A Change In Pace

 [May] The LORD turn His face toward you

and grant you peace.

Numbers 6:26

Yes, I do realize that, in offering this blessing, today's picture is almost identical to the one I posted just a few days ago.  And actually, if I look at them, it's at about the same spot along my route around the island.

However, since it fits so well with my mood this morning, and also this last phrase of the Priestly Blessing found in Numbers 6, I'll gift it to you just the same.

I'm out on the deck this morning with barely a breeze.  There's a construction project involving stone saws going on across the little bay from us, and Ken is setting up our wood chipper as I write, so I can't really say it's all that quiet right now.  But this morning's paddle was on flat water for the entire way around.  Not another human sound but that of my own paddle pushing back the water in a rhythmic dip and soft swish.

It was a good way to start this particular Friday.

We will return to KW Sunday afternoon to celebrate Timothy's birthday, and then begin a little stint stationed in our city home.  Long time family friends have had an over 50 year tradition of visiting as renters in the place we now own but originally belonged to Ken's grandfather.  They will renew their love of this space over the next twelve days or so.  And, because there is still some outdoor work in progress for our little house on Sandra, and because it's good to take care of banking and errands and such, we'll spend that time there.

I'm okay with this.  Of course summer is short, and I am greedy for all the time I can have by the water as I can get.  But it will be good to get at some of the thrifting and other gathering I need to make sure gets done before I leave for Thailand in September.  Plus, I'm preaching at Highview on August 9, so there's that.  How beautiful it will be to worship together with my peeps!

I'm okay with this, but I am bracing myself a little for the dramatic change of pace.  Mostly, I'm talking about cars and driving and having to go places.  When you live on an island you get to indulge in that unique gift of having no where to go most of the time.  At least, it's a gift to me.  Some more extraverted folks may not embrace that part of our reality here.  But I crave it, soak it up, try to store up as much of it as a I can while I'm here.

I do intend to try to catch some morning sun when I get back.  Like this.

There's something about the breaking of a day to set you up for it in calming, reorienting ways.  I think it's because the sun reminds me of the face of God, too brilliant to fully receive, yet so graciously 'turned towards me' in ways I'll notice all the rest of the day, if I pay attention.

Happy Friday of the long weekend to you, wherever you or however your day has started.

Hope you can catch glimpses of the face of God turned towards you favourably.

And may He grant you peace.

In Case I Forget

 

Humble yourselves, therefore,
under God's might hand,
that He may lift you up in due time.
Cast all your anxiety on Him,
because He cares for you.
1 Peter 5:6-7

Any worries that cooler temperatures might not be good for getting out in the kayak are thus far proven unnecessary. The proper clothing, plus the layer of my life jacket, plus the sun itself all provide ample warmth, especially as I get going.

Anyways, who could resist the flat water and open sky? As long as it's not raining and the wind isn't too enthusiastic, I'm on.

Made it to 25 times around this morning. And it only matters to me, to keep count like that. But it becomes a point of gratitude when, at the beginning of this season, I was waylaid by the physical limitations of recovering from abdominal surgery. My all time personal record for a cottage season is 37 times around. We only have 19 days left to be here, so I'm not hoping to beat that. Not this year. I'm just truly happy to have been able to get out as much as I have when, at one point, I was worried I might not get out at all.

And I come back in from my paddle and Ken has the fire going. And I realize yet another worry isn't even remotely coming true in that we were worried we'd be cold this fall. We have very limited options as to where to lay our head right now, and the cottage is the perfect place to be for the summer months, for sure. But we're not entirely set up for other seasons so much. So, we wondered. And then, an unusually warmer than usual autumn and a rather efficient fire place insert has taken care of that one too.

These little worries are not match, of course, for the bigger ones.
Hurricanes and floods and painful medical conditions all affecting people I love and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.

Many cares are on my heart these days. Lots that's happening in ways I don't want them to. I have no end of imagination for outcomes, if I forget to Whom I belong, and Who invites me to cast all these things on Him.

I just want to say here, how grateful we are for the outpouring of love and prayers and practical support that have already come in just since my Highview to Thailand: When It Rains, It Pours yesterday about the flooding in Chiang Mai. We are keeping up to date at least once every day, and will keep you posted if there are any significant changes.

Blessings on your Tuesday.
May whatever is laying heavy on your heart feel lighter in the hands of God.

When You're Not Lost But You Might Be

 

Got out in the kayak this morning and did 4.69 km, according to my little watch gizmo. Two things about that. One is that my whole route around the island is just over 5 km, so I'm working towards that goal. I think maybe tomorrow I could go all the way around?

The other is that I actually went a bit further than I intended because at one point I got disoriented. Not lost, exactly. I've been exploring other shorter routes in my quest to build up my abdominal stamina, and this morning I ventured out and around a different island I'd never navigated before. It looked exactly farther enough away to push me just a little, but also close enough to home for me to easily make my way back. No problem.

But islands can look a very different shape from one side of them to the other. And the cottage properties, the docks and such, are not familiar to me, so no reference points there. The rising sun is a pretty good orientation, and I knew the general direction I should be heading. But I caught myself in a dead end that I expected to open up to where I wanted to be. It didn't.

You need to know that a fear I've had to overcome in my Georgian Bay life is getting lost in the array of islands that, when you aren't familiar with them, for all intents and purposes, look exactly the same. Water, rocks, trees. I don't think island dwellers who were brought here as babies have this fear. It's just instinctive for them. But for me, arriving at the post-instinct-absorbing age of 16 years, it was a thing.

Learning to get from the marina to our cottage all on my own (thank you MIL Mary B for insisting) really pushed me past that fear, and it's been a long time now since I've even thought about it.

But this morning there was a flicker. A moment of wondering if I really got lost, how would I make it back home?

Writing now from the comfort of my lounge chair on the deck, all is good. I was just fine. Had the presence of mind just to turn around and reroute myself until, oh yes, there is it, I found the other side of that island and headed for home all la-dee-da-nothing's-happening-here-that's-exactly-where-I-meant-to-go. And I had the guts to do it, and by this I'm talking again about my abdominal core (yes, still talking about that eight weeks out!), and not the risk factor involved.

Truth is, I take my phone with me. And I know Ken would, in a heartbeat, come find me (with those island baby instincts of his) with the Big Boat and bring me home.

And yes, there's a life lesson in there, of course there is.

Luke 15 is a trilogy of parables about lost things. One sheep out of 100, one coin out of ten, one son out of two. And in every story there is an all out effort to find and bring home.

In a heartbeat.

Got me some Monday morning blue jay action happening on the deck. I was hoping to post a picture of a very young one that is, for some reason, not as skittish of me as the others. At least I think he's young. Not quite as blue and still a bit scruffy around the edges. But even though he's a tad more relaxed, I still couldn't get him to pose for a picture. Kids these days!

So happy Monday to you!
I'll let you know if I make it around the island tomorrow!!!

All Glorious

 

First time out in the kayak since June 16!

The implications of a rather complicated summer, including an emergency appendectomy and subsequent recovery thereof, have kept me on the dock, full of longing.

But this morning, with calm waters at sunrise, and fully six weeks post-surgery, and jet-lag notwithstanding, I ventured out to see if my body could handle what my soul so badly needed.

And yes!

All glorious sunrise, all beauteous and stunning, and reminding me again of the faithfulness of God and the spectacular order of creation.

To ease my husband's wise concerns, I did not attempt a full go-round the island. Only just down the channel past the church to where it opens up. Here the water was not quite so calm. But that's okay, because the breeze and flow brought me gently home again.

Home again it is.

Our arrival back on the Freddy yesterday signals the next phase of the aforementioned complicated summer. I'll call this the resting phase.

After the painful and urgent trip to the hospital ending in an emergency appendectomy....
and after the frenzy of closing date and the last push of packing...
and after the abundant and crazy-joy of a full cottage with family...

and after a robust trip to Thailand and the crazy-joy of the family there (including introducing Abby to that part of my heart)...

After all of that, there is now. Welcoming the day out in the kayak, out on the deck with friends who like peanuts (including a very young-looking blue jay), the quiet of August by the water.

This is now.

All glorious.

Also, I might call this the finding-stuff-and-putting-it-properly-away phase. While most of what we will need once our new small home is completed is in storage, we've brought boxes and bins up here with us for what we'll need in the next three months of living. And as organized as I tried to be, there are more items than I'd like to admit that I really have no idea where they are!

So here's to more days of kayaking, and sorting and putting away, and just being quiet for a while.

I miss all the children at Hot Springs.
Just needed to say that too.

Happy Thursday, folks.
I think that's what day it is, anyways.

The Delicate Kayak-Balance of Setting and Achieving Goals (OR Confessions of an Overachiever)

 

Well folks, I made it!

This morning marked my 35th time around Portage Island this season. <Crowd roar sfx>

Yay for me, and I'm so happy I'm even letting myself brag about it a little bit.

For anyone who's wondering what the big deal is, a bit of back story.

Can't remember how many years ago it was, but shortly after our dear friend Bill H (Céline Marcoux-Hamade) gifted us with a kayak, I dared myself to paddle around the entirety of our island. Before this, a canoe ride was maybe max 20 to 30 minutes long, and kept me in the safe confines of the little channels and islands I know well, not too far out of sight of our cottage.

But with the new found agility and paddle-efficiency of the kayak I found myself willing to venture a little further each day. One day I realized that I had gone half way around the island already, and to turn back and go home would be equivalent to going all the way around. So I did it. Felt good, that first time. A big deal. I wrote about it in our cottage log book.

The next season I dared myself again. How many times could I get around? At the suggestion of a friend, I set my sights on seven. Seemed quite ambitious at the time. But in the end, conditions being what they were, I actually accomplished a little more than double that goal that year.

And now the challenge was on. How many times could I do it? And each year since I've paddled my way all the way up to this year's record of 35!

I was going for 34, since last year I got to 33. But yesterday morning I matched that. Then, because they were calling for rain today, I went around again last evening before sunset, just to be sure I got in paddle number 34.

And then, wouldn't you know it, it wasn't raining this morning, and the water was all flat and calm, and I never know now when it will be my 'last' paddle of the season....so out I went again.

Ta da! Thirty-five times around the island this season!!!!

I think I'll write that down in our cottage log.

Here's where I think it's important to talk about balance. Because, just like there's a delicate balance in the kayak itself, I find setting and achieving goals requires some finesse as well.

Not everyone is goal-oriented, so for some, a little butt-kicking is sometimes in order. It's that old saying, "If you aim for nothing you'll hit it every time." Here the balance would be towards more intentionality, accountability and simply just to 'git 'er done.'

But other personalities, the driven ones (of which I've been told I am one), need balance towards the other side of the kayak. I have been known to get focused on the number and forget the purpose, even to the degree that I risk my own well-being.

It's happened in the kayak (See August 30th's post), but it can happen if I'm on a diet, checking things off a list, or even tending to a cue of requests asking for my help and/or attention.

I love purposes statements almost as I love achieving a goal. And that's where I find my own best balance. Because an equal part of the kayaking experience for me is the therapy of it, the healing of it, the serenity of moving silently across still waters which restores my soul. And if I make the number, the goal, too much my focus, it will become counter-productive. I will totally miss out on all the contours of the island (or whatever the experience) wants to give me.

We were talking about this together with friends not that long ago. About how driven the Apostle Paul was, but how he kept coming back to his own purpose statement, his own 'main thing.'

"The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself in love."
Galatians 5:6


Happy goal-setting everyone.
September can be a time for this.
Hope you find your balance.

Still Waters and Still Learning

 

A rainy morning keeps me from heading out on paddle number 30.  Oh so close to surpassing my all time high of 33!  I did not get there last year.  But I’m holding out hope that over the next few days while I’m here, the wind and water will cooperate and I’ll get to that elusive 34 (or maybe better, who knows).

Meanwhile, here are some of my favourite kayak shots.

And a story.

This will explain why I’ve adopted a perhaps more cautious approach to getting myself out there, and why I only put this out as a ‘friendly competition’ with myself about how many times I get around the island. 

It is nearing the end of the season last year.  That means I am experiencing the same kind of tension, even a little bit of self-inflicted pressure, to make it past 33.  My hands-down preferred condition for a paddle is when the water is like glass, not a whisper of a breeze, mist hanging in perfectly still suspension, looking for all the world like floating cotton candy, pink in the subtle slant of sunrise.

This particular morning is not like that.  It is breezy.  Even in our protected channel the water is rippled.  Not stormy, or there wouldn’t be a story because I’d have stayed home in that.  Of course.  Like sensible people do.  But…yes…there is a stiff breeze.

I decide to head out and then make a decision about how far I’ll go once I get to the end of The Shadow.  For those not familiar with Cognashene or the Freddy Channel specifically, The Shadow is a particularly narrow and also very shallow part of a side channel that leads out into a wider part of the bay that then leads out into the open water. 

It’s in coming out of the shelter of The Shadow that I often encounter waters just a bit rougher.  Not always.  Early in the morning it’s not unknown to have even the wide space of water at that tip of Portage Island be calm.  I always take a picture because I just love it when that happens. 

But usually, yes, at the end of The Shadow, I can tell.  Should I turn back because it’s just too rough?  Or can I press on through?

I’m a confident enough kayaker that I can handle some waves without freaking out.  Not white-water rafting or anything like that.  But something that makes me work for it?  Well, that’s not entirely a bad thing.  In fact, it can be exhilarating.  Puts air in your lungs.  Gets the blood pumping.

So on this particular morning, it’s more like that.  And since I have a point to prove and a number to achieve, I start out. 

You know when you get to the point in any endeavor where you realize you’re probably out of your depth but you’re committed and there’s nothing for it but to keep on?  Took a bigger bite than you can really handle, but you just have to chew anyways?  Picked up too many grocery bags at once, but you have to get up the stairs with them anyways?  Yeah.  It’s like that.

I really have to pump the paddle!  And I’m convinced that the wind comes up even more as I head around the point that marks half way.  It’s the roughest bit.  And now I am actually getting a little nervous, because the waves are strong enough that I have to really work it to keep from being banged up against the rocks.

Into this increasingly anxious scenario comes the sound of a large boat behind and beside me.  It seems to be rounding the point too.  I guess this from the sound only, since I don’t dare look up and try to stretch around to see for sure, lest I catch a wave broadside and be capsized. 

Two thoughts happen simultaneously when I realize there are people on the boat watching me struggle in the waves.  One is that I must look quite the fool.  A 65-year-old woman thinking she could tackle this wind?  How embarrassing!

The other is relief.  Well, at least if I do capsize, there’ll be someone to fish me out.

It gets worse.

The people in the boat recognize me.  It’s Ruth Anne!  Yes, Pastor Ruth Anne who leads us in our opening service at our Church up here on the rocks every year.  The one who often uses illustrations from kayaking to talk about serenity and wisdom.  Yes, I do believe that’s her out here in this bluster.  How odd.

All of this they say in my head.  But what they do say out loud is, “Are you okay?”

By now I’ve rounded the worst of it and am heading into another sheltered inlet.  Knowing the contours of Portage Island as I do, I know that the rest of the trip is going to be very doable, no question.  I try not to sound as winded as I am when I shout, “I’ll be fine from here on in.  But thanks!”

I only made 33 last year.  That’s why.

And this morning it’s raining and a tad breezy so I’m staying put.  For now.

Will I get out this afternoon?  Will I reach 34 this summer?  Will unsuspecting cottagers have to rescue me from my own folly?  Stay tuned for another exciting episode of “Ruth Anne’s Krazy Kayak Adventures.” 

But really, I’ll just keep you posted once I make 34.

And I hope whatever comes your way this Wednesday, you’ll be granted the serenity to accept the waters as they are, the courage to head out when you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Son on the Water

 

In the midst of the happy chaos that is cottage family time, there are moments.

Like this.

Sunday night just David and I, out in the kayaks on waters flat with healing.   I find myself vibrantly present in this hour.   The only gentle noise is our strong and rhythmic strokes, the sound of us of quietly being us, mother and son, in the simplest way possible.

Minimal words. 

Maximum inspirations, slowly.

We tuck into the second secluded bay along the route, and there is the sun all red and giving way to the end of another run across the heavenlies.  And there is my son all muscular and pushing forward into the stillness of it.

Like this.

I feel as if I am in the very centre of many prayers answered.

It makes me braver somehow. 

For him. 

For all of us.

And I take none of it for granted.

Take no credit, how dare I?

This is grace, all of it.

Grace upon grace.

Like the sun on the water with the son on the water.

Simple and magnificent, as long as I’m living…

 

Along for the Ride

[Dear Blog-Only Friends.  I'm beginning a new experiment here, with my personal blog.  Just realized that since the first lockdowns of the pandemic, I've been blogging daily, but calling it a Facebook Post.  So many folks, for various reasons, are not hanging out there, and sometimes I wonder if I'm circumventing my own purpose in writing somehow.  Inspired by a book I'm currently reading (The Blogging Church, Bailey, 2007) I'm hoping to expand the spheres a little bit, starting here.  Let's see how it goes.  Thanks for reading, and riding along with me.]

While I'm glad for the rain prediction for tomorrow and even into the weekend, this lovely long stretch of perfect days, especially the still mornings, has been a beautiful bonus to begin our summer sabbath.

Read somewhere that it's really helpful for folks in their 60s to get a dose of sunshine early in the morning. Something about resetting our body clocks I think. Well, I'm getting a good bit of that.

Out in the kayak every morning so far.

This morning I had a little companion join me. Didn't see her land, but noticed she was there, and let her be. My Gramma called these darning-needles, and I've also heard them called damsel flies. Either way, they are a more winsome relative of the already delicate dragon fly.

Even before her arrival, I was reflecting again on how fragile I still sometimes feel after all our collective trauma during the most intensive times of the pandemic. I go there from time to time, remembering it as if it was a bad dream that somehow I now struggle to remember the details of, even as the disturbing mood of it remains.

Never mind. Who can dwell on all of that too much when buoyed up by the very soul of this place, and in the company of a delicate friend. I let it take me to gratitude, these ruminations. Today is a new day, a good day, a strong day.

And even now in these times when it does all seem like one very long, very bad dream, we so very much need to take care of each other. If you need to ride along with me for a while, I understand.

And deep thank yous to all who let me ride with you,
then and now.
I need you so badly.
I hope you know who you are.
I hope you know how amazing you are.

 

The Puffy Places

 I'm no weather expert.  Let's start there.

What I am is an avid weather-watcher.  Especially in the summer.  Especially when it comes to timing out a trip across the water to the cottage.  Boaters know this.  Island cottagers know this.  Anyone dealing with any sort of open water whatsoever knows this.  

Weather matters, and you don't want to be caught out in a storm.

The repeated weather pattern of the days ending last week and on into the weekend were, to quote the weather guy on our local station, "Cut and paste."  Clear and cool in the morning.  Building heat with a wide circle of pressure and upper level wind throughout the day.  Risk of localized thunderstorm by afternoon.  Cut and paste, on repeat for about four days in a row.  

Sunday wasn't really supposed to be one of those days.  In fact the radar indicated it would just outright rain all day, throwing in the odd thunderstorm at random, for good measure.  And also the radar indicated there might be a break around noonish or so.  

That's not really what happened.  

Almost, but not quite.

That's how we missed getting rained on, but also missed worship.  

Believing the radar, and really needing to be back to the cottage by at least Sunday evening, we left too early to be with our peeps at Highview, but arrived too late to be with our peeps in Cognashene, at the service that in fact did NOT get called off due to rain.  Beautiful day.  All the way up.  Beautiful ride out under a bright sky.  But just not quite in time for service.  

By now, even to me, this is all sounding like an over-apology for missing church.  Maybe it is.  But I actually want to get to the clouds.

Once unpacked and settled, things looked so NOT stormy, in fact quite calm out on the water, that I got myself into the kayak to mark my twenty-second time around the island this season.  Couldn't help myself.  Since I missed worship, my soul needed this.

And there were clouds.

The open sky is one of Georgian Bay's best features, so it's not like I haven't seen clouds on many if not most of my paddles.  Just, this day, with the cut and paste storm still being predicted for a few hours from now, they had a different texture to them.

There was just a hint of the storm to come.  But mostly they were brilliantly white and layered, with complex billows of cloudness (that's not a word, but I've already mentioned that I'm no weather expert, so).  

There are many ways to worship, many kinds of cathedrals, and I discovered this 'puffy place' to be one for me.  In the unhurried-but-something's-coming space, I found myself suddenly on the inhale, in one of those involuntary shudders usually reserved for after a good, hard cry.  Except I hadn't been, crying that is.  At least not physically.  Happened more than once, and both times in response to simply studying the intricacies of the clouds.

Maybe I was just tired from the drive and unpacking.  Maybe.  But.

I am still making my way through the marking of loss of five beloveds this summer, of course I am.  Every one of those beautiful senior souls left their mark on me, and it takes a while to say a proper goodbye.  

And I think I'm still unpacking some of the good things this spring also held, such as graduating and turning 65 and celebrating 25 years with Highview.  All that sort of flew by in the midst of some stunning difficulty (that I have previously and vaguely referred to on Facebook postings), and it's taken a lot of kayak worship to recover from it all.

Later that same afternoon it did rain, yes it did.  Like a deluge of tears perhaps.  It feels good to cry,

But before that, there's the puffy places of wonder.  

Like right now.  

These last two weeks I will be very much in that unhurried-but-something's-coming space, I think.