A Very Long Walk in May, Chapter 13, The Final Chapter

Our first day out and yet unaware of all the things God would teach us on our very long walk.

Amnesia

God often teaches me with metaphors.  And, as I write this last chapter of A Long Walk in May, I will relate to you the lessons that God revealed to me in the months following my trip.

Let’s start at the beginning.  Less than a year before I agreed to hike with Tess, Brent and I had become empty nesters.  Empty nesting promised frivolity and freedom from many of the responsibilities that I had fulfilled for the last 25 years. “It will be fun,” everyone said, and in my wish for “the good life,” I believed them.

Mothering my four kids had been the most fulfilling thing I had ever done in my nearly 50 years; it was a role I was made to play; a role that used my creative imagination and nurturing tendencies to their full capacity.  I enjoyed being needed (most of the time!) and loved guiding these little people to live their lives for Jesus.  So, when this era ended, even though I thought I had prepared, I struggled greatly with the transition.  I looked around to see other empty nesters reveling in their newfound freedom and gliding into this new phase with purpose and energy. I wasn’t gliding. Discontentment with my lot became a heavy burden; I was unhappy with who I was and couldn’t figure out who I was supposed to become.  I had identity amnesia. This amnesia took away confidence in the skills I actually did possess and the successes I was able to achieve, and replaced it with self-doubt about my value.  Emotionally, I was in a pretty tenuous spot.

Salvation?

When Tess asked me to hike with her, I saw it as a sort of “salvation.”  It was an opportunity to escape from this new life and do something familiar while spending time with my daughter.  I viewed our upcoming thru hike as a fun and refreshing getaway.  But, as we trudged through our cold and muddy journey, I found myself struggling with the same feelings I had been battling beforehand; the hiking was harder than expected; my pack seemed overly heavy; and though I thought I had prepared well, I was still slogging along.  Tess, and eventually Brent and Cole, seemed to be having no problem with this physical adjustment; in fact they were happy for the challenge. And here I was, tripping over my mud-encrusted sneakers.  Why did I even call myself a backpacker?  As with empty nesting, the journey was different than I had envisioned, and I was on uneven ground—emotionally and physically.  This gap between the ideal and the real left me sullen and self-focused.  I was mad because I wanted  “my best life now” and was failing miserably at finding it.  I was choosing to let my circumstances control how I perceived my present situation; I was choosing to be unhappy.

Epiphany

After the trip was over and we returned home, I was relaying my frustration about my backpacking performance to my ever wise husband; “I made Tess’ goal unachievable,” and “I can’t believe I couldn’t keep up with you guys!” were met with Brent’s counter statements of “Aren’t you glad you got to spend all of that time with Tess?” and “Wow!  You completed 250 miles!” and finally, the clincher, “You should be grateful and look for the good.”

That was it! I had not been grateful for the freedom of schedule that my empty nesting had provided.  I had not appreciated the amazing opportunities that lay before me now that the biggest and most important job of my life was complete. I had chosen sullenness over satiety because my feelings lied to me.  And, in the same way, I had not looked for the good on my backpacking trip; no, it wasn’t what I envisioned it to be, but God had been faithful and had kept us safe.  Even during the scary storm, God had allowed our tent to hold and our faith to outweigh our fear.  He had brought to mind hymns that we could sing and Scripture we could repeat so we could carry on.  I mean, who else gets to take three weeks off of regular life to go hang out in the woods with their daughter?  Me, that’s who. I am blessed beyond measure! If I could have a re-do, I would choose joy. Though my best life isn’t actually NOW, I can choose contentment in what I have been given; instead of complaining about my lack, I can proclaim the wonders of God’s sweet provision.

Truth

Isn’t it the same with the gospel?  We enter into the Kingdom of God with all sorts of preconceived notions: Now our lives will make sense!  Now we will be happy!  Now our hearts will be at peace!  But then we get stuck in the mud and mire of normal lives, and the gap between the ideal and the real widens.  We become so jaded by the reality of living in a broken world that our prayers become feeble requests for comfort. Our focus becomes our ease rather than our eternity.  But God promises something more.  He says in John 16:33, “In this world YOU WILL HAVE TROUBLE. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”  We shouldn’t base our satisfaction on what we have in the here and now; we should put our confidence in the One who has overcome this unfulfilling world and has prepared a perfect place for us!  If we choose to think about what awaits us in our Heavenly home, many of our heavy burdens will become what Paul labels “light and momentary afflictions.”

And so ends my thru hiking story. When I started it, I thought I was supposed to relay the perspective I had gained on the value of perseverance, and grit (the things I didn't possess), but when I finally completed the journey, I found it was not about any of that.  It was not about my weakness when I should have been strong, or about my cowardice in danger; it was about a great God who gives me the freedom to choose life or death, hope or fear, joy or bitterness. So, from this day forward, whether empty or filled, muddy or clean, skilled or inept, I purpose to choose joy as I remember that my best life ISN'T now. It's promised to me in the future when I finish this very long walk on the earth and run into the arms of my Savior. He is waiting for me, and for you too. Keep walking.

When we all get to heaven,
What a day of rejoicing that will be!
When we all see Jesus,
We’ll sing and shout the victory!

While we walk the pilgrim pathway,
Clouds will overspread the sky;
But when trav’ling days are over,
Not a shadow, not a sigh.

Let us then be true and faithful,
Trusting, serving every day;
Just one glimpse of Him in glory
Will the toils of life repay.

Onward to the prize before us!
Soon His beauty we’ll behold;
Soon the pearly gates will open;
We shall tread the streets of gold.

When We All Get to Heaven~E.E. Hewitt

A Very Long Walk in May, Chapter 12

Wednesday, May 31st, 2017    Day 17.  It's the last day of May, and now, the last full day of our trip. I am happy and sad about that. I will explain: Today was beautiful, warm, and sunny. I have waited so long for a day like this! We got up early and hiked by ourselves, and I kept feeling like I was last and everyone else was faster and better. By lunchtime I was feeling so bad, I wanted to talk about it with everyone. I am such an outsider with the three of them since the boys arrived. Now I’m sorry I spoke up because Brent suggested that we could all be done tomorrow. Everyone eventually agreed to this plan, probably as a result of my other little breakdown yesterday. Now I'm sad and it is anti-climactic because we are deciding to cut the trip short and go—by shuttle-- to Duluth for a few days. Was I wrong to voice my opinion, God? Help me to fully reconcile everything.

Sunshine and Self-Loathing

We awoke to sunshine today and hiked alone until lunchtime.  While I tried desperately to keep up, I kept rehashing how incredibly inept I was. It was super hard for me to have the rest of my crew hiking fast and furiously, leaving me in the dust mud; I was still so slow. Since the guys arrived, I had felt like the odd man out; Brent was the obvious leader; he hikes heartily, he tells better stories, and he doesn’t hyperventilate when he crosses narrow ravines or wades through rivers.  He is just tougher.  I felt tougher when it was just Tess and I.  Now I felt weak. 

The truth of the matter wasn’t that I didn’t fit in with the rest of them (although that’s how it felt); it was that my goals still differed from theirs.  I just wanted to hike and enjoy the sunshine and smell the air and revel in the blue sky.  Making up mileage was so unimportant to me. I kept telling myself that things would have been much better if the guys hadn’t joined us because then I would still have a buddy--Tess--who would have lots of grace with me.  I took it so personally.  I do things like that.

But it wasn’t personal at all.  Brent, Cole and Tess were joyful in their fast hiking.  Covering lots of miles with lots of energy made them happy.  They had no ill will, as I had imagined.  I, and my rogue emotions, was actually the one at fault.  If I had just accepted that my style was different, but okay, I would have enjoyed my trip--and especially this day--so much more. And I wouldn’t have worried so incessantly about “fitting in.” However, because I was enveloped in my pitiful self-loathing, when we stopped for lunch I was in tears.  (I had been so stoic for the entire trip…until the guys arrived.  When they showed up, I became a crybaby. Go figure.) Brent, trying to fix the problem and extinguish my fits of temperament, suggested we wrap up our trip early, call a shuttle for the next day, and spend the rest of our allotted time happily visiting Duluth. At his suggestion, I felt simultaneously remorseful and relieved; I could actually be done with this incredibly exhausting challenge! But, at the same time, finishing the trip tomorrow would also mean the end of a unique bonding time with Tess doing something we would probably--hopefully--never do again. We decided to think on it as we hiked that afternoon.

When we found our campsite later that day, we set up our tents as fast as possible because the mosquitoes had awakened from a long winter’s nap. The sun was marvelous, but it brought forth these miniature ravenous beasts that, because of our hypothermia, we had forgotten existed.  We tried to wash up in the river, thinking it was probably our putridness drawing them in, but the water only attracted them to us. We dunked quickly and ran back to our tents to escape their torment. 

 Since we needed to discuss the uncertain future of our hike, we all piled into the girls’ tent to have a serious talk. “Piling in” is literal here; keep in mind that our tent is very small--with barely enough room for Tess and I and our dog--and now we had invited two huge men into it for a conference.  It was nearly impossible to fit, and we had to sit at odd angles to make it work, but at this point, with the murderous mosquitoes buzzing at our zipped screens and sounding like millions of tiny grenades aiming upon our roof, we were willing to try.  As we munched on our pre-meal licorice, we analyzed the achievability of our original goal.  We had nearly 40 miles remaining and only two days left before Tess had to return to Iowa City to start preparing for her new job. Trying to hike 20 miles for the next two days seemed insurmountable to me, and we conversed about letting Cole and Tess go it alone while Brent and I hailed a cab to Duluth.  We finally vetoed this plan—at least the parental cab part—and wanted to stay all together.  Not being able to reconcile the details with the remaining time we had, we all voted that tomorrow would be our final day.  Realizing that the die had been cast (and I was the one who had thrown it), I started to cry (yet again) and to apologize for my all my weaknesses (I have a very guilty concience). Tess, normally stoic herself, also shed tears knowing that this goal—to thru hike the entire SHT--would remain unfulfilled, at least for now.  The guys seemed mostly unfazed by our final declaration because they were newbies to the game; sore, tired, and, now, bug bitten.  But, for me, and for Tess, I think, our decision to “quit” felt a bit like a failure.  We had planned a trip, pursued a goal, and now were giving it up.  If I had not been present on that day, I think the others would have chosen to push through--doing back-breaking mileage for the remainder of the hike--to finish the course.  I was unable to do this.

Suppertime arrived and we attempted to make a fire to fend of the mosquitoes, but all we could make is smoke which made us smell like a campfire. The bugs seemed unaffected by our efforts and our new scent.  So, we quickly cooked our food and then hopped in our tents to eat and finally sleep.  It was an unromantic finale to our unromantic journey.

I may look happy here but I am actually delirious because of the mosquitoes. Cole choose to wear a full headscarf to stave off the tiny demons.

The End is Near
The next morning, Tess and I tried to be cheerful even though we were both feeling down.  We packed up our tent for the very last time, and we gathered our still-wet laundry from the trees.  We put our very familiar packs on our backs and tied our ever-muddy shoes.  We trekked to the river to wash oatmeal out of our permanently dirty dishes, and watched for the last time as Jet smelled each and every tiny pine tree on the well worn trail.  It was all bittersweet.

And then we were off, hiking together as if all was well and we were tackling another day on the SHT.  But, we weren’t facing another day of hiking; we were simply finding our way to the nearest trailhead where we would call a shuttle (Harriet didn’t come this far down) and ask for a lift into Duluth.  It only took us a couple of creek crossings and two hours to find our pick-up spot, where we sat waiting for transport.  Lost in my thoughts, I sat in the shrubbery feeling sad about the whole thing. Tess also sat sullenly looking at a rock she had found. Cole wandered around swatting mosquitoes and trying to eat as many of his remaining snacks as possible, and Brent walked in the middle of the dusty road attempting to find adequate internet so he could check his email.  Soon, an older gentleman arrived in a white minivan and unceremoniously told us to load up our stuff. We did this and then hopped in the vehicle for an hour long ride into the city.  

Our trip was done.  

Our adventure completed.

Waiting in the shrubbery on our last hiking day. Contrary to popular belief, Tess is NOT wearing Minnie Mouse ears here.  It is an optical illusion.

As we checked into a hotel in Duluth, took hot showers, and ate outside in the sun at a cute Mexican cantina, I started to come to terms with it all; we had probably done the right thing.  We ended our journey while we were still healthy, happy, and only partially devoured by biting insects. And sleeping in a bed sounded pretty fantastic.  However, I was still haunted that my lack of "grit” had ruined our trip. But my sweet family put me at ease; the day after our arrival in Duluth, while Cole and I went to soak in the hot tub, Brent and Tess went out to explore. They returned from their excursion with a Minnesota T-shirt for me and a garage sale stuffed animal for Jet.  Jet felt very loved by their thoughtfulness, and I, by their patience and grace.  They stuck with me because they love me. That was the true story.

The Very Long Walk in May had come to an end on June 1 and we left for home on the 2nd, a day before our 28th wedding anniversary. What a learning experience the very long walk had been, but what a true gift it was to be done!*

*This is NOT the end of my story.  There is still one more chapter to write.  I thought it only appropriate that this little book have 13 chapters. Keep watch and be comforted that I mostly stopped crying and finally figured out what the angst was all about.  Stay tuned for the final chapter: Lessons Learned on A Very Long Walk in May…coming soon!

A Very Long Walk in May, Chapter 11

Tuesday May 30, 2017   Day 16.  Still rainy and cold...big surprise.  Started out around 7am and hiked most of the morning in mud and water--YUK--most of the day actually! Now, the guys are starting to understand our incessant talk about the mud.  Done by 4:00 pm and put in over 17 miles!  Guys are understandably tired.  Inclines still kill me.  Warm weather tomorrow?

The very normal gray and foreboding sky amidst the birch trees. The darker blue is Lake Superior

Tess and I attempting to make our way down a little dilapidated stairway to a long dilapidated bridge.  Notice my muddy pant legs and shoes.

Goodbye Gooseberry Falls

After listening to the family in the site next to ours yell at their kids into the wee hours of the morning, I finally fell asleep reminiscing about our conversation with Shay and telling myself that if I slept, I could actually get up and use a real bathroom with warm water in the morning. Before I go any further, let me tell you about these state park bathrooms.  State park bathrooms would, at any other time in my normal life, be disgusting to me.  They are very minimal and often dirty and have things like people hair, pet hair, and old food in the drains of the sinks (There are almost always signs that say “No dish washing in bathroom sinks” but no one obeys this because they really need to wash their dishes.).  But when one has been backpacking in the mud and mire for over two weeks, state park bathrooms become a place of refuge and warmth, despite their normally off putting qualities.  When you take a shower in a state park bathroom, they (meaning whomever is in charge of these places) are VERY concerned that you not use too much hot water.  Because of this concern, they install these push button type showers that you have to compress every 90 seconds to keep the water running.  Sometimes, one can figure out a system by which leaning on the knob can produce a constant flow, but mostly you have to just keep pushing.  This unending knob pushing interferes greatly with one’s enjoyment of what could be a hopefully warm (but often only tepid) and enjoyable shower.*  It also makes the washing of one’s very dirty clothes a type of racing game since you are trying to gauge how many of your muddy garments you could possibly scrub out adequately in the 90 second water flow--usually only one pair of socks.  To make this process a bit simpler and faster, I would often just shower in my clothes first to get them “clean,” then strip them off to bathe my actual body.  The stripping off part was always quite difficult, because wet clothes are hard to manage, and cold, because the minute the water went off, the damp chill of the little shower stall permeated my barely warm skin.  After bathing, I used the tiny washcloth I brought along (large towels are not completely necessary) to try dry myself.  It never fully worked, and I would put my “night time” clothes (remember, one outfit for hiking and one for sleeping?) on my now-freezing self, chattering uncontrollably.  Sometimes, if the bathroom had a hot-air hand dryer, I would try to turn the nozzle upward and absorb a little of the heat.  When you are backpacking and cold all the time, hot air feels like Heaven.

Okay, back to the story at hand.  We arose early, put on all of our clothes because it was, once again, misting and cold. Brent had gotten up early to heat up some water for oatmeal and we sat quietly eating our breakfast at the picnic table, trying to ready ourselves for packing up our wet tents and going on our wet way.  We found our way out of Gooseberry Falls State Park and hiked to the first available campsite in mud up to our ankles.  This mud was so slippery that, at times, we had to be extra careful not to unintentionally ski down the hills. After navigating such difficult conditions, and after getting confused because of poor trail markings, the family agreed that it had been a good idea to stop when we had last night as this type of trail is difficult at dusk. This made me very happy.

Tiny Vampires

The others wanted to hike alone again, but Cole sweetly said that he would hike with me for awhile, so we walked together for rest of the morning.  After lunch, we backpacked as a group past two large dilapidated recliners in an open field, and wondered aloud how they had gotten there (You see strange things like that when you are out in the middle of nowhere.  One time, while hiking in Pennsylvania, we saw a queen size mattress just lying on the side of the trail.  I guess someone decided that comfort was overrated).  Arriving at our chosen campsite in late afternoon, we set up in cloudy (but presently non-rainy) conditions. Tess and I proceeded to go back down the hill we had just traveled up to try to wash in the bubbling brook nearby.  While I sat on the bank and scrubbed my feet, Tess walked right into the shallow water, trying to rinse off some of the accumulated mud.  When she sat down on a rock to inspect the state of her feet, she gave a little shriek; she had lost the mud but gained an entire colony of black leeches--stuck at uneven intervals across both feet and onto her lower legs. I also had a few of them stuck to the bottom of my feet.  Have you ever pulled leeches off of your skin?  Those little suckers are hard to remove (that’s punny) and they hang on for dear life because they want to drink your blood like tiny little vampires.  This is not the kind of discovery you want to make while bathing--especially since the guys had just gathered water for drinking from that same little river.  When we returned to our campsite and reported on Tess’ leeches (she had finally gotten them all off), Cole educated us all on the great effectiveness of Maggot Therapy; it’s a thing. He had listened to podcast about it and the leeches jogged his memory.  When I came home and looked it up on Wikipedia, I found he was actually telling the truth.  Here is what it says: “Maggot therapy is a type of biotherapy involving the introduction of live, disinfected maggots (fly larvae) into the non-healing skin and soft tissue wound(s) of a human or animal for the purpose of cleaning out the necrotic (dead) tissue within a wound (debridement) and disinfection.  There is evidence that maggot therapy may help with wound healing.” And yes, I know that leeches have a medical history as well, so I decided I needed to give that equal play here.  Here is what I found online about these little bloodsuckers: “Leeches have been used in medicine for over 2,500 years. They were more popular in earlier times because it was widely thought that most diseases were caused by an excess of blood. As recently as the 19th century, leeches were used to treat everything from tonsillitis to hemorrhoids. You can imagine what both of those treatments involved.”

Not to be outdone by the drama of the leeches, We also had another visitor that evening. While we ate our supper, we were accosted by a very angry crow.  Apparently, we had invaded his domain because his incessant cawing nearly drove us mad. In our tents now to avoid the threatening storm, we talked tent to tent about the book, The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe; a seemingly appropriate choice considering the trip so far. Cole got so annoyed by the bird’s chatter that he starting throwing small logs into nearby tree branches to try to silence it. Either he hit the bird, or the crow decided it had made his point.  Regardless, the cawing ceased and we were able to get on with our nightly routine which included important things like eating and sleeping.

Post-leech, pre-crow campsite pic with child campers at their respective tents

Speaking of eating, before Cole and Brent arrived, Tess I would share a meal each night that consisted of beef stew, Thai noodles, Mexican rice and beans, or something similar.  We would heat water on our stove, add it to the dehydrated food in the bag and hold it tightly until the water was absorbed and we could split it between our bowls.  We often had to encourage each other to finish because our weariness often outweighed our hunger.  It was not like this when the guys came; they were hysterically hungry, and we had to up our food prep from one bag to three since they kept talking about how ravenous they were.  Guys are weird.  Though we didn’t know it now, tomorrow, the last day of May, would be the last full day of our very long walk. And I would be racked with guilt.  Stay tuned.

*This very unfulfilling showering process always made me think of what Hell must be like--only in reverse--being constantly freezing and then getting the tiny promise of warmth, only to have it time out before you actually get warm, and never being able to actually get a constant stream of glorious hot water to soothe your battered soul.

A Very Long Walk in May, Chapter 10

A chilly supper with one of the two trip crashers

Trip Crashers

After the first full day with Brent and Cole, Tess and I felt like they had commandeered our trip.  We had created our own cadence of existence in the last two weeks, just the two of us; when the guys came on the scene, they decided to run the show--choosing how far to hike, when to stop for meals, and what time to break camp in the mornings--NOT cool. When we arrived at our campsite that day, we found a fire pit surrounded with benches; and on the benches were a package of dried apricots, a can of roasted almonds, a bag of trail mix, and a portion of salami--all unopened! Apparently someone was trying to lighten their pack and decided to leave us some goodies!  We were thrilled and hoped that they weren’t bait left by a crazy person who wanted to poison us (Gino, anyone?).  Because we were hungry, we assumed that the majority of hikers are not murderers, and we tore open a few of the packages.  (We all woke up in the morning, so our assumption was luckily accurate.)  After the snack surprise, we had to climb a little incline to set up our tents for the night.  You would have thought that small hill was Everest by the way the guys complained.  When they finally made it and clumsily set up their tent, and after Jet had tripped (multiple times) over the staking ropes, making it crash down on them, they both climbed in--full of mud--and told us that they couldn’t move. Tess and I choose to ignore their groanings, but we did bring hot drinks to their tent--after we had gone up and down the hill several times--to show that we weren’t completely without compassion. We then proceeded to cook our supper, and the guys eventually joined us on the benches until it was time to go back to our tents to sleep.

Tess and I still shared our tiny vinyl home each night (where we could commiserate about our “guests”), which was good since the guys kept rehearsing how sore they were, how much they stunk, and how much Cole’s very voluminous snack bag weighed.  Every night previous, Tess and I would talk about the day, tick check one another * (the ticks were thick), and drift off to sleep in our cozy sleeping bags--it was the same this night, except that we made a pact to voice our frustrations to the guys; the next day at lunch, we decided to broach the topic of trip-crashing.

A River Runs Through It

We rose with the sun the following morning--Memorial Day-- because the “guys said” we needed to be on the trail by 7 am.  And by 7:01 pm, I had been passed three times--even by my ally--because everyone wanted to “hike alone.”  This hiking alone thing was not good for me, especially now when I was feeling patronized by the rest of the group.  But hike alone I did, shedding some “no one likes me” tears along the way.  I knew this mantra really wasn’t true, but my feelings were being very loud and convincing, and I was having trouble coming to terms with my inability to hike fast.  The others all seemed driven to cover lots of miles, and I was afraid of losing my partner to “the dark side.” The lunch hour finally arrived, and I knew it would be at least another 30 minutes until I found our agreed upon meeting spot. This meant the guys and Tess would have to wait on the “slow one.”  It didn’t help that the signage for the trail was unclear and that I spent at least 15 minutes hiking in the wrong direction before I figured out my mistake. When I finally caught up with them, they said, “We thought you got lost” in seemingly concerned voices, but they couldn’t have been so concerned because no one thought to check on me before that.  (End of rant)

When we sat down to a lunch of homemade hummus and Triscuits, I wondered if Tess was still my buddy and if she would stick to our agreement.  She did, and we told the guys that we felt like they had hijacked our trip by arriving and taking over. They saw how we could feel that way, and said they hadn’t meant to interfere; from now on, they promised, they would try harder not to be so “in charge.” Sensing that I had a captive audience at this point, I spoke up, trying to keep my voice steady, and said, “And please, please, don’t make me hike all alone.”  They agreed that someone would stay with me, and that when we hiked as a group they would put me in front.  All of this was considerate, but I still felt degraded because I couldn’t keep up even when I gave my best effort.  I was the proverbial “fat kid” on the track team, whom everyone cheers for but no one wants to be.  I decided that this was my lot in life because when one is tired and cold and has been hiking for 15 days in the wilderness, one sometimes makes things bigger than they actually are.

As I led the group along the trail, I noticed a sign that said, “Bridge ahead: washed out. Redirect your route.”  When I showed this to Brent, he said, “I think that’s an old sign. They probably have fixed it by now.” Apparently he had forgotten that it was May in Northern Minnesota and no fixing had been happening in the dead of winter (which lasts until May as Tess and I discovered).  So, we went on, expecting either to find a new bridge, or to be able to cross the river on foot.  When we came to the point where the bridge should have been, there was a platform on either side of the river, but no middle; the bridge had most definitely washed away.  As I stood looking at the frigid thigh-high river raging past me, I said in my scariest voice, “I AM NOT crossing that river!  We have to find another way!”  But, just as on other backpacking trips where I have refused to go any further, I ended up being convinced to persevere through my panicked hyperventilation, because it would take “too much extra time” to go around.  This argument never is very convincing for me since we are hiking and have nothing else on our agenda.  So, there I was, timidly stepping into the freezing river from one slippery rock to another, as the rapids raced past me.  Brent had stationed himself in the middle, where the water was up to his knees, so I knew it would be higher on me. He said, “it’s not that bad, just go slowly and I will help you across.” Again, the kids both passed me like it was no big deal to cross a running river with a 30 pound pack, and they stood on the other shore cheering for the fat kid.  Since I had the dog, I held his leash tightly and encouraged him to join me in the water.  Being a smart dog, he thought it a very bad idea and firmly stationed himself in the dry brush alongside the riverbed. I gave Brent the leash and he tugged Jet into the river, but having no footing, the dog slipped and started being pulled down the rapids.  I screamed, the dog cried out, and I was sure he was a goner.  Brent lunged over and grabbed him by the collar and gingerly walked him to the other shore where the kids were watching and waiting. I was still standing just a few feet from the near shore and I had one of those “I will have to stand here forever because I can’t move” moments. So, willing myself onward, I thought of Hugh Glass in the movie “The Revenant” who pulled himself miles across the ice after being partially eaten by a bear, and I slowly made it to the far shore where my family was waiting for me.  The river crossing experience didn’t really improve my mood much, nor did it make me very happy with our new hiking partners.  

We still hiked as a group after this, but I was feeling pretty spent as we trudged, completely soaked, through the now-very-familiar soul-sucking mud.  Since our next stop was to be Gooseberry Falls State Park, I tried to convince the other family members that it would be a good time to rent a tent site and call it a (traumatic) day. They told me I would feel better about everything when we stopped there for a rest and a snack.  I was pretty sure they were wrong.

Gooseberry Falls Fallout

Gooseberry Falls is apparently very popular on Memorial Day and the huge visitors center was teaming with people.  Some of these people brought their dogs, and Jet was very happy to see them.  Other people brought their cats on leashes. I am not kidding.  And Jet was even happier to see them.  

After we snacked and shivered and watched the interesting assortment of people that had commenced upon that site, I went to the information desk to see if they had any tent spots open for the night--just in case.  They did.

When I mentioned this “stopping for the day” idea to the others, it was not well received.  It was still fairly early in the day, they said, and if we hiked a little longer--maybe only 2 or 3 more hours!--we might have a chance of making up some mileage so we could actually hike into Duluth as planned.  I really didn’t care about making it into Duluth, knowing that our friend, Harriet, would gladly rescue us.  Obviously, at this point, I was thinking only of myself, and I pulled the “You guys don’t care about me” card. They glumly relented, and we paid the fee for a tent pad.  While walking to the camping spot, however, we all got in a big argument because we had taken the wrong path and traveled the opposite way, and “with all that walking, we could have been a long ways down the trail.”  So much for peace.  After our tents were staked, though, and the promise of a hot shower loomed, spirits lifted and we decided to be nice to each other.  We ate our supper, found a site with a little wifi available and got a message from Shay who was in China on a mission trip.  She said she could talk to us on Skype if we could find adequate Internet.  We walked to a sort of clubhouse and were able to see her on the screen of one of our phones!  What a gift that was to us after such a hard and divisive day!  It was the first time I had spoken to her since she left the states over two weeks earlier.  Seeing her, and hearing my family laugh together, was balm to my tired and worn spirit.  

Monday, May 29th, 2018  Day 15.  We are staying in a campsite at Gooseberry Falls State Park tonight. Everyone else wanted to go farther, but I was exhausted so we stopped here. A hot shower is always a welcome treat. Lots of mud and a scary river crossing today. I am continually amazed that I can't keep pace with all of them and it is so frustrating to me that I am so slow. I like it when they hike with me, but hate it when they put me in front because I know I am slowing them down. They are all so driven to cover lots of miles. Why? I am giving it my full effort but still, they outpace me.I am praying for your help with a good attitude, God. Clear my head.

* One morning, before we got out of our tent, I pulled out a tiny mirror that I used occasionally to get a bug out of my eye or to see how I had aged on our trip thus far.  Normally, we would go days without seeing ourselves--which made us discuss how differently people thought of themselves--and how much less self-focused they most probably were--when mirrors weren’t yet common.  This time, when viewing my face in the mirror, I noticed a large tick on my right lower cheek.  I pulled it off and threw it outside.  I asked Tess why she hadn’t removed it during our many tick check appointments, and she said, “ I just thought you had a big mole that I had never noticed before.”