Author: Chelsi

While spring, summer, and fall get the glory of blooming ideas, fruitful activity, and a bountiful harvest, winter dutifully arrives without fanfare.

In many minds, winter is regarded as a quiet time for rest and recovery. For many animals (humans and non-humans alike), it is a season of hibernation or migration. I love this about winter. I know I could hibernate 20 hours of my day if the kids allowed.

My loved ones (the human kind and some of the non-human ones too) have migrated to the Bahamas or Guatemala, so my social life is quiet.

Like the dark-eyed juncos, I find myself staying put for the Minnesota winter.

Winter evenings become dark in time for plenty of couch cuddles, books, crafts, games, or a movie before bedtime. Time is slower. I like this.

What I am finding out about winter is that she should get a little more fanfare. While the other seasons are loaded with dreams come true, winter is when the dreams are planted.

In our corner of the valley, nestled by the partially frozen creek, inside a wood-fired warm and cozy home, we are a family of Makers full of dreams that come alive only because we are without the distractions of what the other seasons offer us.

Hutch is all about arts and crafts and is our inventor of everything.

Winnie has a soaring imagination where she is either a plane, a superhero, or a mother of 5 dollies (another version of a superhero).

I read, write, and read some more and eventually sort some seeds and plan for spring’s activities.

Michael deep dives information (mostly via Youtube) for his next projects always reminding me that winter gives him the primitive itch to build small shelters.

I always knew that Michael was a Maker. This was evident in his initial courting tactics. The first night that I met Michael, he was both a magician and musician.

He performed a magic trick with my scarf while later serenading me on his keyboard to “Wagon Wheel” by Old Crow Medicine Show or in this case- by the weirdos in Apartment A.

“Oh, north country winters keep a-gettin’ me down. Lost my money playin’ poker, so I had to leave town. But I ain’t a-turnin’ back to livin’ that old life no more. So, rock me mama like a wagon wheel. Rock me mama any way you feel. Hey… mama rock me.”

On the topic of Michael’s making, I will finally discuss here what had come to fruition with one of Michael’s recent makes- his deer cooler discussed and described two blog posts ago. I had promised an update, so here it is. 

As dreamed up by my beloved fella, the cooler was used multiple times at the start of bow season when warmer temperatures would not allow the carcass to hang otherwise for the ideal time and temp of 40 degrees for 10 days (for best taste).

Ultimately, both Michael and my dad acquired three deer each for about a year’s worth of venison for two households. Well… depending on how you slice it. Michael and I slice pretty liberally, while my dad can be found trimming off every centimeter of sinew.

So, if you factor in the precision of the butcherers, Michael and I (and Hutch) might have put more pounds in the freezer.

On the topic of the 2024 deer hunting season, I mustn’t forget to mention that Hutch did shoot at his first deer with his “kid bow”. Unsurprisingly, it was a miss.

Michael also shot one of his deer with Hutch in the stand with him. It was not a miss.

Hutch loves the whole process of hunting, and it has been a great way to talk about the circle of life and demonstrate true “forest to table” eating. Thank you to these deer who feed us!

Back to the Makers. Marrying Michael meant marrying into a whole family of Makers: hair stylists, music makers, construction builders, a video game maker, a mother-in-law with an Etsy shop (Collars for Canines) and who Hutch calls “a crafty girl”, and a brother-in-law who has a business building beautiful websites (8bit studio). They all work independently- free to create what feels right to them.

I am inspired by each of them and honored to be able to enjoy and admire their crafts. 

I never thought of myself as a maker of anything, but it is funny how you start seeing yourself through the actions and words of your kids.

This winter, Hutch and I have done a lot of baking and cooking together. He loves it, and I sure love doing it with him.

While I was at work the other day, Michael decided to bake some cookies with Hutch. They had this conversation:

Hutch: “I want to make one without any chocolate chips, because maybe someone doesn’t like chocolate chips.”

Michael: “Wow Hutch, you just think of everybody!”

Hutch: “Well, that’s what Mama does, and I always cook with her.”

Michael texted me this little conversation. These are the moments where you see yourself in a different light. Maybe, like I so often see in my son, I am a Maker- one who creates small things or small moments for other people to enjoy.

I thought about this on my drive home from work. I had a patient on this day who appeared down in the dumps. He’s typically a jovial guy who likes to crack a lot of jokes.

On this day, his jokes were minimal. I asked him, “What’s going on with you today?” He replied, “Just low energy I guess.” I asked, “Can I do anything to help?” to which he replied, “You can tell me a story.”

I pulled up a chair and said, “Do you really want a story?” “Yes,” he said. Since he had thus far gotten a kick out of the few tidbits I shared with him about living on a boat, I continued with the river life theme.

I explained in great detail about bringing our newborn baby home from the hospital in a January flood that eventually had us wading the frozen waters with the baby in a canoe. 

We arrived to our frozen boathouse (the propane had run out) that ultimately had us spending our first night home with a baby at Neighbor John’s boathouse. I spent half the time with my tits out trying to figure out this breastfeeding thing while 85 year old John seemed to think nothing of it. 

Baby Hutch cried all night long. I thought that I might be the world’s most incompetent mom.

In the morning, when I asked John if we kept him up all night, he said, “Nope, I took out my hearing aids and couldn’t hear a thing!”

At the end of my 10 minute story, I asked my patient, “Well, did you like my story?” He replied, “Yes except for the part about your episiotomy.”

I debated explaining that I didn’t have an episiotomy, but rather the stitches that I described nearly getting soaked in the river water as I waded through it was from a plain old 2nd degree tear.

Instead of burdening him with more personal details than he had ever bargained for, I said, “Do you need anything else?” This patient smiled bigger than I’d seen him smile all day and said, “No.. and thank you.”

As I thought about this interaction on my drive home, I finally said to myself (not audibly but somewhere in my pondering brain space): “I am a Maker!” I may not be the kind that can build a pyramid, but I can make a story that makes somebody smile and that is something that I’m learning to be proud of.

Seeing my kids make joy out of anything has really expanded my understanding of being a Maker.

I’m enlightened in seeing them create an entire world out of sticks or rocks or paper or pure imagination.

I see Michael in how they create, but, surprisingly, I see myself too.

I’m understanding that we all are Makers. You, dear reader, are a Maker too. How beautiful it is to finally recognize that.

What do you make? Do you make dinners that feed a family? Grow flowers for the birds and bees? Do you make jokes? Give hugs? Do you bring people together? Make community? Make art? Make music? Do you make traditions- new or old? Do you make someone’s day a little better? Make hope? Make love? Yes, that kind of love, but all the other kinds too.

As I type this blog at the kitchen table (a nearly impossible task thanks to incessant talking from my five year old), Hutch said, “Mom, I can make anything into what I want it to be.” I looked up from my writings about Making (what a coincidence!) and said, “How?” He responded, “With art. With art and tools.”

“With art”… I feel this more deeply than I ever have before.

In the quiet of winter and in the throes of infuriorating political times, I have found my solace in art- reading book after book, making cards with my kids, making food, writing poetry, listening to full albums in place of top hits, and making a habit of looking at the sky first thing in the morning and last thing before bed (in place of looking at a scrolling screen).

I believe my son when he says this. Yes, you can make anything into what you want it to be.

How you ask? With art, my dear Makers, with art.

Go on and create. Don’t waste your time with anything less than that. Now is the time.

As I walked into work at 6:23am on a blustery winter morning, I passed a fifty something year old woman with big bold glasses, coveralls that indicated some wisdom about the weather, hair that looked wilder than planned, and an unhurried gait that made me believe she was happy to be here.

My sleepy brain uttered, “I love her.” It surprised me. At first, I wasn’t certain if I had said that out loud. It sounded so loud in my head that I thought my mouth had spoken it into existence, but she walked right by me indicating that nothing was actually said.

After temporary embarrassment that I might have told this stranger that I love her, I quickly changed my tune and thought, “I should have told her that I love her!”

My analysis of the situation was two-fold. First, I was proud of myself for feeling this way about people- for loving strangers on accident.

I know this isn’t so easy sometimes. People have trauma, triggers, and assumptions formed by lifetimes of experiences.

So, here, on a morning when my brain was tired and a little reckless, I was grateful that my lazy inner workings settled on love.

The second part of my analysis was the question of: What would it do for all of us if we shared our feelings more openly?

I recently had a float nurse (a nurse who works on all units in the hospital and only occasionally gets assigned to our unit) tell me out of the blue, “I just want you to know that whenever I see your name on the schedule, it makes me happy to come here. You make me feel calm and supported.” This made my whole week.

This sweet sentiment caught me off guard. It might have caught me off guard because it came from a person I only see once every couple months. She had no skin in the game in complimenting me. She simply wanted me to know this thing that I had never considered about myself.

In a society that prioritizes ego and individualism, people often feel embarrassed to acknowledge the impact of others… or perhaps, we are just too distracted to do so.

So, on that blustery winter morning when I walked past that stranger with the unhurried gait and untamed hair, I should have blurted out, “I love you!” or maybe something a little watered down… “Good Morning! Love your hair!”

As a mother in love with the two and four year old phases of my children’s lives, I can verify that unfiltered expression makes life a ton more interesting. While sometimes not flattering… like the time that Hutch told us, “You look brand new!” when seeing a picture from our wedding day in 2016, it is always incredibly endearing.

It is endearing even when it comes out a little strange like “Mom, I love your whole body!”

I think about all the people in my past who inspired me in big or small ways. It would have been nice to tell them so.

I think about a girl I played soccer with who had big, strong legs. In an era when thin was in, I wanted nothing more than to have her strong legs that could single-handedly dominate a midfield. I should’ve told her so.

One of my high school friends who started off as an acquaintance would do anything and everything to make me laugh. It happened when I was new to the school and to everyone around me. This girl and I would “coincidentally” use the bathroom at the same time and pull pranks like throwing wet paper towels over the stall until we hit the other person.

She once snorted a crushed mint in the middle of class just to make me smile… you know- classic high school stuff. She became one of my best friends.

I recently told her how I remember these quirky antics that kicked off our friendship, and I was surprised by her reaction. She rolled her eyes and said “Ugh” as if she was annoyed with this younger version of herself. I said, “What?! I love those memories!”

I should have told her all along- “I love your quirk. You make me happy to be here. Seeing you is something I look forward to every day.” She lightened my day and made me feel belonging; she still does.

Now, here we are at the start of 2025. And while resolutions are made to be broken, perhaps this would be a good one to keep- tell people what you think of them.

I suppose this could go a lot of ways if you feel less than impressed with a person, but what the hell, I said what I said- tell people what you think of them.

Take inspiration from my four year old who spews everything he thinks and from a place of love and curiosity.

Every day, I write down a little something that my kids say or do. Here are some of my favorites from the mouths of babes (specifically Hutch) in 2024…

“Daddy, with a beard you look like a guy that takes breaks but without a beard you look like you don’t take breaks.”

“Mama come see my poop! It looks like a twisty slide. Isn’t that so weird?”

“I love when Mama laughs at me and I love that Dad gives me milk, and I love when Winnie hugs me.”

“Mama you know why I miss you when you’re at work? Because I just have so much to tell you!”

“Dada I really love haybales.”

“Mama I’m just like Papa because I say Uffda whenever I fall over.”

“I like Dada and I like all the girls of the world!”

“Dada, I love you both but I love Mama the most. I like to look at her face.”

“Mom, I’m just thinking about all the things that have feelings but can’t talk.”

“Well, different people are different.”

“I like that Scarlett has a soft head.”

“Mama, do you want me to tell you all the bad words I know?… Bad. Stupid. Bully.”

“Mama, I know I’m not supposed to show my penis and butt but Grammy already saw that when she changed my baby diapers.”

“Mama can we get a house bird? I like little ones that I can hold. The chickens are too heavy.”

“Mama, I love you so bad. Dada, I love you medium.”

“Mama, I love pine trees. I just love them.”

“I want Mama to have the cheesiest eggs because I want her to be really happy today.”

“I write Hutch Hutch Hutch all over. I just mean to write one Hutch but then I keep going and going.”

“Mama, Daddy did something very rude. Daddy didn’t let me buy you everything you love- something yellow, sparkly dots, and a container for stuff.”

“I want to go in a rocket for my birthday so I can tell the planet to never stop snowing!”

“Mom, I’m worried that I’m not a kid anymore because I jumped on my bed and thought I was gonna puke.”

“What are flurries? Like sprinkles?”

“You know the only thing I like more than gingerbread houses… friends!”

“I love Jess because she gives me food I really like.

Take it from a four year old- “Different people are different!”

In 2025, let’s celebrate that!

 

 

The changing color of the leaves is my cue to once again write a little something about the happenings of life, and life has certainly been happening.

Our summer agenda looked something like this: Garden. Projects. Ticks. Camping. Chores. Projects. Projects. Fires. Family. Friends. Projects. Fishing. Garden. Zucchini. Zucchini, Tomatoes. Tomatoes. Tomatoes. Zucchini. River. Fishing. Projects. Projects. More Tomatoes. Bee stings. Projects. Projects. Projects.

You may have noticed that “projects” appears most frequently and often successionally. This is because I am married to Michael and when a project (or five) is in the works, it dominates our household.

In sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, with or without projects.

As if I haven’t talked (or listened) about it enough this summer, I’ll start off by sharing Michael’s obsessions… I mean projects.

The first big project(s) of the season were the outbuildings- cleaning them up, organizing their contents, and installing windows and doors in the barn along with the addition of a new wall on one side.

These changes are always nostalgic for me. I think about how everything looked when Grandpa and Grandma lived here. Part of me wants things to always look that way, but I also feel proud about the upkeep and making it all useful again.

I know Grandpa would love to see these buildings in action, and Grandma would giggle at Hutch and Winnie’s participation in it all.

If you knew Grandma J, you knew she had the best giggle, especially around kids.

“Cleaning the woods” is a phrase we used to make fun of my dad about. I’m not sure if Dad said it first to describe his hobby of pulling out invasive or undesirable plants and trees or if we came up with this phrase as he talked about brush piles and his general tending of the woods.

Now, decades later, I find that we are doing the same “cleaning the woods” activities that Dad has always done. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

While I concern myself with invasive buckthorn or the bushes with “bad berries” (as Winnie correctly points them out) scattered amongst our black raspberries, gooseberries, walnut trees, and cottonwoods, Michael goes above and beyond with concern about overgrowth and undergrowth, mowed trails, and spaces that need “dirt work”.

At one point, he sprinkled clover seeds on a dirt path in the woods and then proceeded to check it’s growth on a daily basis. So, if you’re wondering how we keep busy, that is Exhibit A.

I prefer less arduous forms of “cleaning the woods” such as putting the goats to pasture, or more literally- to woods.

We sectioned out a chunk of forest next to our creek for our goaties to munch on buckthorn to their hearts’ content.

Since our goats are of the dwarf variety, they often need a little help from their friends (us). This is where my anniversary present from Michael, a Dewalt battery powered chainsaw, comes in handy to hack down the taller parts of a buckthorn stand.

While I have a flawless record with this tool, Michael did get one thorn imbedded in his scalp and another piece of wood to the eyeball… I should really show him how to handle power tools.

While the thorn to the scalp receded naturally, the wood to the eye was a Urgent Care visit in which the progress note detailed “full eyebrows and full lashes”. I agree Doc, he’s one handsome devil.

Anyway, the goats have been doing a fabulous job on the buckthorn removal. If they run out of munchies, we will know it by how they randomly appear outside the shed or next to my garden- a herd of sweet faces waiting for table service.

We have a solar powered electric netting fence which works well for goats with full tummies but is no match for a little hunger.

While the goats have been successful in taking out buckthorn, Michael has been successful in taking out skunks.

I’m not sure if anyone else has stared a skunk straight in the eyes this summer, but I’ve done it twice. The first time happened when I went to feed my cats in the dark of the night.

As I biked to the feed bowl thinking I was approaching our gray cat and our black cat, I leaned toward them with food in hand to find that that I was not at all looking at our black cat but instead, a skunk. The skunk and I scattered silmutaneously.

My second encounter with this skunk happened a week later when I leaned my head into the old chicken coop to grab a pail and there she was- inches away.

Why she didn’t spray me? I do not know. I stopped doing chores in darkness, and Michael started keeping his pellet gun available. When Michael met Skunk in the shed one evening, Skunk’s time was up, and our shed still smells of her.

One of Michael’s favorite features of “cleaning the woods” has been the use of Dad’s skidsteer. I’m not quite sure what understanding those two have but it seems that Dad leaves the skidsteer here, Michael uses it and routinely gets it stuck, sometimes in the same place over and over, and Dad comes to help unstick it.

At one point, they were doing repairs together. I’m unclear if these were routine repairs or Michael-instigated but either way, it seems like we are getting the good end of this deal.

Dad’s skidsteer and tractor have been key components for arguably Michael’s favorite project of the year- the bridge.

With the creek sidelining our property and deer hunting season approaching, Michael thought it would be the bee’s knees to have access across the creek.

He purchased a mobile home trailer, slapped some wooden planks across it, cleared some trail and trees near the chosen location, and plopped it on over with the use of a tractor pull, skidsteer push, my dad (thanks Dad for everything, always), and some chains. Voila! We have a bridge!

Surprisingly, the bridge project was unproblematic, except for Hutch. He got two bee stings during the installation process, and he’ll never let us forget it.

One little project was making our chickies a mobile coop. We tried making one last year that ended up not being so raccoon-proof. This one has been a success- electric netting fence around some pasture with a mini quonset shed atop a hay wagon with slatted floors.

The chickens are happy (except when Hutch tries to carry them around), and our egg breakfasts are the kickstart to our days.

While I’m lingering on the topic of projects, I must breeze through Michael’s current endeavour. I’m sure I will cover this in more detail post-deer season when Michael’s vision comes true and 4 to 5 deer carcasses hang inside this thing.

Michael is full time in on making a walk-in cooler out of SIPs (structurally insulated panels) and an AC unit.

My knowledge of this process is minimal. If you need every single detail, you can consult his group text thread titled “Deer Tour” or talk to my father. The former will be more concise. With the latter resource, you may want to grab a drink and plan to stay awhile; he doesn’t talk fast.

Apparently Michael is rubbing off on Hutch because when I ask Hutch, “What should I write about from this summer?” Hutch replies, “Deer season is coming soon. And then, picking up Easter eggs, don’t know when that will be.”

Now, my summer baby- the garden. As I swim in zucchini and tomatoes right now, I have almost no desire to discuss gardening. I’m burnt out from the idea of produce which is perhaps the sign of a good gardening year. And for me, that it was.

I am now a disciple of the Ruth Stout gardening method.

I started with a thick bed of hay and added more as any weeds popped through. I did not water once this year and weeding occurred minimally and none past June.

This way of gardening is the way for me. I hardly have the time to admire my garden, let alone tend to it. The harvest has been my busiest time, so if we don’t get any deer in our freezer, at least it will be full of tomatoes.

Our summer wasn’t all projects, skunks, and tomatoes. It was also very fun.

Our beloved farm cat had kittens- Smokey and Bear; they often got more love than they bargained for.

We had a camping weekend with Michael’s mom’s side of the family which is always the best no matter how many mosquitoes eat our face off.

Winnie left with one eye swollen shut (thanks to the bugs) but was happy nonetheless from meals around the campfire, celebrating her Tia’s birthday, and getting Gigi hugs and Grandpa Denny pushes on the swing.

Speaking of bugs, this spring/early summer was tick mania. Our mild winter was a likely contributor.

I quickly purchased guinea hen keets. They are known to gobble up ticks better than anything. We raised these tender heat lamp babies into full-feathered fowl.

Guinea hens are known to protect their properties. They often act as alarms to any trespasser and even protect other farm animals from predators.

We had a trusty guinea hen (Gwen) here before us and it took all summer for her to trust our presence. She rivaled the rooster with her volume. We’ve been without Gwen for a year now so I was excited for a guinea hen presence again.

With Gwen in mind, I expected these guinea hens to grow up, linger around, munch on ticks, and guard the premises.

When the little naked keets became larger and fully feathered, I let them loose and guess what happened?… They were never to be seen again!

That was only mildly dramatic. I did see them again one month later, in half the amount and in a matter of seconds as they flew from one cornfield to another. I saw them a second time on the gravel road, also within seconds of time.

Now, they have disappeared for over a month. I guess all guinea hens are not created equal. RIP to our boisterous and beloved Gwen.

In related news, I haven’t picked one tick off my kids since those guineas were released so while they are not what I imagined, I choose to believe they are still out here somewhere doing the lord’s work.

On the week of July 4th, we had our annual celebration with Michael’s dad’s side of the family.

This is another yearly highlight, and themed nonetheless. This year, the theme was “Camp Kahl”.

There were camp counselors, bracelets, t-shirts, a talent show, a meal song; the list goes on.

There was a celebration of life for Uncle David and a special joy in being all together for fun in his favorite place (the lake) as we celebrated him.

Winnie got out of this family event with both eyes open.

On July 25th, my second niece was born!

My sister-in-law Angela surprised us with a girl- our sweet Scarlett Summer.

Winnie definitely has both eyes open now as she loves to look at Scarlett- pictures, videos, IRL, everything. She’s obsessed with “my baby”; so am I.

Hutch is busy making gifts for Scarlett. The current gift is a bunch of wood screwed together. I don’t know what the gift is exactly, but he did decide to wash the wood in case she wants to chew on it.

While Scarlett’s birth day was an extraordinary day in our summer, our average days have been pretty nice too.

We are outside almost always, except for that month long stint when we installed new kitchen flooring. PSA: Click lock vinyl flooring is not as easy as it sounds, but we got it done and got back outside.

We played in the creek, threw rocks and sticks off the bridge, found time to be on the river, picked plenty of berries, put the treehouse to good use, and did a lot of fishing per Hutch’s request.

This morning, my 87 year old grandpa “Papa” is coming over to fish off the new bridge.

Hutch put his camo hat on and Winnie scattered to find a neon orange hat. When Winnie came back to the kitchen, I heard, “This is a good fashion hat.”

I was surprised to hear this new word- “fashion” as I’m not sure where she picked that one up. This household is not very fashion-forward, and I can’t remember the last time I even verbalized the word “fashion”.

I said, “What?” Again I heard, “This is a good fashion hat.”

Hutch to the rescue behind me clears up this mess by clarifying, “She said this is a good fishing hat!” Ahhhh.. this makes a lot more sense.As we wait for Papa to go fishing, Hutch sets the timer for his arrival- one hour from now.

Hutch says, “Can I go with Papa all by myself?” I look at sweet Winnie with her fishing hat on and say, “I guess Winnie and I could try another spot.” Hutch replies, “Okay, and when a big trout eats your hook, you can find us and we’ll share another hook with you.”

The kids are off getting worms with Michael now. I drink my coffee in peace and see that the timer has ticked down to eight minutes. I suppose I should go now… it’s time to find my fishing hat.

“Enjoy The Journey” is a common phrase that is either sure to make your eyes roll or strikes you right in the guts.

In Georgia in the Unicoi State Park bathroom, it struck me in the guts. “Enjoy the journey,” Bathroom Lady said after I told her my little story while we both brushed our teeth for the night.

As Winnie ran around my ankles, I explained, “We have a month off. Our kids are almost 2 and 4 years old. This is our first real vacation together, so we’re really excited. We built a little camping trailer to stay in.”

In between brushes and spits and smiles at Winnie, Bathroom Lady told me all about her kids, “…but they’re all grown now.” She paused and turned toward me when she said this part, “Enjoy the journey with them. It really does go very fast.”

Bathroom Lady had eye contact that was both gentle and piercing. Her words had power. “Enjoy the journey with them.  It really does go very fast. ” She might as well have punched me in the stomach.

Michael and I have traveled to many places together.

We’ve lived out of vans, tents, boats, and most originally- his 1996 Jeep Grand Cherokee.

We travel together easily. We are happy to shower in streams or not at all.

We can live off of Clif bars, beef jerky, and Arizona teas.

Michael and I like to do big hikes when we travel, most notoriously was the Na Pali Coast in Hawaii. This was 22 miles in one day in which we brought one small water bottle and no food.

I don’t know what we were thinking but I remember being nearly trampled by a mountain goat and later asking Michael if I was hallucinating when I saw a rat doing ninja moves with it’s hands… but Michael saw it too.

Now, here we are without Michael’s speedo and with a half decade hiatus from any significant travel.

We are due for a trip, a good long one. This time, we have two little humans to tote along.

We have our 4 year old homebody.

And our 1.75 year old Miss Independent.

I anticipate that we will not be hiking 22 miles in one day and will hopefully be more prepared than Clif bars and beef jerky.

I later find that Michael has purchased an 18 pack of Clif bars in preparation for this trip, so some things never change.

One major upgrade from the Jeep Grand Cherokee is that Michael made us some pretty luxurious sleeping quarters.

After 80 hours of work, we now have a camping trailer that we have lovingly named “The Mosquito”.

The Mosquito is made of the following: an aluminum snowmobile trailer, two layers of 1/8″ plywood shaped into a tear drop form with fiberglass and epoxy, and wallpaper to the sides with more epoxy over.

The windows and doors were found on the side of the road. If you know Michael, you know he always has “side of the road” finds- often strange, sometimes useful.

Inside The Mosquito, Michael installed shelves with a sink, a battery called The Jackery that he outfitted to charge while we drive, and a cooler-style refrigerator made by Alpicool.

The Mosquito fits a full size bed for us, a pack and play for Winnie, and a Nugget couch for Hutch’s sleeping quarters.

We also have a coffee maker for every day (essential) and a TV for rainy days (spoiled).

The Mosquito is light and ALMOST waterproof- a discovery we made during the one storm system we encountered in St. Augustine, Florida when droplets fell on our friend Sam while we waited out a tornado warning.

As former liveaboards, we are connoisseurs of leaks, so we knew how to locate the source and do a temporary fix. We duct taped that shit like a true sailor.

With The Mosquito and our bikes in tow, our family of four took off on our grand adventure at 2am on March 28th.

Hutch was so excited to drive in the night and pointed out all the “Christmas lights” (aka street lights and house lights) he could see.

We drove 780 miles in that first day, and the gift of “I Spy” was born. Hutch could play this for hours with clues and answers on repeat. Winnie would join in by yelling “Yup!’ from the third row whenever we made a guess.

This road trip was lovely in the way it arrived in three heartwarming segments.

First, we traveled to Charleston, South Carolina where we spent a week with my parents and my sister’s family of five.

This week together was planned in celebration of my dad turning 60. Love ya Dad.

It was such a joyful week full of forever memories and feelings of familial comfort and easy joy.

The second segment of the trip was spent in St. Augustine, Florida where we stayed at our friend Josie’s Lion & Lanterns Inn (highly recommend).

We enjoyed time with her and our friend Sam who flew in from Minnesota so that we could all be together.

These two were our neighbors on the water a full decade ago so you can imagine how we act like kids together & have endless stories to recount. It was the heartiest and happiest soup for the soul.

The third and final segment of our travel was dedicated to our family of four putzing around to different waters and woods as we traveled back to the north land.

For this portion, we made no plans ahead of time but rather moved as the weather and the wee ones allowed.

This time together was gentle and replenishing.

Our three(ish) week itinerary looked like this: Minnesota – Red River Gorge, KY (two nights @ Lago Linda Hideaway) – Saluda, NC (one night at Wilderness Cove Campground) – Isle of Palms, SC (seven nights at a Vacasa home with my parents and sister’s family) – Savannah, GA (one night at Skidaway Island State Park) – St. Augustine, FL (one night at Lions and Lanterns Inn & two nights at a friend’s beach house on St. Augustine Beach) – Lincolnton, GA (one night at Elijah Clark State Park) – Helen, GA (two nights at Unicoi State Park) – Great Smoky Mountains National Park (two nights in Elkmont Campground) – Marion, NC (one night at Tanglewood Campground) – Barren Springs, Virginia (one night at River’s Edge Trail Camp) – Lyndhurst, VA (one night at Love Ridge Mountain Lodging) – Home Sweet Home (24 hours of driving with stops included and one popped tire to mend).

I found myself feeling quite tender on this trip. This tenderness arrived just before Bathroom Lady told me with her entire soul radiating through her eyeballs to “Enjoy the journey.”

I felt tender in a good way. It was a tenderness of knowing that this time is precious, a tenderness that comes with watching my kids enjoy everything that is simple and good, and a tenderness of spending undistracted, wholesome time with my whole family, some of my dearest friends, and with my little family of four.

This tenderness made me feel both vulnerable and alive, sensitive to everything happening.

So, perhaps at the peak of my tenderness right after our time with family and friends, when Bathroom Lady says “Enjoy the journey,” and metaphorically punches the air out of my system, I see myself twenty years from now in the same campground bathroom. I am watching another mother of two run around a bit disheveled and distracted but wholly alive in the presence of her kids.

As I watch the younger mom with kids running around her ankles, I am aching to see my own kids like this again, and maybe to see myself like this again too.

In the eyes of my two and four year old, I am the entire world… what a tremendous and undeserved honor.

So in my weird vision, the older version of myself can’t help but look that young mom straight in her soul and with both grief and gratitude in my voice, I say to her, “Enjoy the journey with them. It really does go by so fast.”

Within seconds, I am back to reality with a big feeling of connection to Bathroom Lady and to every woman before me.

I remember my own mom sitting on every sideline near and far, even while she worked full time, went to school, etc. She never missed my big or small moments. She let me be free and entirely myself while being a steadfast presence and support. I see now how she did this so beautifully. I only hope to do it half as good as she did.

I remember looking at my Grandma J as I climbed the trees. She would gently say, “Be careful sweetie,” while simultaneously smiling at my bravery. Thank you Grandma. You let me love who I am in the trees. I still love who I am in the trees.

My Grandma Larson has always listened to my stories with her whole being. Her eyes would radiate admiration and intrigue for anything I had to tell her. She made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. Now, I get to see her eyes light up with the same love and adoration for my kids. Grandma, thank you for every moment of this.

I wonder- did these women also feel the weight of being my whole world? Were they told to “enjoy the journey” at just the right time?

So, for the rest of our road trip,  I feel incredibly sensitive. Thanks a lot Bathroom Lady.

I feel sensitive to the men and women with and without kids, to the old and the young and how they exist in the water and woods that we cherish together.

I feel sensitive to rocks- beautiful ones and plain ones. I feel sensitive to the way the water moves across the rocks and how it feels when we touch it too.

I feel sensitive to every bird song and every human conversation.

I even feel sensitive to the elevation as we walk up to Clingman’s Dome.

Simply put, in a perfect storm of experiences, I am blown away by the privilege, sensations, and scope of being alive.

This road trip was special. Not only was it the first time that we traveled with kids, but it was also a reawakening of sorts.

There was a recognition that I won’t always revolve my days around tiny humans that track my every move.

Simultaneously, there was a realization that I love this part. Being their mom might be my favorite chapter.

This trip was different in that it didn’t include a Na Pali Coast marathon or a Half Dome climb or hitch-hiking or scuba diving.

It was very simple and very slow.

This trip included endless “I Spy”, chasing each other in the ocean sand while we yelled “Chomp! Chomp!”, starting campfires as the sun set, throwing rocks in water wherever we went, showing each other the coolest rocks we could find, stopping at playgrounds after Winnie yelled “SHLIDDDE!” 100 times, seeing a bear for Hutch’s and Winnie’s first time, talking about the flowers and the trees, biking, writing in our journals at the end of the day (Hutch and me that is), and just falling asleep together.

There were no big hikes or destinations.

Okay, maybe some big hikes…

In it’s essence, this trip was exactly how Bathroom Lady described- an enjoyment of the journey.

It really did go by so fast.

As we proceeded with our normal summer day of doing animal chores, checking on the garden, and hanging out with the kids in turns or altogether, I found myself to be happy in a very simple way. I took notice of how easy it is to have fun with Michael and the kids.

I watched Michael act like a monster with an effortlessly twisted face and hunched over prance as he chased Winnie around the table. He is always like this- making everyone laugh in a way that’s a little unpredictable.

I always admire Michael for his ease in living. He never takes himself seriously while simultaneously living with intention. It’s really cool and oddly rare.

I considered what the world would be like if we all lived like this- true to our inner child for a whole lifetime, unencumbered by societal expectations or loads of stress.

It is a well-known sentiment that having kids brings out reminders of simple joys and child-like wonder. While I do think this helps, I yearn for a culture that celebrates these as skills in all stages of life- simplified joy and wonder in schooling, jobs, adult relationships, friendships, neighboring, etc.

I want us all to see and love the inner child of everyone everywhere, including ourselves. We all have child-like wonders alive inside of us. Dare I say- they are the best parts of who we are.

I like to think about meeting Michael. It makes me smile to think about a time right after college where societal expectations were knocking hard at my rickety apartment door inside an old brick building in a city where my feet rarely touched dirt. Distractions were abundant there on Girard Avenue in Uptown Minneapolis.

Four years of college had been a grind. Playing soccer, pursuing my nursing degree, dating or something like it, and working random part time jobs left little time for clarity. Also, I was 22 years old- my brain was not fully formed and routinely intoxicated.

Then, one night, I met Michael. He came into my life with a lot of bells and whistles- immediate magic tricks dubbing him “the magic man” by a few of my friends.

There was 2am piano playing complete with serenades, donning of fur coats and painted nails (by him, not me), skateboard tricks, rock climbing, and a roommate named Jimmy who often matched Michael in fur coats, manicures, and ridiculous humor.

I loved Michael immediately- not in that very romantic way, but in the way that the child in me saw the child in him and vice versa. We became ourselves together without expectations or judgements.

I certainly didn’t think I would marry my goofy neighbor in the fur coat with weird magic tricks but I loved everything that he was. I was happy to be around him no matter the timeline.

When I met Michael, I was casually dating another guy (who I’ll call Ryan because I truly can’t remember his name). Michael would come to my apartment uninvited while Ryan was visiting and insert himself into our hangout.

Michael would simply outlast Ryan’s waking hours (who was 34 years old then so we’ll give him a pass; I am asleep by 9pm now too). Ryan fell asleep on my couch while Michael and I hung out longer, telling stories and laughing like kids.

I pegged Michael as the friend who was unaware of social boundaries and etiquette, the type of guy we roll our eyes at but love anyway. Michael informed me later that this was all “part of the plan” to help dissolve my casual dating experience. Turns out, Michael was onto the idea of us being us all along.

I’m grateful that I didn’t meet Michael before the age of 22. He was always my soulmate, and I don’t know how the teenage versions of us would have handled that.

This writing got diverted when my mind wanted to sit with early memories of Michael. I landed there when I considered how Michael has always been exactly himself- very curious, happy, aware, adventurous and unfiltered. I can imagine he was the same at age 6 and 13, and now at 35. I’ve loved his consistencies. I’ve loved his surprises.

I didn’t mean to turn this blog into a Michael Adoration Fest. His ego does not need that :).

I am ready to get back on track to the point of this meandering blog which is: seeing and accepting the inner child of another human being has been one of my most favorite and rewarding practices of love. With Michael, it has been easy. My inner child loved his inner child on impact.

We all have this inner child, someone that comes from a really good place. The day before our dear friend John died, we visited him with both of our kids in tow. John was becoming more nonsensical at this point but amidst his talk about astrology and math, he said to Michael, “I am closer to Hutch now than I am to you. I am closer to where Hutch is.” In talking about this later, we think that John knew he was close to that good place, that place where we all come from.

There is a quote I love by Ram Dass that says, “We’re all just walking each other home.” I have repeated this quote to myself in tense or sad situations at work. This mantra helps me remember that my job as a nurse is to support someone in the way that I or my family might also need someday.

It is really quite simple- when all the nonsense is stripped away, we are all the same, doing this life together. While it is an honor to be the one walking the other, I’m aware that I won’t always be on that end of things.

To see and accept each human’s inner child is just a fun way of coexisting. I feel it with Michael every day. It is easy with friends, and when I go to work, it is a bit of a fun challenge to find that piece of each person I meet.

While some people have worked hard to cover the goofy and simple version of themselves, others flow freely with their lovable quirks.

Either way, if my inner child is alive in me, I think the people around me feel safe to let theirs breathe too. Soon, with a little vulnerability and acceptance, we can just be a couple of kids wearing fur coats and doing magic tricks. The world is a lot lighter in a room like that.