Hello and welcome to *gulp* the LAST Saturday of June (already!) here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is June 28th. We've blown through June, and here we are on the doorstep of July.
A friend of mine spent a week in June housesitting and dogsitting at her friends' cabin in the lakes country of central Minnesota. Her intention was to have a working vacation to do lots of writing. However, after she arrived and got settled in, the space had different plans for her. Yes, she still got writing done, but something unexpected happened. She became fully attuned to the magic of the cabin.
In the 1980s, my grandmother owned a whole resort of cabins. As a child, cabin magic swirled around me like the misty wisps that came off the lake at dawn and dusk, daily tickling my senses and pulling me into the delight of the present. When she described her experience, I knew what she was talking about.
As an adult, I, too, have tried to get a lot of writing done, whether that's at a cabin, at the lake, or on a writing retreat. And every time, those expectations go out the window. The nature beckons. "Come, sit by me," says the lake. "Close your eyes and let me brush the hair from your face," says wind. "Breathe in and smell my fresh scent, and I will conjure up a dish of nostalgia you will love," says the morning dew. "If you brush your hand across my back and heft my weightiness before skipping me across calm waters, I will blow your mind with possibility," says rock.
This morning, I joined my mother on her morning walk down to the lake nearest her. I felt the familiar swirls of cabin magic greet me as I neared the lake. Birds were extra chirpy. Even my mother commented, "Boy. Good morning to YOU, Robin!" Squirrels raced up and down tree trunks while bunnies froze, motionless in the middle of a neighbor's yard, until we passed. The trees rustled, leaves shuffled, chipmunks scurried, a loon called. The lake brought so many vibrant smells, I'm woozy with happy memories, bursting with immense gratitude, calm and peace, and refueled for another day of presence and possibility.
I hope the person commenting above ⬆️ is able to get some help. Yes nature was calling me to today as I watched a family of ducks. The ducklings gobbling up the water bugs as momma stood nearby keeping watch from the top of a rock. I sat outside most of today and never regretted a moment.
ReplyDeleteEarly on Sigurd F. Olson was one of my favorite outdoors authors, especially before I moved to Minnesota in 1979 to live. I purchased my home in the woods in 1971, but instead of moving there immediately, I worked three jobs to pay the land off sooner. In the interim of eight years living in a city, sometimes I questioned my dedication to the wilderness ideal, and so would pull my Sigurd Olson books down from my shelves so to rejuvenate my spirit seemingly buried in asphalt and the crush of traffic, and bring me back to where I wanted to be: the place of lakes, woods, wild animals and the Northern Lights.
ReplyDeleteSo it was I shocked and disillusioned when I learned Sigurd didn't write his books in his little cabin on 'Listening Point': "It was a place to spend long summer evenings but never a place for work. I haven't written my books here but I've come out here and gotten my ideas for the writing of the books," Olson was quoted to have said. "Here there are too many things to watch, to look at, and I can't concentrate... I do get a spiritual lift ... of belonging to the land."
https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-1-e&q=Sigurd+Olson&sei=_npgaMHRMuSS0PEPqvnv-Qk#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:662f5ff1,vid:QTORxZo11hQ,st:0