The man awoke feeling much older than his 46 years. Whatever has been ailing his body was particularly cranky, and all his joints ached. He puttered through his day in his cabin in the woods. The dogs went outside, they came inside, out, in, and back again. By the afternoon, a pot of coffee with a hint of vanilla and caramel and he was feeling a bit better.
Rainy autumn days in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan are either sad and gloomy or exhilarating depending on your outlook. Today was exhilarating. Last night the wind had carried the sounds of the surf from Lake Superior the mile or so south to the porch. Today, however, the wind had died down and the only noise to break the silence was the slow, steady drops of cold rain on the fallen maple leaves.
How this former city boy ever ended up in the woods of upper Michigan remains a mystery. Every day he paused to appreciate and thank the Creator for the blessing of his life. Such religious talk usually made him self conscious, but in the realm of his blog, in the third person, he felt he could make such a statement and feel less awkward.
It was Sunday and his neighbor had kept him motivated to regularly sauna. In the U.P. sauna is a verb as well as a noun. She was returning from running a half marathon in Mackinac and called to confirm the time. At 4PM the light was already starting to shift.
Dressed in a pair of his dad's old lounge pants that were a tad too big and a long sleeve shirt from the back of the closet that was a tad too small, sandals, and the green corduroy touk he purchased many years ago back in Chicago--that hat still garnered compliments all these years later--he plodded out to the sauna with a load of fire wood.
He smiled inwardly, imagining what a bohemian character he must appear, long hair wild, dogs running around him. At that moment he realized he would write about it, the only way for anyone to see him at home in his milieu and begin to understand his eccentric ways.
He carefully set the wood onto the ledge in the dressing area of the sauna keeping it separate from all the wood under the bench. That wood had been loaded in there to dry the other week from the slowly melting wood pile out behind the sauna. It was well over four years old and rather crumbly. The newer wood from under the porch would be used to start the fire in the stove and then some of this older wood would keep it going; one could never tell how the damp old wood would burn.
He lit the oil lamp and took it into the sauna. The stove was a bit full. He went back out and grabbed the ash can, dumping the contents out beyond the wood pile. Once the stove was emptied, he tore up some of the waxed cardboard and placed it into the belly of the stove. A few dried twigs and bark, topped off with some of the newer, dry porch wood and the fire was crackling away.
Later he was joined by his neighbor and her two daughters. The temperature was climbing rapidly. They turned over the sauna timer when the temperature was at 170 degrees. He tossed a few scoops of water from the wooden bucket onto the hot rocks and the steam hissed. The sauna was nice and dark now with just a bit of light from the oil lamp shining through the small window of the dressing area.
They talked about the half marathon, their chickens, the other neighbor's dog. After fifteen minutes they all went out to the dressing area to cool down a bit. Steam rose up from their bodies. Like the dogs, they went outside, they went back inside, out, in, and back again.
As expected, the sauna had helped a bit with the aches in his joints--at least that's what he believed. The cool drops of rain splashed onto his warm back, neck and arms as he walked around and climbed up the front porch steps. Back in the house, he freed the dogs who greeted him joyously and bounded up the basement stairs.
He peeled off his wet shorts, tossing them into the bathroom sink and put his dad's lounge pants back on. As the late afternoon drifted into evening, he sat at his grandmother's dining room table and began to type a blog post on his lap top. The silence, as usual, was cozy and warm and safe.
What a paradox - how does one share the peace and serenity of this existence? As soon as guests arrive the space is changed and becomes more of a representation of itself. How do we ever really understand each other's lives?
Rainy autumn days in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan are either sad and gloomy or exhilarating depending on your outlook. Today was exhilarating. Last night the wind had carried the sounds of the surf from Lake Superior the mile or so south to the porch. Today, however, the wind had died down and the only noise to break the silence was the slow, steady drops of cold rain on the fallen maple leaves.
How this former city boy ever ended up in the woods of upper Michigan remains a mystery. Every day he paused to appreciate and thank the Creator for the blessing of his life. Such religious talk usually made him self conscious, but in the realm of his blog, in the third person, he felt he could make such a statement and feel less awkward.
It was Sunday and his neighbor had kept him motivated to regularly sauna. In the U.P. sauna is a verb as well as a noun. She was returning from running a half marathon in Mackinac and called to confirm the time. At 4PM the light was already starting to shift.
Dressed in a pair of his dad's old lounge pants that were a tad too big and a long sleeve shirt from the back of the closet that was a tad too small, sandals, and the green corduroy touk he purchased many years ago back in Chicago--that hat still garnered compliments all these years later--he plodded out to the sauna with a load of fire wood.
He smiled inwardly, imagining what a bohemian character he must appear, long hair wild, dogs running around him. At that moment he realized he would write about it, the only way for anyone to see him at home in his milieu and begin to understand his eccentric ways.
He carefully set the wood onto the ledge in the dressing area of the sauna keeping it separate from all the wood under the bench. That wood had been loaded in there to dry the other week from the slowly melting wood pile out behind the sauna. It was well over four years old and rather crumbly. The newer wood from under the porch would be used to start the fire in the stove and then some of this older wood would keep it going; one could never tell how the damp old wood would burn.
He lit the oil lamp and took it into the sauna. The stove was a bit full. He went back out and grabbed the ash can, dumping the contents out beyond the wood pile. Once the stove was emptied, he tore up some of the waxed cardboard and placed it into the belly of the stove. A few dried twigs and bark, topped off with some of the newer, dry porch wood and the fire was crackling away.
Later he was joined by his neighbor and her two daughters. The temperature was climbing rapidly. They turned over the sauna timer when the temperature was at 170 degrees. He tossed a few scoops of water from the wooden bucket onto the hot rocks and the steam hissed. The sauna was nice and dark now with just a bit of light from the oil lamp shining through the small window of the dressing area.They talked about the half marathon, their chickens, the other neighbor's dog. After fifteen minutes they all went out to the dressing area to cool down a bit. Steam rose up from their bodies. Like the dogs, they went outside, they went back inside, out, in, and back again.
As expected, the sauna had helped a bit with the aches in his joints--at least that's what he believed. The cool drops of rain splashed onto his warm back, neck and arms as he walked around and climbed up the front porch steps. Back in the house, he freed the dogs who greeted him joyously and bounded up the basement stairs.
He peeled off his wet shorts, tossing them into the bathroom sink and put his dad's lounge pants back on. As the late afternoon drifted into evening, he sat at his grandmother's dining room table and began to type a blog post on his lap top. The silence, as usual, was cozy and warm and safe.
What a paradox - how does one share the peace and serenity of this existence? As soon as guests arrive the space is changed and becomes more of a representation of itself. How do we ever really understand each other's lives?
3 comments:
I like the third person format.
Not to mention I am sooooo jealous about your sauna!
Louis drew this post to my attention. I am trying to wean myself from the computer or at least spend less time with it. Anyway, I loved this posting and I so admire your writing skills. I guess I'll have to read more often.
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