something about yourself and your paddling buddy. It required lots of little adjustments between the two of us. For starters, I needed to take the time to understand where Point B was. Translating the islands on the map to the scene before us was tricky at times. It sounded something like this: “Okay. See that little yellow tree on the bank next to the big rock?” “On the roundy island or the flattish one?” “Roundy. We want to head for the left. There should be an inlet there that we can’t see yet.” “Got it.” If I was in the back seat in charge of steering, it was important for me to assert myself in directing and to ask for help when I needed it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was successful.

Lesson 3: Squirrels Will Be Squirrels

Thanks to Dr. Brauner’s lavender-scented biodegradable soap, I had an invigorating bathing experience on the second night. It was much too cold to swim, so while Jeremie explored the island, I stayed at the dock and followed his advice for washing one section at a time and keeping the rest clothed and warm. That night, I left my wet camp towel outside. The next morning, there were curious bits of blue cloth scattered about. Hmmm….they look like my towel. Well, the squirrels had bitten off towel fragments and apparently decided against taking them home, preferring to strew them around. I can’t be mad at them. If I were a squirrel, I know I’d pillage anything in my tree’s vicinity – especially something of the REI quick-dry variety.

Lesson 4: Smoky Was Right

“Only you can prevent forest fires!” – Smoky the Bear. So true, Smoky, so true. One cold, windy morning, Jeremie went about packing up the tent while I took charge of boiling water for oatmeal. Jeremie had taught me how to use his stove and I muttered the steps to myself as I put the pieces together. I carefully poured the fuel and struggled to light it in the strong wind. I was determined to do this on my own. Surely I could do something useful around camp without Jeremie’s help. Finally, I lit it. I stood by, proud and vigilant, and made little place settings with our mugs and sporks. The flame seemed much stronger than I remembered when Jeremie did it yesterday. Maybe it was the wind. Or, upon closer inspection, maybe it was because the plastic coated picnic table was on fire. “Jeremie! Please help me!!!” He raced over, tipped the covering off, and the flames dropped to the ground, consuming dry twigs and pine needles. Now a patch of table and a section of ground were on fire. Jeremie grabbed a water bottle and doused the flames with the water he had arduously pumped and filtered the night before. I had missed a step in my stove process. The fuel was meant to sit in the holder, off the table. We looked at each other and the scorched circle on the table and had to laugh a little. I’ll bet I’ll never need another reminder about how to use that stove!

Lesson 5: There’s Fall and Then There’s FALL

My whole life, I’ve loved fall. It’s a beautiful season. I always knew that the east coast had tour-worthy leaves, but I stubbornly adored my Washington trees for what they brought to the table. Well, friends, I’ve had a taste of FALL. It was like God was showing us what He meant colors to look like when He first created them. Dark green trees and thick, bright green moss. Stark white trunks. Thick clusters and delicate sprays of oranges, yellows, and reds. All reflecting on sparkling blue waterways. One time, Jeremie and I got out of the canoe to explore a bit. I was embodying the word crabby. We forged our own path to the top of a rise over a beaver dammed lake and sat in the sun, watching individual aspen leaves dance to the ground. What a beautiful moment. Crabby or not, I couldn’t imagine feeling more privileged to be in a spot in the world. Thank you, God, for FALL.