S/V AMICUS

With Malice Towards None

Fall is in the air.  Today's Northeast winds, blowing straight into our house from the Lake, has us slamming windows shut after we opened them--for the last time?--this last balmy week.  A change is in the air; many people view it with dread. "We'll soon be inside for six months," a friend recently moaned.

Fall is delightful though, and part of the delight is the grand shifting of weather patterns.  It can be tumultuous--heat and humidity, thunderstorms, balmy summer, crisp colors, wind, rain, and snow--because it's bringing in something really different.

We need something really different, don't we?  In my daily life, I feel lucky.  Health, relationships, and finances are stable.  But it's impossible to completely ignore the pervading anger, fear, rancor and anxiety that find their way into my mailbox, inbox, and conversations. 

We can blame COVID, or our elected officials, or the media, or the weather--but all these things are on the outside.  We are actually in charge of our own mental states.  Where do our thoughts rest?  Where do we put our mental energy?  We make choices every day, often unintentionally or automatically, that will influence how we view all these external tensions cascading down on us.

And here is the real purpose of these ramblings....Two people, distraught by the fragmentation of their own community in the aftermath of the 2016 election, planned a workshop that can only be described as courageous, then or now.  They brought together people from both sides of the political spectrum to spend a weekend together.  Their goals was not changed minds but opened hearts.  It was the beginning of the "Braver Angels," and if you are interested in finding a new path through this election season, I urge you to investigate.

So far I have joined an action group, participated in a workshop, and signed a pledge.  Every day, my outlook benefits from my involvement.  Inspired by a wide and heartfelt appeal from President Lincoln after the Civil War, here is the "Malice Towards None" pledge “Regardless of how the election turns out, I will not hold hate, disdain, or ridicule for those who voted differently from me. Whether I am pleased or upset about the outcome, I will seek to understand the concerns and aspirations of those who voted differently and will look for opportunities to work with people with whom I disagree.” 

Several friends have mentioned to me their desire to move to another country in the event of a certain election outcome.  While I sympathize with the feeling of despair, I cannot endorse action that, while bringing a type of relief to those who take it, denies them the privilege and gift we all have of being a part of this place and this time, and denies us their hard work in bettering it.  After watching the Broadway "Hamilton" three times (offered to the general public through Disneyplus) I see the value in owning our heritage--good and bad--as well as owning today's moment.  Only those who own it, and invest in it, can move it forward in a good way. 

No matter how the election turns out, the work is still ahead of us.  What that will look like is unknown, but we know that it will be work!  Take the pledge, investigate the Braver Angels, and roll up your sleeves.  When we signed on to this game of life, no one promised ease.

 

Sea Change 2020 from the inside

Here we are at the end of May, over two months into the COVID shutdown and the economic freefall, with climate change continuing to rear its swirling head despite its relegation to the back burner. 

We got lucky.  Thanks to the quick thinking of our Board, Sea Change found a way to go virtual and still be out on Lake Superior.  This will open up many doors for us—we are already slated to speak to students on both east and west coasts!  Yet, it is not the same, and we acutely miss both live school events and live young adults as crew.  Our ports are extremely limited and our group is small—just us Gordons and Dave and Amy Freeman, virtual wilderness programming experts extraordinaire, who (after isolating themselves in the woods so that we could become one household) have filmed us, critiqued us, shared their social media savvy, contacted their schools, and otherwise propelled the Gordon family into a new era of Sea Change with not a small amount of patience and commitment.  What a gift.

Through the end of May we will continue this slow jaunt around the western corner of Lake Superior.  Virtual programs can be arranged within days of the event so our schedule continues to fill at the last minute.  And meanwhile, we live together and hide from everyone else.  Not that there’s anyone else out here. 

The first few days probably looked comic.  There we were, trying to get “out there” and share it with others.  What this meant was five computers and six phones in a small space, hovered around a cell and wifi booster, buzzing our brains out online.  Even the girls were glued to their computers, as their online school continued.  We did manage to get out on the water almost every day, at least to do some more videoing.

It was hard for me to see the forest during this first week, but now we are two weeks in.  We have prepared videos, we have a live webcam, we have one live zoom event under our belt, we have a promotional video, and we have a 16,000% increase in our social media followers!  And today, we have a day to do old-fashioned things like fill our water tanks on the open water, make pizza for Amy’s birthday, and take a dip or two.

Meanwhile, it feels like life outside our bubble continues to freefall.  The girls’ summer camp plans and our own Sea Change teen trip have fallen by the wayside.  It’s hard for me to imagine what could be more vital to our species than making sure that young people can get to the woods in the summer….but clearly this is something we can do nothing about.  Acceptance is coming,….. slowly.

What is Lost?  What is Left?  And What is Possible?  Once we have let ourselves experience the first two questions, we can move to the third.  Stay tuned.

COVID-19, the Gordons, and Life in Two Harbors

I have become a different type of person in the COVID world. For one, I find myself prone to mood swings.  One day I am mired in the agony and rebellion of not getting what I want.  Another day I watch, fascinated, as history unfolds and sacred cows, from lifelong habits to open borders, come crashing down in a pile of dust.  Then I sink into the most boring (and hopefully fleeting) mental state of all--low-level depression.

All these are starting to recede as we find our new rhythm and regain some stability.  Crashes still come nearly every day (today's was the delayed opening of Isle Royale National Park, our destination for many sailing trips) but we have been shocked so often we're getting used to it, and it doesn't hurt as much.  

Go to our website homepage for Amicus Adventure Sailing updates, and sign up here for our Sea Change newsletter.  But if you're looking to get personal, here's an update on the Gordon family.

back to homeschooling--but with computers

After 10 days of staycation, we were ready for school!  We have been getting up between 7 and 8 a.m.  Mom and dad do yoga/meditation, then go for a jog (we used to call it a run).  The girls get up and actually RUN, then stretch.  We all end up in the kitchen roughly around 9 am., fighting for the stove burners.  ("Burner hog" is a serious term in our home.)  I started it, so I can't complain--but everyone has their own preferred breakfast.  Cedar goes for the gourmet egg variations.  I stick with lentils, rice, and eggs.  Mark pops an egg into hot cereal, and Lamar has returned to egg-and-toast.  We are all at our computers at the dining room table by mid-morning.

Then, it's quiet.  Anyone live-streaming uses headphones.  The occasional chuckle breaks the silence as a THHS (Two Harbors High School) teacher cracks a funny and a girl laughs (see this awesome video message from teachers to students).  Mom goes about her regular business of advancing a better world via Citizens' Climate Lobby work and an expanded role with Two Harbors community radio, and Sea Change planning (this one has changed dramatically).  Mark works on United Church business, takes occasional lone trips to Amicus II to prepare it for water, dreams up legal lonely destinations for us to sail to, and keeps the household running.

Afternoons get more active.  Mark and I walk around the Lake and in town.  Cedar and Lamar finish schoolwork, read on the couch, go outside to pepper volleyball or shoot hoops, bake cookies and muffins, and practice guitar (both have decided it's time to learn, in earnest).  They each cook dinner once a week.

Monday night is games, Tuesday night is documentary night.  We take turns picking. 

Wed. night we all go to the church and record the weekly service with Pastor Paula and a few others. 

Shovel Point

Thursday we have dinner across the street with my parents who are obediently staying home and seeing no one but us.  After dinner we play trivia. 

Friday is still my radio day, and I've added a live check-in with Greg Ruberg, CEO of Lakeview Hospital, at 10:30 a.m.  Only one of us can come to the station at a time but our services are indispensable to the community (in my opinion) and I fervently hope they are allowed to continue, for the health and wellbeing of everyone.

Saturday is activity day and movie night ("Walk the Line" and "The 100-Foot Journey" are two recent favorites). We skiied Sugarbush the last day it was do-able.  This week we hiked up to Shovel point and ate a chilly windy lunch on the cliff top.

Sunday is hard for me.  I loved our Sundays before, with its regular time of worship together at United Church, an afternoon viewing of Off the Left Eye, and leisurely self-made meals.  Now, the girls lie in bed late.  Mark and I read together, eat pancakes, and go to church at 10:30 to ring the bell, even without a service to follow.  Some habits are very ingrained. Sunday afternoons used to be blissfully empty.  Now they are just empty. 

Kenny Blumenfeld, a Minnesota climatologist, humorist,and writer, gives us his COVID commentary in his weather blog.  He reminds us that the tornado is not the siren.  Much of our anxiety and fear may be stemming from the sirens.  

What is the actual tornado, he asks?  "...the concern of course, is not that everyone is going to die, or even that we all stand a high chance of dying, or that we are on the brink of being wiped out as a species. It is not that all or even most of us are going to get unusually sick. ... all of this reaction is because of a new virus that spreads fast and is especially dangerous to the most medically vulnerable segments of our population, and we are trying to slow the spread of the virus among those folks so that our entire medical establishment does not become overwhelmed for weeks or months. All of these extraordinary precautions we're taking and witnessing are to prevent a widespread and prolonged failure of urgent and emergency medical care-giving to people who really need it. We love our parents, grandparents, co-workers, and friends so much that we have agreed to cancel everything to help them avoid unnecessary hardship." 

Here in Two Harbors, we live in a COVID world in which the sirens, and our responses to them, are front and center.  The tornado itself exists only in the media, and in our communications with others.  Don't get me wrong--I am not saying there is no one with the coronavirus here.  I know there will likely be dozens, maybe hundreds of people who are affected or asymptomatic before a seriously ill person gets tested.  But there are no confirmed cases in Lake County as of April 7. This is so different from heavily populated areas with much more tornado!  Here in Two Harbors, life is continuing on, and we thank our lucky stars for the lower anxiety rates and for the fact that that we can go outside and breathe fresh air. We are also continually grateful for our elected officials in Minnesota, who give us direction and reassurance, and who lead by example.  We are heartened with the most recent news that "staying at home" is working, at least in Minnesota, and projected surges are dropping as well.

When COVID-19 recedes into history, we will not be the same.  And you know what?  We needed a shake-up.  Maybe this will help us turn a couple corners that really needed a push from behind.

Part 3--Costa Rica--What We Did for Ourselves

Costa Rica was not all work.  On the side, we did other things for our own edification.  (Lesson no. 6:  Have a long-term local decide what is valuable to see or hear.  Not a single thing we went to felt overrated, expensive, or cheesy.)  We were taken to a “souvenir shop” which included a factory in the back.  Working away was a big water wheel, a completely hydro-powered system for making the ox-cart wheels. The shop in back also featured several artists who were making the exquisite souvenirs being sold out front for incredibly cheap prices.   One of the artists even let me paint!

Another day, we went on a tour of a coffee plantation.  The farmer, though clearly tired after a long day’s work, gave us a full tour, explaining (in Spanish) the plants, the processing, and the economics, of coffee farming.  Wow.  He has revived the farm from almost certain bankruptcy by taking out the middle man and finding roasting sources in the U.S. who sell his coffee at gourmet (fair) prices.  Still, climate change is disrupting his yields and farming patterns, and privately he told Charlie he thinks there is a limited number of years left for his plantation.  The issues were different from ours, but the themes were similar:  Pests.  Seasonal shifts. Rain when it shouldn’t rain and drought when it should.  It sounded a lot like our berry situation, in fact.  You can guess that Al Ringer was all ears and I wished they could have talked separately, without an interpreter (Al is also a farmer and a berry grower).  At the end we all bought coffee, of course.  I was, as I was every day, deeply affected by all I had learned and by the good will and honest nature of everyone around me.

We also went to a huge farmers market.  The colors and delights never ended.  Our mouths watered at the bursting mounds of bright red tomatoes, bright orange fruits, bright green greens....it was painful not to buy much.  We were leaving the country within 48 hours.  (Lesson no 7:  the fruits and vegs in Costa Rica are as good as everyone says). 

Speaking of food, Our meals, served faithfully three times a day, were delightful, mostly—a change, of course, but we just went with it and ate what was available and it nourished us well.  I never felt overly full, was always hungry at mealtimes, and appreciated that options were few but delicious.  As daily bean-and-rice eaters anyway, we had fewer adjustments to make than some others.  There was always meat (from nearby farms) and plentiful cut fresh fruit.  Mangoes, watermelon, pineapple every day, almost every meal.   I am not a big fruit eater, but I became one quickly. Cedar and Lamar were in heaven.  We skipped the white bread and cereal, jam and margarine.

At night, we watched karote class at the Mission, or had a salsa dancing lesson one night, or played soccer ("football").  Twice we played, and I wished we’d tried earlier because we might have done it more.  It was one small way of giving back.  Oscar was always looking for players, and we also paid for the flood lights on the soccer field, it being dark by 6:30 pm. every night.  (Lesson no 8:  countries without excess wealth make a lot smarter choices about energy.  Lights on only when you need them, toilets that flush about a quart of water and ask you to put the paper in a bag, etc.).  

Once the soccer ball was dropped, the Costa Ricans ran circles around us, and both their skill and their joy in playing made it the most exhilarating soccer I have ever played or even witnessed.  We did our best (and the Gabourys, all three generations, are great athletes who give it their all) but we were no match for them.  We learned fast, because they were great passers, even to us.  They would sprint to the ball, execute the perfect handling, and then look up and do a sweet, gentle pass to exactly where I should be in 2 seconds….They delighted in everything, including ridiculous mess-ups.

As someone who has always thrilled in sport and competition, but so rarely sees or experiences it in its purest form, these games were thrilling to participate in—just effort, skill, and pure love of the sport.  No one kept score or time, players walked off to get water, then came back in.  When we all tired out (or rather, the North Americans were barely moving), by consensus we lifted our hands and cheered, to signal game over.  Locals biked around the field, or sat and watched, a much better way to spend the evening than sitting at home on a phone or watching TV, as we are prone to do in our country.  I thought for sure I had pulled a muscle, probably several, because I was so stiff and sore every night.  But the health of the air, the hard word, the delicious fruit, the sound sleeping… just all seemed to lead to fast healing, and by each morning I was pretty much ready to go again.

Our final day was the “day off,” and preparing for it actually proved to be the most difficult part of the trip!    Suddenly we had to decide (because the previously-chosen option closed unexpectedly) what to do, and given the focus on our own pleasure, we turned into regular old human beings with different priorities and concerns.  Some wanted to go to the beach and surf; others very decidedly had no interest in the beach but wanted to go to the rainforest.  No one seemed able to just say, “Whatever we do will be fine,” although most of us felt that way.  Trying to think outside the box, I asked Charlie if we could take two buses, but this option would cost some and we'd been planning as a group.  Feelings got hurt, should we stay together…… eventually Mike our fearless leader decided that we would all go together to the rain forest.  We had a circle-like meeting in the evening to iron it out and went to bed feeling pretty normal (I think). 

The next morning we were on our way—the drive was 90 minutes on winding roads, never more than 45 mph, but it took us into a whole different part of Costa Rica.  We climbed up through the clouds and through a whole different culture and eco-system.  Suddenly there were small farms, ruminants grazing and everything was green, foggy, and chilly.  Ah yes, the rain forest!  10 people did the zipline which took 1 ½ hours and was reported to be very beautiful and fun, despite the unanticipated fact that it was raining!  I thought they’d come back dripping wet and chilled to the bone, but they were barely wet.  The canopy really does keep the rain off.  I also noticed that the guides didn’t wear any rain gear.

Then, a buffet lunch and then a 1 ½ hr tour through the rain forest, with a focus on hummingbirds, butterflies, flora, and the swinging bridges.  Our guide was passionate and answered dozens of questions beyond the typical tour. He was incredibly personable, proud of his citizenry and of the priorities his country was placing on biodiversity and the preservation of all life.  When asked about the different blooming seasons for different plants (since they have no winter and summer—only dry and wet), he observed, “Well you know, God puts it altogether so perfectly--”--then went on to explain the intricate patterns of bloom throughout the year. We nodded, recognizing and sharing his reverence for our amazing complex planet and its Creator.  Never before have I shared religious values with locals from a foreign country; being on a Mission trip seemed to make it easier.  The basic trust level was higher, somehow.

 

Part 2--Costa Rica--What We Did For Others

We were there for 6 full days.  Having never been on a service trip or a mission trip before, I have nothing to compare it to.  All week I marveled at how well organized it was, in the important ways.  (In unimportant ways, it was not organized at all.  Things cancelled.  Buses were late or broke down.  Meals were whenever we were ready.  Soccer commitments were only required minutes before play time.)  Charlie Strong, founder of the Strong mission, and his staff, have long and deep partnerships throughout the area and so have shovel-ready work projects to direct and supervise, waiting only for the right group of laborers with the right skill set.  It was clear from the start—our daytime purpose was to work.  Breakfast was at 7 and the bus--or whatever transportation was functioning that day--left at 8.

Actually, the first day we worked on the Strong Mission itself.  We either organized all the goods we’d brought (clothes, fabric and patterns, crafts, school supplies, and soccer balls), painted the tires that made up a large homemade playground, or cleared a steep incline and built a tire staircase heading down to the river.  I did the steps, along with Micky and all boys and men.  Our packing list included clothes and shoes to work in.  They provided us gloves and glasses, picks, shovels, machetes, and tires.  Mid-morning we ate watermelon (this would happen every day).  Otherwise, we worked. The wind blew hard and by noon my eyes were watering, even with glasses, and I was coughing up dust.  Jesse and Ethan (13 years old) were great at rolling down the tires and clearing the way from below.  Micky and I shoveled and filled tires with dirt.  The men did the heaviest lifting and pounding the earth, generally, and strategized on the structure.  We didn’t do it exactly right, and in the afternoon had to re-do a bunch of our work.  (Lesson no. 2:  we are going to do the jobs correctly, so that this will last.)

Katya, Tessa, and Oscar

The rest of the days meld together in memory. The main project was working on an elementary school that had come close to closing a few years before.  It was just a 5-min drive away.  It was a great project for us because it was endless.  There was no standing around; skill levels were varied.  Mixing cement became our signature project, and Charlie himself showed us how with the first batch.  (Lesson no. 3:  Teaching with a language barrier can be done well; it involves example, gesture, tone, a few choice words, repetition, and correction.  That last was the hardest for the staff—they were so NICE, courteous, and deferential, yet they had to repeatedly interrupt our work and show us how to do it RIGHT!) 

Charlie led the way with such vigor that we instantly learned that getting the proper cement ratios mixed evenly is an intensely physically demanding job.   2 parts sand, 1 part stone, 1 part cement.  Five shovels working simultaneously in a circle. We mixed volcano style.  I thought my back was going to break, or at least pull a muscle.  “Better do it well—you bought it!” Charlie called out once, and I remembered that our fees for this trip included materials.  We had, literally, paid for that cement.  I was so happy about that!  What a brilliant system:  We provide time, labor, and materials.  They take care of our living needs, provide transportation, find the projects that need doing, and supervise/make it happen.

So for several different 1/2 day sections we spackled wall cracks, mixed and poured cement, set up frames for the electricity and the ceiling inside the classrooms, and plastered on stucco walls.  This was for a new special-ed building behind the main school. 

We worked on this school the majority of our time.  Smaller projects included sewing with a group of local women (we offered fabric, patterns, and company.  And quilting demos.  they paid back with enthusiasm, creative sewing projects, and great fun.)  Twice we hosted crafting parties with local kids.  We were prepared and had arrived with 3 different crafts.  The language barrier meant little when a table of beautiful white paper (thanks Renee!!!) and watercolors awaits with fresh paintbrushes.  The kids needed no explanations.  The reindeer-making, which Jan headed up, was more difficult, but she’d trained in several others and many kids walked away with a bamboo reindeer.  Tessa did the coffee-filter butterfly-making, which was a huge hit, especially when the kids figured out that they could use the pipe cleaners any way they wanted, including to dress the bamboo reindeer.

Meanwhile, mamas sat nearby and socialized.  I held a 2-month old baby and managed to discuss breastfeeding and a post-tube-tied pregnancy with one mama.  Stephanie, our bi-lingual staff, tirelessly translated.  And several parents knew passable English.  We were chagrined that we knew so little Spanish. (Lesson no. 4:  it’s never too late to learn a language.  I absolutely loved working on it, even though, inexplicably, I kept speaking in French!  Very low pressure but high return, talking to kids.) We took pictures only with express purpose from the mamas, so you won't see a lot of photos here.

These were all in poor neighborhoods but the kids looked happy—a lot happier than many North American kids, to be honest. Ethan, Jesse, and Brett caught their attention early with the universal language of tag, and it went from there.  The children were great at maintaining rhythms of play:  running around, sitting down to craft, checking in with mama, running around.  The lack of structure or overt "shoulds" for kids or mamas fit with their culture--and with my values as well.  Few things gave me greater satisfaction than watching the long table of quiet absorption as kids painted for as long, or as short, as their focus lasted. With no screens in sight, their focus lasted a lot longer than I've seen at home.  They appeared well-dressed and well-kept.  And their mamas were beautiful too.  Why, I wonder, are we compelled to wear such dull colors?  We compound the colorlessness of our winter with gray, white, black, brown, clothing.  Surrounded by a colorful country, brimming with flours and fruit, clothing in Costa Rica is loud and cheerful.

One morning we went to a Precario (ghetto/squatter neighborhood).  Just getting there was precarious!  Hugging the busy road, you could look down on three layers of shacks shoved close together leading down to the riverbed.  Only the roofs were visible.  Charlie had asked the families who lived there (apparently close to 400 people!) what they needed, and one thing that stood out was a safe, secure staircase, particularly for the elderly who were immobilized without a way out. 

So, we built the staircase.  The sand/rock was poured just inches from the busy road above. The bucket brigade brought it to the 1^st level where the cement was mixed.  The tires below were uprooted, the area cleared, and the wooden frame built for a cement staircase. (Lesson no. 5:  You can’t be serious about projects unless you have the right tools and materials.  Which they did)  And, the “bathroom” was right through a shack, right through someone’s home!  I wasn’t sure if we couldn’t pee in the brush because they didn’t want us to, or because they thought we needed a toilet at all costs.  Peeing outside would have been much more comfortable.

One final word about serving:  Much as I loved serving, being useful, doing God's work--however you want to put it--I never once felt like we were giving as much as we were receiving.  The privilege of being there, and the relationships built with the people there, and the way we were so warmly cared for, was the essence of the trip--far more than some notion of labor or sacrifice.  The very best of all was the Costa Ricans themselves.   I never connected to Charlie himself--he was here one minute, gone the next--but his staff, oh yes.  Oscar, the heart and soul of the Strong Mission, accompanied us everywhere and even slept there. (Before security cameras, he even guarded the Mission all night.)  Wilbur did the carpentry work with Mark and others and was a great soccer player.  Stephanie told us her life story on the last day while most people were zip-lining.  Warner spoke zero English but gave me a couple thumbs-up on my spackled walls after multiple do-overs, filling my heart with pride.  These people are currently able to work only when a group is at the Mission, so in a very real way, our presence was benefitting them.  The kitchen staff were unfailingly good-humored and I wish we could have interacted with them more. 

Stay tuned to read about the rest of What We Did!

Part 1--Costa Rica--Getting There

By sail, you ask?  No.  We lead many lives, and this is a new one.  United Church of Two Harbors, with our fearless leader Mike Gaboury, coagulated into a loose, then tight, group of 17 people, ages 13-69, to join the Strong Mission for a week of construction projects, crafting with kids, school and sewing supply, and evening soccer games, all with the acknowledged assumption that God is the source of all goodness and certainly the reason for our week which was chock full of blessings and a life-changer for most of us.  It was for me, and I fear I will never do it justice. 

But in order to keep the good from becoming the enemy of the perfect, here goes my written attempt.  Part 1:  Getting There.

Getting there was a huge part of the trip for me.  Mentally, I struggled in the days prior.  I love my home, I love winter, and frankly (I now admit), I love being comfortable.  It has been a long time since I've gone far outside my comfort zone.  Different as this zone may be from many people, it is still my zone and I like to stay in it!  Travel has always carried with it a carbon-guilt-attachment as well as a discomfort zone, and big snowstorms were predicted for our takeoff time, so I did get a double whammy.

Mike (leader) and Paula Gaboury

But as they say, worry gets you nowhere.  What you worry about will never happen; it's what you never think of that happens!  And so it was with us.  The morning of departure from Two Harbors, we discovered that our life raft, which we lugged down to the basement after a biannual service test in Chicago, detonated overnight in the basement!  Exploding even the hard fiberglass cover and wooden shipping crate.  Apparently Lamar (the only one up at midnight) had heard a loud THUMP from the shower, worried about thieves, and then went to bed.  Luckily it did only minimal damage in the basement, and the servicer in Chicago whom we promptly called was as flabbergasted as us.  But, Mark commented, "If I had had a list of 10,000 things to worry about this morning, that would not have made the list." 

What I did worry about--getting to the airport in a snowstorm--went off without a hitch.  We left on a Friday morning to beat a snowstorm.  That was successful.  We stayed in St. Paul with friends who heroically drove us to the airport at 5:30 a.m. Sat. through what turned out to be just a few inches of snow.  All went well until we were sitting in spread-out, far-back seats in the plane, (service trips are discounted--and we were definitely at the bottom of the priority barrel) in the MSP airport, heading to Chicago.  With a sinking heart I heard that fatal tone in the pilot’s message:  “I hate to be the barer of bad news……” 

The problem was a shut-down Chicago airport.  We ended up sitting in that plane for 4 hours total.  However, our flight to Miami was also delayed, so we caught the connection!  But not before being aware that the connection Miami-San Jose was not going to happen Saturday night.

By a stroke of luck, mechanical problems compounded the weather problems so American Airlines had to take responsibility for our lateness.  Late Saturday night, in Miami, after several hours of waiting in a group and re-booking 17 flights (Lesson no. 1: being in a group means a lot of waiting around.  It also means I didn’t have to worry about things.  Someone else always took care of it!),  we were awarded hotel and food vouchers, and after another long wait, boarded a shuttle to the hotel.  Food by 9 pm., and bed.  No clothes or toiletries.  Thankfully, our 31 pieces of luggage (many of which would stay in Costa Rica, full of supplies) stayed in the system.  But now we had sleep, and showers.

Sunday morning brought new energy.  Our flight was not til 6 p.m.  We Gordons broke off from the crowd and demonstrated a little bit of modern prowess by scheduling a Uber to a Goodwill which happened to be in the middle of the Cuban neighborhood

unexpected stop in Miami

which my friend Betsy, world traveler and my personal travel advisor, had highly recommended just hours before.  And, we were there with an Uber driver/tour guide who could provide political, social, economic commentary.  He even waited outside for 20 min. while we bought bathing suits ($7 each), and then took us straight to the beach. 

The three of us (Mark guarded daypacks) swam in the waves, watched the crowds, and smelled Florida.  As Cedar noted, the scents brought it all back.  Humidity, fruit, gas, grass, sweat.  We actually found the place we’d walked to the beach from our boat back in 2013.  We bought fresh smoothies, continued to eat out of our food stores when tongues got sharp, and even found a tiny National Geographic Gallery in the midst of the spas and t-shirt stores.  The Gallery was small but sported, amongst about 20 huge pictures from all over the world, one beautiful shot of the Grand Marais harbor!

The Airport Express bus took us straight from the beach to the airport, where we met up with everyone else.  Then all went well, if long, until we were deposited on a rickety (for us) bus from the San Jose airport on Sunday evening.  Within minutes the airport, streetlights, even 4-lane roads were history,  and we craned our necks to see Costa Rica.  Really we felt it more than saw it, since it was dark.  Curvy narrow roads wound up and down.  Switchbacks are perpetual.  Inches away on both sides were small adobe houses, or shacks, or stores with their garage doors down (closed), or fields of...sugarcane?  Roadsides were very clean, we noted, for such a poor area.  

The Strong Mission

After 45 minutes we went up yet another impossibly steep incline (wondering aloud how often they have to replace clutch and brakes) and then turned a sharp corner and rolled down a deeply potholed gravel driveway towards a lit building, the Strong Mission, about as big as our Community Center.  Mike and Paula (who had taken the early morning flight, alone) were there to greet us.  It was a muted reunion, with us stumbling and mumbling in weariness.  We were given sandwiches, shown our bunkhouses and the bathrooms.  Soon we had all fallen into bed, grateful to have arrived.

The First Morning

Summer to Fall to Winter!

Much too much time has gone by since writing here.  Life just gets away with us sometime, and we always reserve the right to escape screen obligations.

We had a full and exciting summer, with more multi-day trips than ever, and more thunderstorms in the Apostles than ever.  Our season ended too soon with increased pressure to pull out Amicus II in early October.  The last two years have seen bruising NE gales in late October which did some serious damage to the Knife River marina--and one year, to our boat.  So we pulled out without too many complaints.  Sure enough, once again, the high water and high winds combined to bring us another few days of high excitement on Lake superior, but Amicus II was safely on land.

(Incidentally, we may or may not be at our regular lagoon this summer.  Work needs to be done to make it usable again.)

Fall brought a delightful family/friend trip to the Sleeping Giant in mid-October.  Yes, a true Lake Superior family, can't stand to leave the lake when we go on vacation!

October at the Sleeping Giant

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Winter.  It came hard in December, then let up by Christmas.  We did some snowshoeing up the river gorges--which are currently closed to us, with the rivers running like spring.  Just today the temperatures are dropping closer to the normal range, so we hope to be back on the rivers soon.  Stay tuned!

 

December activity

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Teen Sea Change 2019 Recap

Recap:  the Daily Dip (water temps ranged from 33.5 degrees F to 48 degrees F, which felt downright toasty.)  We all dipped, not everyone dipped every day but the group commitment was clear.  On the summer Solstice, we were at Passage Island.  The kids decided that if they dipped at midnight, and stayed in for a minute, this would count for two days!  So they stayed up late.  Mark reminded them at 10:30 CT that it was actually 11:30 ET (and we were in Michigan) so they decided to dip at midnight ET.  Then, of course, they couldn't MISS a day, even though they had technically dipped that day,..... you get the idea.

Talking climate change, taking action, writing letters, presenting projects, studying plants and water..... all that good stuff was awesome and the kids were avid learners.  A highlight for me was during our de-brief, when Aubrey commented, "I feel like I have a climate change 'starter kit' now," and Jeanna said, "I  feel like I know how to talk to other people about climate change now."  Mission accomplished!

Sailing was modest.  We were plagued with calms for the 1st half of the trip, and headwinds the second half.  Somewhere in there we did have a couple of days of nice sailing, though with a lumpy swell that kept everyone looking at the horizon and resulted in one.... loss of lunch, shall we say.  But Cece's cheery temperament hardly skipped a beat and she, like everyone else, slept through an amazingly bouncy morning a couple of days later, emerging in the 4-ft. seas with her customary smile.  So all adjusted to the motion.

Everyone was very appreciative of where they were. None had been to Isle Royale and they missed no opportunity to see it, even if it meant bushwacking through thick balsam stands and swatting black flies.  It was unusually chilly, with very few mosquitos--we only used the bug nets on two nights!

It feels impossible to do justice to the six intrepid teens who moved aboard for 10 days with 7 strangers to live together, learn together, and have a great adventure.  Thanks to Abbie, Raif, Aubrey, Jeanna, Cedar, and Cece for the trust you gave us, your willingness to try almost anything, your sense of fun, and your climate consciences.  You leave us with a sense of gratitude and anticipation of what the next few decades will bring.

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Final thoughts from Katya

After Lamar's colorful rendition I don't know that you need anything else about the final week!  It was everything we'd hoped for and more, with a day of sailing in the fog (in our defense, we were sailing in bumpy swell, with light variable winds, a (since-determined) faulty wind indicator at the top of the mast, and a thick fog--all in a widening channel in which we were forced to tack!  So yes, we did actually sail in a circle, or rather a triangle)...with a visit to the Battle Island lighthouse, an annual clean-up of the remote and pristine Boat Harbor beach, a visit to the Pukaskwa Pits in Loon Harbor, Madi's return at Tee Harbor, a stunning hike up the Sleeping Giant, a visit to Isle Royale, and a daily dip for each of us on board which involved some serious commitment on the cold and windy days.

We arrived in Grand Marais, wind-blown and triumphant (and remarkably clean, due to the daily dip) and ate a mountain of huevos rancheros burritos for dinner, topped off with root/ginger beer floats.

And now, two days later, the good-byes painfully accomplished, I am most grateful for:

--the satisfaction of not only traveling lightly to other places, but connecting with people over a universally-recognized important issue, and finding comeradery and fun in every community we visited

--the crew's dedication to our climate engagement:   their complete takeover of the presentation, their invention and creation of our Lake Superior map with its hundreds of signatures, and their personal life choice commitments

--our daughters' commitment to Sea Change which seems to expand rather than diminish every year, despite the increasing number of things they must give up every May

--Mark's dedication to captaining us and Amicus II safely through waters and seasons that, even after all these years, seems beyond the reach of any other sailboat.  This year we saw no sailboats outside of the Apostle Islands.

--the opportunity we all embraced to completely re-set our pace with a month aboard.  I did enough belly-laughing to offset a year's worth of worrisome news, disconnected social systems, and computer screens.  If you are feeling trapped in a world that is disconnected, inside, without authentic human connection, and screen-based, I cannot recommend this more highly as an anti-dote.  And I know we will be laughing about the funnier moments all year.

Stay tuned for our teen trip, coming up June 16-26....with a similarly stellar crew of teens signed up.  And don't forget about our Educator  Workshop Aug. 19-22 for teachers and educators.  The need for climate curriculum within schools was repeatedly brought to us--this is our answer!  Still two spots open!

Our Lake Superior map, signed by hundreds of students and teachers....

Lamar's story--the final week

How to describe the final week?  The following are excerpts from Lamar's daily journal, kept as an assignment for her English teacher.  Used with permission.

May 24

This morning it was raining like a mad dog when we woke up, but then it cleared up enough for us to leave Rossport. It was only a few miles and shouldn’t have taken us very long, but it was foggy and the wind kept switching so it took us most of the day. The wind switched so much that eventually we realized we were going in  clockwise circles, and after several hours of bobbing around in multiple different directions we were informed that we were in the exact same spot we had been one hour before. There were also huge swells coming in from the open lake (we were in a channel), which were very seasick-inducing, and between that and the fog it was almost impossible for me not to get seasick. So I was sitting in the cockpit, deathly seasick, and surrounded by fog, and Kai brightly chirped “oh I just love these swells”. I wanted to smack him across the face.

May 26

    Today we sailed first to an island called battle island, where we explored a lighthouse and a beach, and found an old Ford truck from about 100 years ago. Then we sailed to Woodbine harbor, where we are now. Today when we were jumping in, Jesse decided that the only way he was going to do it was if he didn’t think about it at all and just went for it. So he came flying out of the cabin and hurdled towards the gate (where the ladder was), he slipped on the corner and almost ate it, but managed to fling himself into the water landing in a magnificent backflop.

May 27

    Today we tried to sail from Woodbine Harbor to Loon Harbor, but there was no wind, so we ended up motoring for most of it. Once at the Loon Harbor, we walked along the outside edge of the island that encloses the harbor. It is basically about a mile of bedrock exposed to the open lake. There is lots of what we call “60’s lichen” because it is neon green, and practically glows in the dark. We had been trying to use our outboard motor on the dingy, so we can go farther in it. However, on the second week of the trip we crunched the stern of the boat into a dock and knocked off one of the props on the propeller. Although using it is a little sketchy it has only conked out once so far.

May 28

    Today we had a rousting sail from Loon Harbor to a place called Tee Harbor, which is near the Sleeping Giant in Thunder Bay. It was one of the few sails we’ve had so far with big waves. Naomi got very seasick and threw up, the wind sent it right into Kai’s face. Other than that, it was actually a beautiful sail and we healed over to 40 degrees, a trip record. Our dip today was in 32.0 degree water, the coldest we’ve had so far. We tried playing cards while we were underway, but it didn’t get very far because the cards kept falling off the table.

[Katya's note:  In the evening, Madison hiked out to Tee Harbor with her dad and her dog and rejoined our trip!  She had gifts for all, but nothing was as good as having her back.]

May 29

   We spent the whole day in Tee Harbor by the Sleeping Giant today. We climbed to the top of the Sleeping Giant, and then hiked to an amazing gorge, that made Palisade Head look putsy. It was very hot today, for the first time this year, and we all actually enjoyed swimming afterwards. That was a first. We found a place to go cliff jumping, which was fun, but you had to swim a ways to get out and the water was 32.0 degrees again.

May 30

    Today we got up way too early and tried to sail to Windigo Harbor, in Isle Royale. As per usual we sailed for a little bit, then bobbed around in place for a little bit, then ended up motoring the rest of the way. We had the autopilot on for most of it, which makes it easy but unbelievably boring to be on watch. Once at Windigo we tried to find the wolf-moose researchers but couldn’t, so we hiked up to an overlook and then went swimming once we got back. It was was the warmest water we’ve had so far, which is still breathtakingly cold. After dinner, while my mom, dad, and Kai tried again to find researchers, we made a blanket fort and watched a documentary Madi had on a CD. the fort went from cozy to sweltering very quickly.

 

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May 31

    Today we made our final sail from Windigo Harbor to Grand Marais, where we will be ending the trip. We had lots of wind the whole time and big waves, it was one of our most exciting sails so far. Tomorrow we will debrief the trip and deep clean the boat, but today was our last full day of Sea Change 2019. The hardest part of ending this trip is always saying goodbye to the crew. We will be leading more trips until July, however Sea Change is always the funnest, most fulfilling, and most challenging trip of the year.