A Wandering Mind

It’s amazing how rapidly the crops are growing.  Every day there’s a slight change, yet it seems like only last week my neighbors were sowing the oats, and now the stalks are at least two feet tall and coming into head.  Won’t be long until the fields are glowing golden and shocks will appear.  In the meantime when there’s a good breeze, you can watch the wind-driven waves moving across the fields of wheat and oats—not unlike waves on a lake.

Amish neighbor's oat field

Amish neighbor's wheat field

Watching the dips and swells of the waving grain brings to mind the movie, “Sarah, Plain and Tall. ”  As the story goes, it was 1910, and a widowed Kansas farmer, Jacob Witting, finds the task of taking care of his farm and two children too difficult to handle alone.  So he advertises in the newspaper for a mail-order bride.   Sarah, from Maine, responds and travels to Kansas for a thirty-day trial period before agreeing to stay.  She’s a headstrong lady, yet she has a quiet and warm personality, and proves to be a great help.  During the trial period, she gets homesick for the sea, and for a while the viewer is left wondering if she will stay and marry Jacob.  She’s able to console herself by noticing how the Kansas prairie is rolling like the sea, and when the wind blows, there are ripples and waves, similar to the swells and waves of the ocean.  

Here’s the thing about the story.  It’s written for children, and the odds for love and a happy ending seemed pretty slim.  But it happened—in the midst of a storm, in the meeting of good neighbors, in children who needed a mother, and in a man who had not come to terms with the death of his wife—it happened.  Love found them, and Sarah stayed and married Jacob.   

Since I’m a kid at heart, and an old sap for a love story, I liked it.

Interesting how the mind works, skipping rapidly from one thought to another, until you have no idea what you were thinking when you began the hike up the Zuercher Road hill past the beef cows and their newborn calves.  But here we are, thinking about waves, and what surfaces next are thoughts of the great vacations we’ve had on the water, paddling canoes through the meanderings of rivers and the waves-and-swells of lakes.  Those were trips to remember, and some day to repeat.

                                                                                         

When I think of all places where a person could spend a week or two, the possibilities are endless.  So why would I occasionally drive a thousand miles to get to a place where I know I will be tired at each day’s end, rather than rested, like a vacation “should” be?  I’m talking about the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.  

Sometimes the wilderness beckons us to experience real life, to get away from all things man-made.  It’s a place where one will likely become a meal for mosquitoes—where the unexpected is to be expected—a place where there are wolves and bears.  And once there, we will tackle activities that we don’t always feel completely prepared for.  The wilderness answers some of the questions that we have about ourselves.

Can we cope without watches, telephones, running water, and electricity?  Do we have the emotional and physical strength to handle severe weather conditions, or long tedious portages, while our bodies are loaded down with heavy packs and canoes?  The answers are out there.

The wilderness invites us to cooperate with, and experience all that it has to offer.  As we subject ourselves to the possibilities, we are gifted with the knowledge that we can live up to the rigors, and we can live simply, with only the bare necessities, and enjoy it.  And we are blessed with the sights and sounds of a place still nearly as pristine as God created it.  It is unbelievably refreshing and restful.

The wilderness can sometimes be raw and dangerous, or it can be peaceful and comfortable, allowing us to bask in the pleasure of just being there—but always, always it is beautiful and giving.  

I can’t help but believe that our vast array of technological advances and modern conveniences have robbed us of some of life’s simplest pleasures:  A small crackling fire providing us with inspiration and heat to cook delicious meals in the open air.  A cup of “cowboy” coffee warming our bodies on a cool morning.   A misty sunrise over a dead-calm lake.  The scent of the lake water.  The aroma of a pine forest.  The lonely and mournful howl of wolves across the lake.  The haunting song of the loons.  The sight of eagles soaring gracefully in the sky.  

I go to the wilderness to see a night sky unpolluted by light.  A sky where the stars shine brilliantly enough to illuminate my path without a flashlight—where the Milky Way is a broad shimmering path of silvery specks stretching endlessly from horizon to horizon.

I go to the wilderness to experience real silence.  Except for the pleasant sounds of nature—including the lapping waves, gentle breezes stirring the pines, bird songs, and insects—the wilderness is nearly silent.  A good tent to duck into as night falls, allows us to rest comfortably as a congregation of mosquitoes come to sing for us.  It’s a disturbing noise when a loan mosquito buzzes us in our bedroom at home, but out there, protected by the tent, it’s as if a chorus of tiny musicians  are lulling us to sleep.  Thankfully, they’re not much of a problem during the day.

Camping in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness

It takes a couple days to decompress when entering the wilderness.  The busyness of our everyday lives has become such a blur of activity and non-stop running, that the shift in activity is at once both a relief and a shock.  By day three, the routine of canoeing, fishing, cooking, relaxing, daydreaming, and napping, has become so refreshing, that even the occasional mosquito bite or sudden shower cannot dampen our spirits.  We are returning to life out there.  And that’s what vacation should be about.

Sunset in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness

Not everyone is up for that kind of an experience, though.  For those who are unable to withstand the rigors of such an adventure, or who have no interest in an outdoor vacation, there are still plenty of places to visit where relaxation can be relearned, and the soul can be refreshed.  

Amish country in Ohio is one such place, and a great place to start.  The pace around here is slower—especially when you follow a buggy up a long hill—and we are surrounded by a life-style reminiscent of how our Grandparents lived.

Jacob's farm on Zuercher Road

I’ll have to be honest, it has taken a year of walking to come back to a deep appreciation for life lived at a slower pace.   It’s too easy to get wrapped up in running to the many good events and meetings that beckon us.  I’ve heard that’s why we’re called Mennonites, because we’re on the go so “manynights”.  It’s good for the soul to slow down.  It’s good for the body to take a walk and breathe deeply.

No partiality intended, but Kidron is a fine place for that to happen.

In addition to the peaceful scenery, and the many small roads available for slow drives, right here in town you can find everything from Amish hats to 50’s style dining.  The main attraction though, is Lehman’s—a place that rivals a good museum, where you can take the old-time tools and kitchen wares along home with you.  Even those of us who are lucky enough to live here, still enjoy a long relaxing stroll through the aisles of yesteryear.  

From Kidron, Ohio, where we roll up the sidewalks at 8:00 PM and the shops are all closed on Sundays.  A place where most folks are about twenty years behind the times, and our Amish neighbors a lot more than that.  And we like it that way.  So long.