Two months after we married he took me on my first trip to the BWCAW. It turned out to be my only trip, not because it wasn't a beautiful place to be or a lovely time together in nature, but because we soon moved to Cameroon, then Chicago, and by the time we came back to Minnesota Eli was in residency and I was having babies (neither of which is conducive for getting out to do much of anything let alone camping and canoeing).
With that said, my one and only trip to the Boundary Waters was rather memorable because we went in May, which is decidedly not a guaranteed spring month in northern Minnesota. The first day was warm and perfect, and canoeing down a miles-long lake was simply enjoyable. On the day we needed to canoe out, however, the weather was windy and rainy and downright cold. We were against the wind and it took approximately one thousand years for us to get out of the Boundary Waters, in part because halfway through the return journey my hands were so frozen I could no longer hold the paddle let alone do the actual work of paddling and I simply gave up. I curled into a ball in the front of the canoe and tried my best to retain any amount of body heat while my husband soldiered on alone to get his new bride back to civilization without any regrets that he'd brought her to the middle of nowhere in the first place.
He did get me back in one piece, and neither of us regretted the trip. I learned an important lesson that day: I'm not nearly as strong as I'd like to think I am, and my husband is actually as strong as I always believed him to be. I'm perfectly okay with the first truth, and intensely thankful for the second.
Every time the Boundary Waters are mentioned, I think of that trip in May 2006 and I smile.
When Eli told me that he and his cousin/bff Josh had decided they wanted to take all the kids on their first trip to the Boundary Waters during our HMA, I knew we had to schedule other commitments around the trip. It was a top priority. An inaugural trip to the Boundary Waters is a rite of passage, after all. And Eli and Josh were willing to do all the work of making such a trip happen and were willing to take all seven kids by themselves, meaning the mamas did not have to go and pretend that sleeping on the ground is totally still okay for our bodies to endure.
Most wives/mamas would rejoice at the idea of dads and kids being out of the picture for a few days, leaving nothing but time and peace in their wake. I, however, will gladly confess my nervousness with this plan. Although I truly had no desire to join them, the prospect of two dads wrangling seven kids, three canoes, and all the accoutrements that are required for camping for three days did not automatically garner my praise, not least of which because they would be out of cell phone range.
They were adamant, however, that it would be fine. They've been to the Boundary Waters more times than they can count. They know the Boundary Waters, and the kids aren't that little anymore, and besides, one of the kids is a 14-year old who's basically like another adult. (Cue eye roll from the mamas).
Despite my misgivings, the trip was shockingly smooth and I was so proud of these dads and kiddos for going on this adventure. There was only one mishap that I was really glad I didn't know about at the time. Otherwise, everyone came back whole and happy!
The night before they left, the two Grandpa Horns joined us all for supper, to tell stories of their own adventures in the Boundary Waters decades ago. Eli and Josh really wanted to honor this rite of passage, and listening to the grandpas talk about the Boundary Waters demonstrated how significant this family tradition is. The evening was full of anticipation and a few tall tales.
Early the next morning, they were off! They set up camp at a pristine spot on a lake, and thus the inaugural camping trip to the Boundary Waters began.
The kids learned that trail pizzas exist and are the best kind of surprise while camping. They also learned that mosquitos and gnats reign supreme in the north woods in June, but also that sunsets in northern Minnesota are hard to beat.
More than anything, they learned that camping and canoeing in the wild for a few days is a marvelous way to birth joy into the world.
On the day they portaged out, the dads didn't call the moms anywhere near the time they said they would. In this age of cell phones, mamas expect a phone call to confirm that everyone made it out alive and they are safely on their way home! But no call came. Jamie and I waited and waited, and tried calling both guys but never got through. Finally, when we'd waited more than long enough, we called the outfitters they'd gone through to see if they had any intel on the whereabouts of our families.
"Oh, you mean the dads and all those kids? Yeah, a few groups have seen them already this morning and they should be here soon."
Apparently "the dads and all those kids" had turned some heads with this adventure! There was no question who we were inquiring about, and it was so memorable to see such a troupe that several people could confidently say they'd seen them and knew where they were at. What a relief to the mamas!
They did make it out of the wilderness in one piece, and they did finally call us to tell us so. With that initial and important information out of the way, the phone was passed off to Asa because "he wants to tell you something."
"I have some bad news and I have some good news. So...one day I wanted to help chop firewood..."
My Mama Heart seized.
"So I grabbed the machete and was pulling it out of its sheath, but my finger was in the way and I sliced my finger."
My Mama Heart stopped. In the measure of a millisecond, my heart questioned if he meant he sliced it open or sliced it off.
By God's grace, it was the former.
As the story goes, everyone was milling about after a pancake breakfast when Asa suddenly said, "Dad, I'm bleeding."
Eli and Josh didn't overly concern themselves with this declaration, but when Asa made it clear he needed help they meandered over and, upon seeing the finger and realizing this was no small scratch, immediately knew that Asa needed stitches. (I'm told he was crying, and rightfully so, but hardly anyone remembers that detail, either out of solidarity with how brave my boy was, or because his early cries paled in comparison to the screaming that happened when the numbing medicine was injected!).
Thankfully, Asa's doctor dad had what was needed on hand and also was an experienced stitcher.
A painful numbing shot and six stitches later, Asa was all patched up and on the mend. "But here's the good news," my son continued with the story. "Not everyone can say they got their first stitches in the Boundary Waters!"
Good news indeed! Oh, how I love a positive spin on a nerve-wracking experience. I later told him it was like Wilderness Medicine: Live! (Eli taught a Wilderness Medicine Class at the beginning of the year as a homeschool elective and the idea of surviving in the wild is of great interest to the boys.) Asa learned what to do when someone slices a finger in the middle of nowhere, and he lived to tell the tale!
The stitches looked kinda nasty at first, but they did their job and Asa's finger healed beautifully.
The kids' first trip to the Boundary Waters was a huge success. They came back smelling like stinky woodsmen and declaring they wanted to do it again. I was so proud of my wilderness adventurers, and so thankful to the dads for planning and executing the idea. The memories will undoubtedly last a lifetime.
