Serenity
There aren't many places to find serenity in modern living anymore. TV will tell you that serenity can be found in a new car, or a new and improved shampoo, but my car is usually just a messier version of my house, and my shampoo - no matter what brand I try - is still just something that cleans my hair.
So Mike and I seek serenity in nature. And when we take the boys off to adventures in nature, what we're really trying to do is to teach them where and how to seek serenity. They are 14 and 17 now, and not always willing to leave behind their friends and devices to go off with us to all corners of the world without a clear answer to the question "Why?" Somehow the answer "To seek serenity" is not the most convincing to them. Therefore, the beginning of our sojourns are frequently now marked by long discussions, arguments and general crankiness. This was true this July when we told the boys we were going canoeing. Oh the agony and the protests! "I have better things to do!" "We don't even like canoeing!" and "This lake better not be far away!" were uttered more than once by both of them. There may have even been refusals and raised voices, followed by reminders that certain privileges (such as wifi and food) are only earned by those who participate fully in family functions. It was messy and infuriating folks, I won't lie to you.
Nevertheless, we persisted.
Sometime after 10am on Saturday, July 28, 2018 we headed to our not-far-away, stupid, no good lake: Lower Nemahbin Lake just south of Delafield, WI.
It was a pretty day - a bright blue sky with perfect, rounded white clouds high in the sky. The access area was easy to find, and parking ample. There were more than a few folks at the boat launch, so after a bit of scouting we opted for a short trail through the woods that led to a small pier... the canoe access. We unloaded the kayak and canoe, and worked together to carry them down the trail along with all our gear. Mike transferred from his motorized wheelchair to a small, manual chair, and was pushed easily, if bumpily, down the hard-packed dirt trail. We were finally on our way!
Mike opted to ride in the middle of the canoe, while I sat in the stern, Josh in the bow. Luke started out in the kayak. Teamwork was required for lowering Mike from his wheelchair to the pier, and then the pier to the canoe, but everything went smoothly. The launch went so well, and the day was so pretty - that before we knew it the bickering and the unpleasantness of the morning was far behind us. As soon as our paddles hit the water everyone sort of sighed and settled in. It's hard to describe that moment when the water and the wind and the sky take over and all other worldly cares are left behind. Our eyes turned outward. Our hearts flexed and widened. Our senses sharpened. Author Sigurd F. Olson describes it as magical:
"There is magic in the feel of a paddle and the movement of a canoe, a magic compounded of distance, adventure, solitude, and peace. The way of a canoe is the way of the wilderness and of a freedom almost forgotten. It is an antidote to insecurity, the open door to waterways of ages past and a way of life with profound and abiding satisfactions. When a man is part of his canoe, he is part of all that canoes have ever known."
It was a short paddle, and at the end there were smiles. I don't know if we found serenity, but we sought it together, and we caught at least a reflection of it on the waters of the Lower Nemahbin that day.