Not
more than a week ago Misha came to visit us and brought our brand new canoes,
still so new and clean you could eat off them. We spent quite a bit of time
outfitting these new unruly beasts of plastic and foam to get them rigged up
for the road ahead. No detail was spared; foam knee pads, thigh straps,
floatations, painter lines, the whole nine yards. We all worked in the
Northwoods wood-shop up near our camp, and after a couple hours of rigging our
boats were ready for water use. You should see these things, they look like
some kind of European speedboat, ready for a track run in Italy racing a
Formula One car. Beautiful vessels they are.
We
went for our test run out on the flats of the Clyde River, near the highway
overpass. Everyone seemed to be getting the hang of it pretty well, no
catastrophic failures or punctured boat hulls, but just as we approached a
stern looking sheet of ice, and were practicing leaning into turns, the first
casualties of the water fell in, flipping the boat one-hundred and eighty
degrees around, head over heels into the water. Kerensa and Kenya looked quite
like the proverbial wet cats as they got fished out of the frigid water and
into the adjacent boats standing by. Thus we learned our first lesson in canoe
technique, the “T” rescue. Simply enough its just getting into a T with your
canoe with the flipped boat and then hauling it rail over rail onto the upright
boat and righting the flipped one onto its belly. As for our soaking friends, they departed back to camp to
warm up and recuperate.
The
day was far from over though; we had another flip into the water, with Angus
and Zack this time, but for some reason, a short spurt of insanity I bet, they
stayed for the rest of the class on the cold and windy river. After this class,
we all rode our bikes back to camp on Ten Square Mile road, and although it was
muddy like you wouldn’t believe it, it was pretty fun for everyone, since the
only moving we’ve been doing is under heavy packs with skis, this felt quite
like flying down a road.
We
had another paddling class with Misha again the next day, and went to what
although he called “swift-water” I call “whitewater.” Terror in the water for
me comes at the lazy speed of two mile an hour currents, and with the task at
hand we were given, which was paddling UPSTREAM, you can bet I was in the
throes of panic. We all did it though with much blundering at first, but by
days end, wet and happy and cold, we all could more or less turn in and out of
eddies, which is the slow part of the river where the current turns back on
itself and makes a little parking spot on the fast moving water. There is
something in the primal fear of all people, of losing control of their
surroundings, and I figure this fear is prevalent in people on the river, when
its going fast and they just don’t know what they’re doing, so it’s very
important to us that we learn how to avoid situations like that.
Misha
left us the next day with as much wisdom and instruction he could give us in
the time allotted, and parted us with words of encouragement on the new route.
We were all supposed to go to Maine to see Chris and Ashirah Knapp, and learn
paddle making at their school Koviashuvik, but we were far too swamped with
work and so we chose instead to stay here at camp and finish our work without
being rushed. It’s been a good sacrifice so far, and although we haven’t gotten
much free time, our work has been worthwhile and productive. Things went well
over the weekend, although the weather has been inclement the whole almost the
whole time, with sporadic rain, sleet, hail and snow throughout.
The 15th was a break in the
sky and the sun came down in beautiful form, filling the land with light and
warmth. We went on a long bike ride up to the top of a hill over-looking Lake
Willoughby. The climb to the top of the hill was hard, it was muddy and warm
out, and the little rivulets of water ran down the hill, imposing on our good
roads, threatening to make them into pure mud. We did ascend though, and the
road to the bottom was a clear shot of gravel and half paved concrete, a mile
long stretch of downhill derby delight. Ripping down at what I figured to be at
least a hundred and fifteen miles an hour we rounded the corner into the town
of Westmore and settled down on the white sand beach of the lake to have our lunch
and learn about glaciers. 
We
rode back on the flat roads with the occasional down hill and made good time in
the late afternoon, with the golden sun at our backs. Upon our arrival back, we
made it with five minutes to spare before our guest arrived for dinner. The
county game warden, who we invited earlier that week, came to speak to us and
just to pleasure us with his company. He was a friendly ex-military man, with an
air of authority and training that comes with his profession as a law
enforcement officer. We ate dinner with him, which was kale and wild turkey,
which Noah’s mother brought to us earlier that week, a premium score of
road-kill delight. 
That next morning we went for a
good run. It was still fair weather with a southerly breeze blowing at our
backs. We stopped at the top of the hill near our camp, by the dairy where we
get our milk, to watch the sunrise. We sat under a set of spruce trees across
the way from a flat field and had an unobstructed view of the coming sun. Much
has been written on the subject of sunrises, but I feel obligated to share what
I saw in that patch of sky. I sat watching the coming light before it came into
the sky. The sun was just beneath a large hill off in the distance, and the sun
gave it a crown of light. It took no more than five full minutes, but as the
sun crept up, it felt like it would never peak, and all of the sudden it did,
it burst over the ridge in a explosion of light as if the earth had never seen
light before, a wash of light blanketing the world. It is no wonder the ancient
peoples had the sun as the center of their worship, and feared its loss in the
night, and prayed for its return in the morning.
The following days were days of fun
and work. We went to Butterworks farm to see where the yogurt we eat comes
from. Its not what you’d think either; it’s a small farm, for the scale they
put out on, and it’s a cozy one too. It really speaks to their way of
production, which is ethical and in touch with the products they make. The
owner, Jack Lazor, gave us a tour and let us sample his maple kefir, which is
like fizzy yogurt, and let us pet his cows. Both are of excellent quality. We
sorted beans for him in return, which was sitting at a conveyor belt pulling
the bad beans from the good, as they fell out of a grain hopper and rolled
across the track into a bucket for bagging. We took home a small case of yogurt for the road and we thank
Jack for his
kindness and willingness to show us his farm. One piece of advice he gave us to take home was to always stay small, small is better than large, and I’d guess that’s pretty true for the things that you like doing
On the way back to Northwoods we
got ice cream, a sure sign of spring even though it was cold enough that if you
stood outside, your ice cream literally could not have melted all day. At the
ice cream place, we also saw someone in shorts, even though it was also about
thirty-eight degrees. I cannot tell if this is a sign of spring, bravery,
foolishness or a combination of all the three.
The next day was one of full
throttle working, but it was all for the greater progress, so I didn’t feel to
worked. A former Semester teacher, Nate Johnson, came to teach us about hide
tanning. He taught us how to scrape the hair off and how to tan it in the
future to make sure we can all make moccasins later this next month. Its smelly
work scraping the hides, but totally worth it, Nate left us that evening and in
his stead came Polly, from Mahoosuc Guide Service. She and her partner Kevin
run a dog sledding and paddling guide service in Maine. She brought us
chocolate chip cookies and a slide show to watch of her years in the Yukon
Territory as a dog sled musher and hunting guide. She showed us pictures on an
old film slide projector and they were of stunning top-notch quality, and had
that vintage genuine look to them, the look that these pictures were taken
sincerely and not out of just the want to document, but to preserve a moment in
time, and they did that.
As our last days draw to a close,
we’re getting ready to leave, everyone is bustling about, filling in last
minute jobs and tasks, random loose ends have to be cut before we can cast off
into the river, and its been busy. The weather is warming up and I can only
hope it stays that way. This’ll be the last update for quite a while, since
were not stopping till we get to Lake Champlain, but till then, all is going
well on the home front and we will carry on, my wayward sons and daughters.
Pushups and Poetry:
On Cold Water and Cheese
There’s a moment where you feel fear and
excitement, when you see a rock in sight, a rock that if you don’t move the
canoe right then, you will hit that rock. And who knows what will happen then.
You have this fear and excitement running through you and put your paddle in
the water, and putting your paddle in the water, trying to think clearly
through your fear, magically or maybe not at all, just my luck! You do the
correct strokes that turn you away from the rock in your way. – Kenya
 |
| Jack of Butterworks Farm |
River, river, running river
down I go and I don’t
know
don’t know how to hold
me up
& panic, grab the
gunwale
running river down I’m
pulled!
river grabs me, lost
the gunwale
cold & panic,
panic more
& breathless —
get to shore. —Anonymous
Yesterday, when all my troubles seemed so
far a whey
In
the depths of my dairy bucket, something scary was brewing
Like
the salts of Nantcuket, the sour scent made my nose hairs bent
And
from the bottom of the bucket came ricotta
Standing
there with my hair looking steazy, I said
“It aint easy, being cheesy”
—Anonymous
Socks and Sandals
My socks and sandals.
My two pairs of wool socks
It doesn’t make any sense
My feet are warm
Until I’m in the boat
Until we don’t lean enough
Until they are soaked
And laying in puddles
Then they are freezing or frozen
My socks like the womb of a
Woman that’s been dead for a while
My feet like the dead babies inside them — Lotte
No comments:
Post a Comment