The dishes drip-dried in the rack. Dad sipped wine at the shoreline, sitting on a big round rock relaxing. Our group survived a huge lake crossing earlier in the day, and we landed at this camp exhausted, tired, and ready for a break. The murmur of route planning wafted down from camp as the three of us sat watching the light show. Mirrored lakes reflect sky colors so beautiful they have no names.
Read MoreThe canoe glides across liquid glass, casting chevron ripples in our wake. The warbling song of a Loon pierces the near-total silence of the late morning as I dipped my paddle methodically into the water, leaving it trailing behind me. A flick to the right rudders the canoe in the direction of a distant island across the lake. A feeling bubbled up and settled down in my body. I belong here. Here in the wild on Planet Earth.
Read MoreMy friend Sherri walked up to the old rusted red Subaru Brat overburdened with a 16-foot canoe strapped to its roof and said, "Sweet, how early are we leaving?" I knew right then she would be a friend for life. There is something liberating about leaving a house full of stuff behind and carrying everything you need to survive and be happy in a pack. Or, in this case, several packs tightly wedged in our canoes.
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