8:10 AM
Within the first few days, we likely enjoyed more summer sun and swimming than we did in 15 days on our west coast USA RV adventure this past spring. Although we have kept busy on this trip, the R&R level was also significantly greater.
Other than an early morning after one last late night fire, coupled with packing, the long drive, and the unloading of all the things back home, we know that there won’t be the long recovery from time zone changes and the stress of navigating your family through intimidating mountain ranges.
Still, both of our vacations this year have been vital to our mental and physical health. COVID took its toll, not to mention the inner sorrow of knowing these are some of the last vacation memories we will share as parents and kids. We have dreamt allowed as we imagined a time that these cabins were all rented between us and our kids families one day. It doesn’t have to be the end of these precious memories together, but we are also growingly aware of how jobs and college and life changed our relationships with our own folks.
Sometimes you don’t know it’s your last vacation with your family. I remember mine now around the age of 17 (Emma will turn 17 in September), but I didn’t know that the next year my family would go to Myrtle Beach, that I would have to work and that I would never go on a family vacation with them again.
So, I’ve gone into this holiday with that in the back of my mind. I haven’t dwelled on it or even thought about it much these past two weeks, but we all talked briefly about it last month as Emma pondered between a summer job as a camp councilor, and our annual family camping trip. Although I want them to work and grow and become confident, independent young woman, I am glad that job didn’t work out this year because I know as they drop off from the memories of our vacations to follow one by one, that there will be a void as each one spreads their wings – and a sense of great pride, don’t get me wrong.
It’s an absolutely stunning final morning peering out at the sun sparkling across the gentle ripples of lake water cascading into the shore line of our little cove. Tara and I are quietly having coffee and a bite to eat before the chaos of packing for home. Soon, Finnegan and I will go for our traditional last ride around the bay before taking it to the marina to prepare for its journey home.
These are the moments we always dread. Who wouldn’t ache at the idea of saying goodbye to the view out this wall of windows, chipmunks climbing into the palm of your hand or onto your lap as you hand feed them shelled peanuts, having a moment with a fox or a turtle, or a conversation with a seasonal camper, a 30-year regular to the lake, or newcomers enjoying the peace and serenity of our great nation? There is nothing like walking 50 feet to our dock, jumping in our boat, and venturing off for a zip around the lake whenever we want; waiving at fellow boaters, admiring the unique cottage setups around the bay, a day trip on the Magnetawan River or now, a 20-minute escape to Pointe Au Baril to explore Georgian Bay.
We are truly blessed. Both with the kind, creative, and funny children we have, to the opportunities to enjoy such bliss within a world so growingly full of hate. I wish everyone could experience this because it’s a reminder of the simple things and how truly small we are all among these vast bodies of water, trees exploding into the clouds, rock cliffs, mountains, and all of Mother Nature’s creations.
Here, we witness animals surviving off the land as a bird pulls a worm out of the ground, chipmunks scurry about stocking their burrows with nuts, turtles wrestlings, a hawk swoops down to catch a fish, the splashes in the lake at night as our underwater friends help us with the bug population, and the distance cries of prey falling to a hungry predator.
As I chop the head of the fish given to me early this week, I looked into its eyes with sorrow, but I remember how our Indigenous peoples give thanks to animals for the sacrifices they make to provide us nutrients. In that moment I am reminded that I too, am an animal. The difference is that we have evolved over thousands of years, realizing that we don’t have to be animals, to live a modest life with the shelter and food that we need to find joy and happiness in this life. We learned to share, trade, and work together to live together as one.
It is my hope that our children will hold onto this peace and tranquility high within the memories of their youth, and remember that through the hate and strife that is increasingly present in our society, that there is love, understanding, and hope all around us. It’s something you can both find, and create. Sometimes it finds you too, but it’s out there.
You are loved. You are valued and admired. You are vital to a bright and positive future. Remind yourself of this often, and find these places and moments that remind you of it so that you might find again, the strength for all that life confronts you with.
To your family, you are everything and that is enough and to the world, I truly believe that although we are all but one smile in a vast universe, that together our individual brightness has the power to create a more loving and accepting place.
This – all of it – is what I see out this window as I pen these final morning thoughts. To me, that is how we find true happiness and purpose in this life – to find the windows that help us find the tranquility, understanding, and forethought to carry us through the work of family, community, and career, as we gaze through and beyond in search of reflection, hope, and answers.
My coffee is cold, there is work to be done. I hear the rumble of bodies moving around on air mattresses, a sigh, and feet coming down the stairs. The goodbye starts, but these memories will last forever in the heart of a dad so full of love and hope for a wondrous future for our beautiful girls.