"Anything, everything, little or big, becomes an adventure when the right person shares it." (Kathleen Norris)
When he was about 8 years old, Brett and his Dad went out on a little pier on the water in the State Park at Gulf Shores, Alabama. Michael was going to teach him how to fish, figuring the evening was long, we had all the time in the world, and Brett might learn a bit about patience. Michael baited Brett's hook, cast his line into the water, and gave the rod to Brett. No sooner had Michael turned to prepare his own pole than Brett yelled with surprise: he had his first fish. For the next hour, each time the bait hit the water, Brett had a bite. The catch was small, and released immediately, but he had a great time. The next day, they again went out to the pier. After five minutes of fishing with no bites, Brett was bored. It was a long time before he went fishing again.
That memory came back to me as Michael described their trip through the Tetons and Yellowstone, where in one day they watched a magnificent sunset over the freshly snow-packed Tetons from Jackson Lake Lodge, then encountered a wolf on the side of the road, a grizzly and black bear in battle, a stampede by a herd of bison, two spectacular water falls, and Old Faithful doing her thing. So much magic and wonder were packed into such a short time period, when the beauty and mysticism of nature are equally stunning in small quiet nuances.
In her wonderful book, High Tide in Tucson, Barbara Kingsolver says: "A great many people will live out their days without ever seeing such sights, or if they do, never gasping. My parents taught me this - to gasp, and feel lucky. They gave me the gift of making mountains out of nature's exquisite molehills. " I could hear in Michael's tone his sense of wonder and appreciation, and I was grateful to my own Dad who taught his love of the outdoors by example, just as Michael was teaching Brett. If Brett grows to 'gasp and feel lucky,' we will have accomplished much as parents.
As it was, Brett tells me he learned a lot about his father on the trip, and a lot about himself that he needed to learn. He has reached the age and stage in life where he wants to know some of the history that makes him the man he is today. He asked questions about us as a couple in relationship for 40 years and about his father's reflections and challenges in life. There is no better school room than an enclosed car for six days, and the journey had its ups and downs, geographically as well as emotionally. It is clear that the experience deepened both of them, and the timing was perfect as he embarks on this next life-changing phase.
Michael told me, with obvious pleasure, that as soon as Brett knew that Stephanie would meet them in Seattle to accompany Brett back to New York, Brett's whole focus and energy changed to one of anticipation. The past and the future are merging, the man gleaning from the father the commitments, the loyalties, the responsibilities of being the loving husband. I just still can't believe that they survived all of this without me.
Michael 'surprised' me by arriving very late Saturday night instead of Sunday morning, but I suspected he would, and had his welcome card out waiting for him. We spent a lazy day Sunday at the annual Show-And-Shine Father's Day car extravaganza in downtown Qualicum, on a spectacularly sunny day - the first of the summer. It's amazing how quickly we adapt to the pace and joy of being here. We spent an hour by the water yesterday evening, again counting our blessings, perhaps a bit more deeply this year, and enjoying the beauty all around us.
The day before Michael arrived I had finally made it over to the Heritage Forest to walk and pray. I had forgotten how deeply peaceful it was, and as I entered thought immediately of Frost's poem: "The woods are lovely, dark and deep." And cool. And soft with its mulch trail and filtered light. It was the grace of the sweet release of deep breathing, when every muscle in the body relaxes, and there is no other place to be. In the soothing quiet, prayers came easily for my sister-in-law's family, grieving the loss of her father who would be buried the day before Father's Day, and for others who are in varying stages of healing, joy and gratitude. There was a bench in the center of the park and I had my own little moment of delight as I read the plaque: "The woods are lovely, dark and deep," it read, and continued, "but I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep."
Then I heard them: the white ravens, twins born a few weeks ago with three other black siblings. They were playing and cavorting, calling with their rich thick voices, exploring tree trunks and flitting about a clearing on the side of the forest. Since they have blue eyes, they are not albino, but ravens with a "genetic defect." What a funny term for a miracle. They are a text divinely written about one of nature's 'exquisite molehills.'
Now that I have the right person to share it with, I'm hoping they'll play again in the forest tomorrow for Michael, and we can gasp - and feel lucky - together.
YAY GOD
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