Adventure #4 Up At The Cabin

When we’re babies our parents celebrate all of our firsts up until we hit eighteen, and after that nobody seems to care anymore what your firsts are.  From the first tooth, first step, first word, first day of school to first kiss, first boyfriend/girlfriend, first dance, first heart break. 

But for some reason the celebration of firsts stops there.  As if life stops at eighteen and you don’t have any more new things to do and accomplish. 

I don’t have any interest in living this way.  My firsts are still happening, and even the simple ones are still just as exciting as taking my first step.  You never stop growing.  You are always young. 

My friend invited me up to her in-laws’ cabin back in June.  I went last year, for the first time, and it was actually the trip that inspired me to do a sequel to my Hating Minnesota blog.  Last year when I rode a four wheeler for the first time I was writing furiously in my head and wished I had actually put those thoughts on paper.  I only remember the fragments of a joke where I talk about my boobs squished up against my friend’s back on the four wheeler and didn’t give a shit because I sure as hell didn’t want to fall backwards to my death….
The joke was better in my head a year ago….
But now that it’s gone, that’s all I got.  So, fast forward to this year when I was invited again, and this time I gathered more stories than just my boobs pushed against my friend’s back so I wouldn’t fall and die. 

Actually?  There is a story from last year I have to use to preface my current adventure…

Now.  I’m not an experienced four wheeler (as I’m sure you have gathered) so I am not comfortable driving one by myself even if I was allowed to.  So Maddy (who I went ice fishing with) was the captain of my four wheeling adventures.  We always drove together.  She would let me drive, but she was behind me to give me warnings of certain paths and tell me where to go. 

When night fell they lit up a bonfire.  Not just any bon fire.  The size of a burning small city bon fire.  The ladies (Maddy and her mother in-law) decided to go night four wheeling.  I was invited, so I hopped on the back with Maddy and we were off. 

Somewhere in the darkness in the middle of the gorgeous, fern floored wood we flew through a mud pit and got stuck.  I started to get nervous as we weren’t able to free ourselves.  Maddy valiantly rocked and rocked the machine, got out into the mud and pushed and shoved and worked her ass off to get it unstuck to no avail.  My nerves were rising not because I was afraid of being stuck in the mud, but because I was afraid of the conflict: bad tempers, getting into trouble…  I felt helpless so I was afraid people would gossip about how I just sat there and didn’t do anything… I was afraid of tension and people turning mean as they got stressed out about the situation.  That, is what I am used to.  I am used to stress turning people ugly and mean.  I never realized how emotionally traumatized I am by it until I meet a situation like this…

Nobody got angry.  Nobody got stressed.  Maddy’s husband came out to our little crisis in the woods, tied the four wheeler to his dirt bike and pulled us out.  And everyone thought it was a good laugh.  Nobody knows how paramount this was for me.  My anxiety vanished, like magic. 

I’m telling you, People, you have no idea how positive energy is a life saver for anxiety victims. 

The only evidence of the stuck-in-the-mud adventure...

So, fast forward again to this year’s cabin adventure….

Maddy and I met like shady business dealers at a familiar grocery store parking lot so I could follow her the rest of the way to the cabin.  The cabin is pretty desolate and can be hard to find.  It’s a fantastic, wonderful get away and I am so grateful that I have been a guest there.

The rest of the gang (Maddy’s in laws, husband, friends) weren’t going to be showing up until later that evening.  So Maddy and I had some nice friend time for a few hours and it was lovely. 

We paddled around the little pond in a canoe for a bit (me, cringing at the dark water and weeds but pushed through it like a champ). 

We went four wheeling for a while but the clouds started to darken.  Maddy drove us home before the downpour and she went full speed.  Again, I hung on for dear life resulting in some very up close and personal time. 

The rain came so we pulled out some cards.  She also pulled out some food.  One of the things she pulled out from the fridge was bear jerky. 

“This is bear?” I said, super excited to try something new.  I love animals.  But I also LOVE meat.  I can’t kill animals, but boy am I glad there’s those who can because I sure love to eat them.  So this was my first time eating bear and… It was bleeping delicious.  A little shout out to Josh who made the jerky: it was FANTASTIC. 

So Maddy and I played cards while the rain came down in the darkening, green woods outside the window.  It was a mild storm so there were lovely soft rumbles of thunder and the occasional flicker of lightning.  Maddy was a good friend and listened to a very long woeful personal story from my romance life.  I got chattier the more I drank my whiskey and coke, so… She was a very good listener.  And I’m always grateful to those who listen to me drunk dump.

As we played cards the topic of ice fishing came up.  We were talking about how fun it was going to be to go out on the ice again.  This past winter was a pretty mild one, which is rare for Minnesota, so the ice wasn’t as good as it normally is.  So I said to Maddy, “I hope this winter is a cold one.”  She looked at me.  I looked at her.  I said, “Did I seriously just say that?”  She laughed and said, “You totally did!  You’re officially a Minnesotan!”

So that happened.  Never in my life did I think those words would come out of my mouth.

Later everyone else arrived after their golf tournament, full of good spirits we shall say.  The rain stopped.  And the party got started!   

After a bonfire, fireworks and a late night feast of elk burgers (another thing I’ve never had before – elk), everyone eventually passed out in the bunks. 

The next morning I was greeted with even more divine food, a full breakfast of biscuits, gravy, farm fresh eggs and farm fresh bacon.  Their hospitality is second to none.  I’m not used to being taken care of like this, let’s just say.  They probably get sick of me making such a big deal about it, but for me it's a big deal. 

The next day was full of more first time things.  Most people take for granted these small things, traditions, you do with your friends and have been doing with your friends your whole life.  I know it was twenty years ago that we moved to Minnesota, but it has taken years to rebuild what I had in New York.  It took the first fifteen years of my life to build what I had in New York so it should be no surprise it took just as long to build that here. 

When I lived in New York?  We had family and friend traditions just like most people who grow up in the same area together do.  We went camping every year with several other families who we were very close with.  We had an annual Christmas Eve party at our house every year with the same people.  

We went fishing as a family and walked the gorges in Ithaca. 








These things you take for granted until they are taken from you.  I have not had family and friend traditions like this since my life in New York.  I haven't lived any place long enough to build them.  So now that I’m experiencing these things again in my thirties?  Now that I am part of building meaningful memories again with all of my dear friends here?  The scars from that massive loss so long ago are now  healing.  That is what this blog is about: celebrating that I have finally found home again.  I have no family here anymore so I depend greatly on my roots set in with my friends.  So when I share the so-called little things in the next few paragraphs, understand how important they are to have in my life. 

So, Saturday.

Maddy’s in-laws, Wendy and Dan, grow a few crops on their property.  Sitting around the fire that morning Dan asks if I want to learn how to drive a tilling tractor and till one of the fields.  Most people don’t get excited about chores.  But then there's me.  I’ve never done it before!  So, hell yeah I want to do it!  So Maddy got out the tractor and we drove out to the crops.  There was a grassy field with a few apple trees for me to practice in before hitting the real deal. 

As I was driving around, a mama turkey spooked and flew up from her hiding place in the tall grass and flew into the woods.  I stopped the tractor and scoped out the grass looking for movement… I knew there had to be babies in there. Sure enough, the grass blades were tremoring just ever so slightly in lines heading for the woods.

Maddy had to grab her hunting dog, Lucy so she wouldn’t kill the chicks.  We waded in the overgrowth looking to make sure all the chicks headed safely to the woods.  There was a straggler who went the wrong way, so I held Lucy as Maddy ran to get it.  After she caught it we took a moment to hold the wild turkey chick. 

As many might deem this unethical in terms of breaking the rule “don’t touch wild animals”, it was hard not to…  I used to catch baby birds all the time as a child and my hard core environmentalist best friend would, rightfully so, scold me relentlessly.  I don’t think one should go looking for baby wild animals to pick up and human handle, but this was one of those circumstances that seemed justifiable.

We had to leave the field for a while in hopes the mama turkey would come back and get her babies.  So we returned about an hour or so later, this time without the dog.  The chicks were gone, so we assumed all was good and Maddy resumed in teaching me how to till a field.

I have a whole new respect for farmers.

I first thought it’d be like mowing the lawn. 
It’s not. 
Knowing when to drop the till, turning the giant thing at the right point and not missing a patch as the loop narrows…




Maddy had to do the last corners for me at one point because I was totally not turning at the right time and I was over tilling certain patches and missing others. 

The sun was high and fiery. It was nine hundred degrees outside, and all I kept thinking was, Damn… our forefathers used horses to do this.  I’m using a giant machine and I suck at it.  It’s hard work.  But hard work makes you feel super good. 








And like I said before, it gave me a whole new respect for farmers and an appreciation for those who work the amazing, blessed land that we have.  It was an awesome experience for me. 

When we returned, Maddy asked me, “So. Want to shoot guns?”

Um. YES PLEASE.

Now, I’ve shot guns before.  Pistols and rifles.  But I’ve never shot a shot gun.  And I’ve never shot at a moving target, a clay pigeon. 

I was disappointed in my own strength and the weight of the gun.  They’re, um, heavy.  And I have super wimpy elbows now ever since Lyme disease.  Just holding a grocery basket filled with stuff at the store can make me feel like someone took a hammer to my elbows.  So.  When I held the gun up for the first time I thought to myself, “Oh shit…”

Maddy taught me how to hold the gun.  My posture was ridiculous as I was leaning backward

trying to use my back as leverage instead of my arms.  But she patiently kept correcting me.  She also taught me how to load the gun, which I appreciated. I like learning.  So it was cool to load the gun myself.  So, loaded.  Locked.  Two barrels aimed.

“PULL!”  Nope.  “PULL!”  Nada. 

My first go was unsuccessful.  And so was my second and third. My elbows felt like glass shards were sticking in the ligaments, so I had no choice but to call it quits.  My arms were shaking, and I just couldn’t do another round. 

Time to make a drink.

As the sun began to set the gang wanted to go down to the river to hunt for crayfish.  Or as some people here in Minnesota call them “crawfish” or “craw daddies”.  Growing up in New York we called them crayfish.  When I was a kid I used to hunt for them down at “the swamp”.  It was a pond that dried up every other summer and left a field of semi-dangerous mud and plantations of white dried seaweed.  The tracks we took by the park to get to this magic place used to be actual railroad tracks.  So out in the dried up pond, stuck in the mud, were rail road ties here and there.  Along with the occasional tractor tire.  Beneath the long, wooden beams and tires and rocks and seaweed we would find crayfish in the mud.  Crayfish hunting was a huge part of my childhood.  I would spend the entire summer down at the park, the swamp, every year until I moved away. 

Now, I’ve never done crayfish hunting in a river.  It’s a little different.  I'm used to trying to grab the back of the little lobster before it shoots down into a crayfish hole in the mud. 

I wasn’t used to them shooting off into the water current.  It was super fun!  I felt like a kid again. 

As kids we caught them because it was fun to put them in a bucket of mud and watch them do funny things to each other with their claws.  They were amusing pets.  I had no idea people ate them.  At the cabin, we were catching to eat them.  Well, they were going to eat them.  I have a shellfish allergy…

Anyway.  It was nostalgic to be catching them.  Silly to some.  Important to me.

We returned with a fairly good haul, and it got to be about time to start the pig roast.  That’s right.  My first ever pig roast!  Which, I know sounds lame.  Who hasn’t ever been to a pig roast?  Well, me.  When you move around a lot and don’t make friends easily you miss out on social activities... 

This was my first pig roast.

They put two split chickens inside the split pig so all the glorious fat from the pork was soaked up in the chicken meat. As I mentioned before I’m a bona fide carnivore... 

I want to quote Scrooge McDuck, here, in Mickey’s Christmas Carol when he meets the ghost of Christmas present:
“Suc-cu-lent PIG!” he cries out as he’s reaching for a roasted pig with an apple in its mouth.

“Succulent” is practically an understatement for how delicious this meat turned out.  Juicy, fatty, scrumptious, gloriously marvelously SUCCULENT meat. 

(Don't look at the pictures if you're hungry or dieting)

Every region has their own traditional social foods.  If you’re going to a picnic or a barbeque or camp site in upstate New York you’re going to be fed Cornel chicken, salt potatoes and fresh sweetcorn on the cob by SOME BODY that’s coming to the party.

In Minnesota you are guaranteed to have a spectacular tuna salad, incredible taco dip and all kinds of wrap sandwiches. 

Tuna salad is heaven to me.  Especially when it’s on the side of juicy, fatty, scrumptious, gloriously marvelously succulent meat. 

So, needless to say: I ate well. 

On Sunday I got to have another shot at shooting a clay pigeon.  Maddy, Wendy and I took turns.

Both of them were really rooting for me to hit one, and it was nice.  Eventually, I finally did! 
The feeling was amazing seeing that clay disc blast apart!  

We celebrated as if I had just lost my virginity. 

Wendy gave me a huge hug of congratulations and I felt so… included.  It was fun to tell all my family and friends that I shot a shotgun for the first time and hit a moving target for the first time. 

The rest of the trip was full of good times, lots of laughs, campfire games, fireworks and cocktails.

I was generously invited to go camping with them all on July fourth weekend up in Chippewa National Forest, and I was so, so grateful.  Camping was such a huge part of my childhood.  It's what I remember goodness to be like.  Goodness is memorable.  This trip to the cabin was memorable.  And the people who welcomed me in have no idea how valuable that is to me. 

Well, they do now if they’re reading this…. 

Stay tuned for my adventure in Chippewa!