I am never very good at post-vacation postings. Remember last year and my promised-but-never-materialized post on our North Channel trip? Well, I'm thinking this year's trip is going to shape up the same way. I have tried all day, sitting in front of the computer-- but aslo while doing the laundry, making dinner and swimming in the lake-- to figure out why I'm brick-wall blocked when it comes to writing about our trips on the water. Maybe it is because there are so many moments that make me sigh deeply and feel so full of the good stuff of life that I just can't reproduce those experiences with words. Even on a trip that included some very big waves and some very non-sleeping children, the memories that shine through look more like this:
and this:
and this:
While I can't show you some of my favorite snapshots, or share the coolness of the uninhabited islands we explored--one complete with an old Native American burial ground, spirit houses still intact-- (sorry, Traverse Magazine has the rights to share those next July),
I can offer up some generalities-- afternoons spent exploring new places, discovering old fish towns,
breathing in the life of the lake,
finding the perfect walking stick,
and discussing the ingenious nature of nature (and in particular, of spit bugs).
And of course, I can share our out-takes-- those family moments that I saved just for here.
Sometimes, even as a writer, I understand that a picture can say more than a bunch of words. I think that's the case here. I'll let the sweet expressions and never-ending blue waters speak for themselves.
Our last night was spent anchored in the middle of a quieting harbor.
Port side facing the thick pines on shore, bow pointed at the horizon created by lake meeting sky, the five of us sat, still, and comfortable, together. The sun was setting in both places, water and air, blue, gray, orange, pink, and yellow bleeding into each other and rippling around us.
Soon, it was just four of us. The baby asleep, the boys and I hunkered below together, sharing a bed and sharing blankets, as I read to them from Grayson, a lovely little book about a girl, a baby whale, and well, so much more. As the boys began nodding off, I tuned in to the sounds of the lake lapping against the boat's hull. There was something about the noise-- about its closeness-- that humbled me. I crept up the small set of stairs alone, where I was able to catch the moon rising.
The moon and its reflection. Really, need I say more?
Okay, all....on to the not-so-big announcements.
1) We are-- after a panic-attack-induced-but-great-year-at-our-public-school-- returning to the rhythm and life of a homeschooling family. And I'm so looking forward to sharing that journey, and our way of learning, in this space.
2) Speaking of this space:: it is going to change come September. I'll be moving to a new blog format, one that I think will feel just right for our growing experiment of choosing joy, living with purpose, and learning together (and I say together, because certain family members will, on occasion, take my place-- adding, a new and appreciated dimension to this little world).
3) Gearing up for that change, I will be around these parts a whole lot more. And once September hits? You'll find me here everyday. Yup, every. single. day (a new post up each morning, by 9 a.m., to be precise). I do so hope you'll follow me on this new adventure.
