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When You Have To Boat To Your Boat

“Whatchya writing about?”, says my husband as he shaves his face over the sink while sitting next to me on our bed. There are no distinguished spaces here. It is one room containing all the aspects of a home… except for no laundry machine or any sort of closet. I tell him, “the flooding”. He says, “whoa, that’s a biggins.” “I know; where do I start?”, I say, “at ten feet, twelve feet, eighteen feet?” Michael says, “Start at the bottom of the river.”

I still didn’t know where to start so here we are. I began by giving you the visual of Michael inches away from me at 1:12 am while I sit cozy in bed tip-tapping away on the keyboard. We have three candles lit because our power is out. It’s been out for 22 days now. We’re borrowing Neighbor Mike’s generator because ours fell in the river last night at 4am. I know it was 4am because I wake every time the generator turns off. I’ve turned in to one of those people that has to sleep to the sound of a fan, except in my case: a generator. The whole dock hums of them at night. I met a neighbor for dinner on the dock yesterday and we yelled across the table to hear each other over the loud drone- it was lovely. Anyway, here we are. We’re off grid. Our generator is in pieces to “dry out” on our boat’s floor. There is six inches of snow on our dock. We have to kayak to and from our boat to traverse the flood waters. And Michael shaves his face at 1am while I try to process these last few weeks of Minnesota madness.

Spring isn’t always like this. We usually don’t get flooded out of our parking lot. Our power has never been turned off. We’ve never received an email from the city to evacuate our floating homes due to major flood levels… how strange that none of us checked our email that month.

One month ago, the marina started buzzing with the information that this would be a year of historic flood levels. Would it be something like 2014- a river crest of 20.13 feet? Many neighbors were familiar with this year and smiled as they shared stories from it. It was one year before Michael and I made the marina our home. Could it be something akin to 1965, the highest waters here in recorded history? The river crested at 26.01 feet then.

I’ll quickly brief you on the river levels. The river depth here in Saint Paul, MN is about 9 feet deep. There’s a ton of history on how the 9 foot navigable channel was established. The Upper Mississippi River was not always navigable, not even close, but humans have knack for manipulating nature to suit our wants. I read a book recently that brilliantly goes through the history of our local river: the good, the bad, and the ugly. I highly recommend it: “The River We Have Wrought” by John O. Anfinson. Anyway, back to river levels. The action stage is 10 feet, the flood stage is 14 feet, the moderate flood stage is 15 feet, and the major flood stage is 17 feet.

In the week leading up to the river’s rise, the harbor’s waters remained frozen, and the summer’s boats lined the parking lot just waiting for the spring thaw and eventual release to their dock slips. This year, this transition from dry dock to water would not happen naturally or smoothly. It would require a 65 foot barge pushed by a tug to break up the frozen ice. It would require volunteers to chip away at snow and ice surrounding the stands that held the seasonal boats on land. It would require hundreds of different maneuvers to get the seaworthy boats (boats that can float) in water and the not so seaworthy ones on high ground. The parking lot was going to flood, maybe six feet high. This meant that all the boats safely stored on the lot for winter would not be so safe anymore; they would be floating away… and fast.

This year’s flooding was already different from that of 2014. In 2014, the flooding happened in June- a rather pleasant time of the year to hassle with extra water. Now, it’s March; it’s cold and everything’s frozen. We are understanding these things: we’ll soon be off grid as the power will be turned off before the water reaches the breaker box, we’ll be kayaking to and from our boat as the parking lot is sure to flood significantly, and if all the boats on shore can’t get in the now frozen harbor, they will float away, sink, or surely be damaged. I’m not sure we’ll be telling stories of this flood with a smile on our faces.

Letters were written to the city officials, and the marina acted quickly and with minimal rest. They got that barge to come in and break up the marina’s main channel. Volunteers came forward in impressive numbers to break up the ice within the dock slips and where the barge could not reach. The marina employees worked tirelessly to slip in 48 boats in a span of three days. The boats would be safe.

The water rose quickly, and when we arrived from a weekend away, the liveaboards were in full flood mode. A dinghy dock was established, Neighbor Sam purchased a new motor for his dinghy while Neighbor Mike purchased a new generator, Neighbor Roger lended me his neighbor kayak for the flood season, Neighbor Sam gifted us gimbaled oil lamps for the weeks of power outage to come, and Mystery Neighbor delivered my rain boots directly to Neighbor Girl’s door. As evidenced over and over again, lots of looking out for each other seems to happen here when conditions aren’t fabulous.

Weeks have come and gone now- more than three of them. We are still off grid. Roger’s still letting me use his kayak. We’re getting our day time warmth from the sun (if it’s out that day) and our night-time warmth primarily from candles or our solo propane heater that kicks off frequently for no good reason. We gave up trying to power our fridge, so we’re consuming a hardy amount of dry goods and making more frequent trips to Mickey’s Diner.

We are caught up to the present now. Just when we got settled in to this off-grid flood life, the 5th biggest April snowfall on record blasted us with nearly 10 inches. As temperatures dropped in to the twenties and the wind picked up to 20 knots sustained and 51 gusting, our generator landed in the river at 4am. Michael retrieved it, but it hasn’t been able to be revived. We woke up to one cold boat being tossed back and forth by the unrelenting winds. With my winter coat on, I packed a bag with three days worth of clothes. I impulsively determined that I would find somewhere to stay until this wintery spell seceded. I stormed off the boat in my knee high rain boots in to the snow and across the flood waters. In that moment, I thought I’d be gone until summer.

My rage did not last long. That night, I was back on the boat with my three days of belongings put away and a borrowed generator for heat. It is now 1:12 am. I’m cozy in bed, loving this boat again in all her resilience and charm. “Whatchya writing about?”, he says… I write without really knowing I guess. I start with one small thing, event, person, and I wring it free of all the sensations it has to offer. I write to understand this life all over again; to feel it fully. It goes too fast otherwise. I write to share the beauty in life and the funny in it. I write to honor the very essence of living stripped from all the extras. “The flooding,” I say. I’ll start there. Of course, I start the story talking about him. I can’t help it; it’s just where I feel the most.

If you’re wondering how we (Saint Paul, MN in the year of 2019) ended up in the historical flood contest. The river peaked at 20.19 feet. Yes, 20.19 feet in 2019; I bet you won’t forget that now. It’s the seventh highest in recorded history. The river was higher (and colder!) than 2014, but not as high as in 1965. What a year to have two floating homes on this mighty Mississippi.. uffda. We’re not out of the woods yet, but so far, both are surviving. I wouldn’t say thriving but definitely surviving; I’ll take it.

Since I started this story with Michael, I’ll end with him too. I like to bring things full circle. Since Michael and I work evenings and not always the same evenings, the commute home during flood season has involved a kayak trip from dinghy dock to boat between the hours of midnight and 2am, either alone or together. At first, I though I would dread this after a tiring shift at the hospital. It morphed in to one of the favorite parts of my day (except when that April blizzard hit; screw kayaking in that mess). The water was the most calm at night. It looked like glass, and the moon shine would light our path home. On my nights alone, Michael would always text me things like, “wear your life jacket” or “paddle over the parking lot; it’s more shallow there”. We also debated nightly on which was the best exit point at the dock. I liked to venture straight to our dock finger where a ladder dipped in the water to meet me. Michael preferred to go up the walkway at the dock’s end; it was a gradual slope up and one he insisted was less risky. The water is still icy cold, so any fall in could be dangerous.

One morning, I woke up to Michael blasting through the boat’s door in only his underwear. I didn’t have my contacts in or glasses on, so this was just a strange, blurry vision at first. He had fallen in the water, swam to the dock, got assistance from our neighbors to fish the kayak out, and then stripped his wet clothes off and hung them outside to dry. (The clothes were later found to be frozen stiff.) I couldn’t help but to laugh at him as this blurry image shared his story. “And you always tell me to be careful,” I said, “how ironic.” So, for the official record of Mississippi River fall-ins over four years of life aboard: you can tally Michael’s at a whopping three, while I sit cockily here at zero.

April 2019 Stats To Remember:

  • The 7th highest river crest with a height of 20.19 feet.
  • The 5th largest April snowfall in history.
  • An astounding jump in the river fall-in count with Chelsi securing a 0-3 lead. Booyah.
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“Do You Know What You’re Doing?” (the tower tale)

So, Michael just bought a fire tower today…
That’s correct. For a whopping five dollars paid to the Wisconsin DNR, Michael purchased a 116 foot lookout fire tower- the kind that looms above the tree line to see as far as the birds. I woke up this morning to Michael shaking me awake and saying, “five minutes left (in the online auction) and the tower is ours!” I try to process this insane project with my mind still halfway in dreamland… I cannot. We watch as the minutes tick away (Michael excitedly, I with a sense of impending doom), and then suddenly we own a humongous fire tower somewhere in Wisconsin. Michael shares his thrill in a text thread where he starts recruiting his buddies for all weekends over the next 90 days (the time allowed to remove the tower before we get fined). Sam immediately responds, “Nope”; this is definitely a logical response. Calli volunteers Chris to which Chris readily agrees with the clause “just don’t kill me Mike!”. Neighbor Sam has been encouraging this idea all along and told me yesterday “if Michael buys that tower, I’m in”. The answers are varied, and I don’t know what to think.

I think back to cutting down the looming tree limb at the boathouse spot. The neighbor downstream asked Michael, “do you know what you’re doing?”. I know Michael well enough to know he said, “oh yeah, this will be no problem” or something that similarly instills a maybe false but certainly reassuring confidence. I hope I’m not revealing too many of my husband’s secrets here. I haven’t figured out if he truly believes he can do anything, or if he just wants us to buy in to what’s happening here. Either way, the b.s. he’s putting out has yet to fail us. I wouldn’t have half of these adventures without him.

You may be wondering what one does with a 116 foot lookout tower. From my understanding, one looks out from it and that’s pretty much the gist. I’m sure there will be stories to come on how this massive structure makes it’s way from Eau Claire, Wisconsin to Two Harbors, Minnesota. I can’t quite wrap my head around the process but Michael claims he’s got it all figured out… typical.

As Michael’s off to the bank to get that five dollars where it needs to be, I’m here writing and reminiscing. I think about the question “do you know what you’re doing?” as so logically asked by our neighbor. I wonder now, do any of us really know what we’re doing? If we truly know what we’re doing each step of the way, are we doing it right? If there’s no challenge or uncertainty, are we doing enough? I can imagine that the ones who’ve made waves before us- ambitious souls like Thomas Edison, Martin Luther King Jr., and Amelia Earhart- did not make waves without failure, uncertainty, and fear. One of my favorite quotes is this by Thomas Edison: “I have not failed, I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.” I’m certain that Amelia Earhart got asked over and over again, “what are you doing?”; she certainly stepped outside of the box she was put in, and controversy and fear were no match for MLK’s tenacity. Now I know that I’m comparing MK (Michael Kahl) to greats like MLK here but just go with it. Apparently, I put my husband on a pretty high pedastal. Don’t worry, I kick him in the ego once in awhile too; I believe in a balanced life.
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I scribbled out the above on the day that Michael bought the tower: August 20, 2018. Since that date, the hourglass was flipped- the tower must be down in 90 days or we will be fined ten dollars per day; that is two large extra shot lattes per day or one week’s worth of laundry at the laundromat- both washed and dried. I began to wonder- will I have to budget out coffee or clean clothes if this thing doesn’t get down in time? I wouldn’t know which to choose. I still had no idea how Michael planned to remove this looming steel structure. It was tall, heavy, and seemingly permanent in it’s place. While the tower did cost $5, I soon realized that the extras would add right on up. First, gas money. It would be a 170 mile round trip at least once per week. Also, we were finding that on more days than not, one of our two trucks wasn’t running right for one reason or the next. The removal required an insurance policy (understandably so), so Michael called our buddy Paul who also happens to be an insurance guy; he was crazy or kind or both of those enough to insure it. The work also required multiple Menards trips and a trailer that would exist in Eau Claire for three months (thanks Neighbor Sam). A storage shed rental near the removal site was also necessary, oh and time.. lots of time.

Have I said how much I love my husband? I really would do anything for the guy but this whole tower thing… it stretched my limits. One night, with the 90 day cutoff date looming and half the tower still remaining, we sat in Happy Hollow Tavern guzzling a beer and a hamburger after a cold and long day picking at the tower piece by piece. I was exhausted and thoughtlessly spilled out the sentence, “Michael, you bit off more than you can chew on this one.” He was quiet and thoughtful and said “If I could go back in time, I would have never bought it.” This sentence broke my heart. He said this in response to a fatigue and frustration that he knew I was feeling and that was inevitably rubbing off on him. He said this after a very long weekend in abnormally cold fall weather. He said this with a very hungry stomach. Michael had talked about deconstructing and reconstructing a fire tower for YEARS, multiple years. While I’m aware that this is a very odd and specific goal, it was one that never went away. Michael kept showing me towers on Craigslist, admiring towers on road trips, and dreaming about the day he would work on one. Believe it or not, I vetoed a handful of towers for sale before this one fell in our shopping cart. So when this one came along, one that was accessible by road and cost thousands of dollars less than the others, I decided to keep my mouth shut and let him live this one out, for better or worse. That is what I promised, right? “For better or worse, richer or poorer, fire tower debacle or not.” Now, here we were at Happy Hollow Tavern and Michael was confessing to the notion that this project might be over his head. I immediately wanted to backpedal, reverse my negativity, swallow that phrase “you bit off more than you can chew”, and encourage him, cheer him on, slap him on the butt and say “you got it slugger”.. or something like that.

After that brief exchange of guilt or regret or whatever, we did what all the great drunks of past and present do, we left those tortured emotions on the barstool and never looked back. Well, actually, a drunk would probably go back. Also, we’re not drunks… bad analogy. Anyway, we moved forward and moved forward fast- 90 days to remove a tower with no heavy equipment. The tower came down the old fashioned way- bolt by bolt, piece by piece, in both good and foul weather. It had too, or I was going to have to give up extra-shot lattes and clean laundry.

Our 90 day cutoff date was on the horizon when Michael got a phone call. A woman from the DNR office called to say, “We checked the site and it looks like you’re making a real honest effort”… she extended the deadline. Magically, we had three more months. With a ton of help from Neighbor Sam, I am happy to report that the tower did come down in it’s entirety. With climbing harnesses strapped on, ladders rigged with ropes, tool belts tied tight, a grounds crewman or crewwoman to detach and load up the beams, and Kwik Trip pizza for lunch always, the tower removal was a complete surprise.. I mean success. With the extended deadline by the grace of the Wisconsin DNR, the fire tower was removed in time and somehow, someway, without injury. I think back to the night when Michael said “I would have never bought it”… he had never said anything like that before that or after that. I know he never meant that for himself; he meant it only for my sake. He knew I wasn’t utterly jazzed up about the tower idea and the takedown took longer than planned. But Michael, he was never intimidated, never scared, never uninspired. Michael dug in to this project like he does everything else- tenaciously and without regret. While I outwardly hated (not to sugarcoat it or anything) this tower from the beginning, Michael loved everything about it- the challenge, the planning and forethought it required, the heights, the often inclement weather, and the physicality and guts required to reach, unbolt, tie, and maneuver while strung up high in the sky. I have to admit something here: the tower project was a lot of things but the most unavoidable of those things- it was a lot of fun.

At the time Michael purchased his, the Wisconsin DNR attempted to sell eight fire towers. They only sold one. That’s right. Only one human in Wisconsin and the surrounding states decided they would buy a fire tower; that human is my husband. So what do you say when someone asks, “do you know what you’re doing”? I think it’s less about what you say and more about what you do; you do it anyway- tenaciously and without pause, without regret, without internalizing the doubt that the world, and even your wife, might eagerly offer. You might only know what you’re doing when you find 10,000 ways to do it wrong, or you might get lucky- your big humongous looming steel tower might just come down without a hitch.

After I read this blog to Michael, he informed me that, “I don’t really like Thomas Edison though.” When I asked him why, he let me know that Edison didn’t actually invent the lightbulb… I’ll have to fact check that later. Michael went on to share a favorite quote of his that he finds more applicable to his experience, and I have to agree- it’s better than Edison’s. His preferred quote is this: “Good judgement comes from experience, and experience comes from bad judgement” as stated by writer and activist Rita Mae Brown. So, allow me to revise my ending: You might only know what you’re doing when you find 10,000 ways to do it wrong, or you might get lucky- your big humongous looming steel tower might just come down with a bit of bad judgement, a lot of experience, and seemingly… without a hitch.

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About That Boathouse

Oh, hey there. I do realize that my last post was on June 27, 2018. As my GrandPapa Larson would say… Uffda. If I had fans of this blog who knew me in no other way than as dedicated online readers, those readers might believe that Michael and I abandoned the boathouse project, got swallowed by the unforgiving current of Old Man River, or decided “ya know what, forget about this little life on water and woods, let’s move in to a high rise and focus our energy on interior design and the Food Network”. Well, all my loyal online fans out there, breathe easy. None of the above have occurred, although I do really enjoy the Food Network. It’s really less about the network and more about the food; I love food. Anyway, I guess it’s good that I don’t have a horde of assuming internet fans but rather real life friends and family who take a moment of their day to see what little old me and crazy Michael are up to now. Well, my dearest humans, allow me to tie up some loose ends and update you on where we landed on the five month old cliffhanger from June 27, 2018- that boathouse.

Boathouse Build Month Two (July) looked something like this: rain, rain, rain, water rises, island floods, no progress. Easy recap there.

Boathouse Build Month Three (August). I kick myself now for not writing notes as I sift through my brain catalog of memories that happened five months ago. It’s funny what your brain holds on to though- less about the construction materials, the building plans, whats, whens, and hows, and more about the feelings, the sore muscles, the visitors, the joy. Actually, I guarantee Michael’s brain processes this month entirely differently. His rendition would include a bunch of numbers and timelines, and I just do not have the right energy to be transcribing that kind of concrete information right now, so I will proceed with my less useful version:

I vividly recall how the feeling of the Mississippi River air changed from dawn to dusk. It was so crisp in the morning- energizing and cool. It paired nicely with the hot coffee that radiated through the thermos I held tight to my chest as we darted downstream via boat to misty Latsch Island.

The cool morning air settled over the warm Mississippi water like it was trying to shake it awake it from it’s deep slumber. The river resisted, staying calm and centered. The water only livened with the weekend boat traffic many hours after our start time. Boats would cruise by mid morning eager to find a sandbar on which to spend a fine summer’s day. The waves would frequently rock our construction site and a small piece of me would get frustrated, like “hey, can’t you see we’re working here!”, but then I’d laugh at myself (internally, because lol’ing would just be weird) for expecting the boats to know that there’s a little construction site over here dealing with their waves. Interruption by waves- a unique factor indeed.

As the sun heightened, it saturated the sky before it permeated my skin. With the sun high in the sky, the day’s hunger would kick in, and we always forgot to pack food. Over and over though, Mom to the rescue with some good sandwiches and cold drinks.

In the afternoon, the work would become more playful, like we had settled in to who was doing what and now we could afford the energy to be goofs.

Boathouse Gymnastics

Hank At Work

The summer afternoons carried youthful nostalgia for me. A brief touch of wind, obscure smell, or splash of the river could easily transport me back to dirty kid Chels climbing trees, swimming in the creek, playing in the woods, and running barefoot everywhere- grass-stained from head to toe. I look down at my bare feet here, tanned by the sun and as dirty as ever. They are happy to be like this again- useful, playful, strong.

In the evenings, the river carries the warm air like a heavy blanket, tossing it across me as I move around the floating platform. The air became lighter with each passing hour until it feels cool, the day’s heat stripped away with the sunset. The sun would set fast at night. On many days, too fast. On other days, I would thank the sun for rushing us as my dear husband would never stop working until every inch of it had had dipped beneath the upstream horizon.

Our eyes adjusted, and finally, when we could see no more, we hopped in the boat to head home. It was then that we saw our progress from the river, from the eye of a jumping fish or a hungry eagle. This moment, looking back at the now sleepy island where our hard work and dreams lived, was my favorite part of the day.

I reminisce on the long day of attaching deck boards with Pops. It was a tedious task and something that I thought would only take a couple of hours. It took all day. It was a test of patience, something my dad excels at and something I have no business pretending I have. I loved this day with my dad though. We talked about small things, funny things, thoughtful things, and sometimes we didn’t talk (that’s actually his specialty). We were simply content and just really happy in this beautifully mindless pursuit of deck board application.

I delightfully recall a finished platform (barrel racks attached, insulation in, plywood over, deck boards on), and Michael and I’s celebratory jump in to the river. It was particularly hot that day. It was a long day that included cold drinks, fishing breaks, and music to keep spirits high and dehydration at bay. Brother Sean jumped in too and took little nephew Hank in for his first river swim; he hated it or maybe he hated the very over-sized life jacket. Like it does for his aunt and his mama, the river will someday evoke all the good feels of a childhood summer.

River Jump (includes life jacket swag by me)

I remember neighbors stopping by- Gerty bringing us cold La Croix in his runabout. Friends and family stopped by to work or laugh with us, and strangers stopped by to ask what the heck we’re doing (always a great question). The visitors were fun. They gave us a chance to take a break, share ideas, and have a chuckle.

Latsch Island News Report

It was a month of long and sweaty days back to back on a floating construction site that relied heavily on at least okay weather and good-to-the-bones people. It was hard work. It was laughing, arguing, saying a lot or saying nothing at all. It was planning and improvising. It was mistakes and accomplishments. There were minor injuries, sketchy maneuvers, second guesses, lots of Menards stops and boat trips, and some of the best times I’ve ever had.

Strategy Lives Here

Boathouse Build Months Four and Five (September and October). It’s colder now (duh, it’s fall in Minnesota). The island is quieter. The days are shorter. The birds are migrating overhead. The weather is less predictable and often unpleasant. It’s crunch time.

Michael and I are thinking about the boathouse around the clock, and any moment we can be there, we’re there. We know the windows, doors, and roof need to go on before winter yields it’s mighty middle finger. With the impending freezing waters, we will lose our shuttle boat capability. Oh Minnesota, the constant dance we have with your tricky seasons; never allowed to play coy with the elements.

But guess what… with a little help from our village of good-to-the-bones people, we did it! The boathouse is closed in, tied meticulously to shore, and left to the wild of winter.

Stay tuned for the next post in which it is fall/winter and one of us purchases a 116 foot fire tower on an online auction for a grand total of five dollars. If any of you are thinking, “wow what a deal, great idea” (which I highly doubt you are), please understand that this steel tower must be manually removed from it’s Wisconsin ridge within 90 days of purchase and during a season when a coat of frost, or if we’re really lucky, a blast of snow settles on this big, huge, heavy, massive, overwhelming, sturdy, seemingly permanent structure. As GrandPapa Larson would say… UFFDA.

Cheers!

 

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Boathouse Build (Month One)

We wake to our alarms signaling our impending 4:30am departure. I struggle with this but am eventually invigorated by Michael’s joy in a project weekend. We make our typical Kwik Trip stop right outside of the city for a large dose of caffeine.

The air is thick with humidity & it’s reminiscent of time in another more tropical slice of the world. This comparison fills me with excitement as I remember all the early morning departures we’ve had in lands far away- getting the van going in New Zealand before sunrise so we wouldn’t get in trouble with where we parked, rising before the heat in Thailand to get our morning run in, and packing our bags in the dark to catch a train in Europe. My bones are alive; my spirit is ready.

The sun rises over the dense clouds along the Mississippi River as we drive south on highway 61- my favorite drive in the world. It’s soon battered by rain, and the sound of rain makes my eyelids heavy. I lay my head on Michael’s lap as he drives. I wake as we park next to the river. My mom and dad have the boat ready. We are off.

The rest of the morning goes something like this:

1. Tie the boat to the half demolished boathouse & release it from its anchored points on the island.

2.Realize the boat has no control to actually turn the boathouse upstream. This is the first moment that I question our sanity.

3. I wonder, “How did we not plan for a rescue boat… or at least an extra anchor?”

4. We correct our course by pushing the boathouse off the boat and maneuvering it many times this way until pointed upstream toward our destination.

5. We soon approach three bridges. We narrowly miss one, bump the side of the other, and pass through seamlessly on the last.

6. Our rope begins to fray. We reinforce with a second rope.

7. Jeff approaches us on his fishing boat. I feel relief that we’ve stumbled upon a very capable and willing rescue boat.

8. We are going slowly but surely. In other words, it’s going very well.


9. I’m pretty sure the dudes get bored with our efforts moving along so flawlessly. They decide to get Jeff involved. Surely two boats will be better than one…


10. Strategizing happens. Should the boats be staggered? Where should they anchor? Mom and I, the poor souls on the boathouse at the mercy of their decisions, wonder why we’re changing what’s working here. Well Ma, let’s sit back and watch this; it’s gonna get good.

11. We pick up speed and right as Mom says, “This is actually working pretty good”, the entire right side of the boathouse gets tugged off; we’ve lost a valuable anchor point. Michael yells out, “Maybe we should just go with one boat!”… ahh, yeah dudes.

12.Scott joins the forces right as we approach our destination. We now have three boats involved; one to tug and two to rescue, watch, advise, etc. If you know river people, you know they can’t sit out on a good adventure.

13. Our ropes break just before pulling in and somehow, someway the boathouse floats perfectly in to place on shore. We’ve made it.


Our buddies show up in the afternoon and everyone is quickly put to work. We have demo to do and new frames and barrels to acquire from the farm and assemble for float. As we drive to the farm, my dad says to Michael and me, “Are you running out of friends yet?” My family has this running joke that Michael and I are bound to lose our friends as whenever we invite them somewhere, Michael is notorious for quickly putting a shovel, saw, or paintbrush in their hands. The good thing is that they know us well enough now… they’ve all arrived in their work clothes.


Have I updated you on the weather yet? Well, it’s still miserably humid and hot- a heat index of over 100. I sweat so much that I don’t pee all day. The nurse in me says a quick prayer for the well-being of my kidneys.
The demo of the old boathouse is the suckiest part. It’s full of moldy insulation, some disgusting carpet under the floor, and multiple mouse dens. My dad works crazy hard from dawn to dusk and he’s the one on the crowbar really giving her hell. He falls in the water twice. I wonder, “Is this how most people honor their dads on Father’s Day? Here Pa, lets destroy some shit together and take zero breaks in the asphyxiating heat.” He’s the best.


The treasures we find in demo include a tarot card and a rat carcass. Our friend Sam suggests we frame both. I consider framing the tarot card but I’m pretty sure it floated in to the raging bonfire… that can’t be good luck.

As if you didn’t consider the aforementioned activities super-duper fun, here comes the most exciting event- transporting the new platform (frames + barrels) in to place where the old boathouse formerly existed.

Like everything else, Michael and I spend the twenty minute drive from the farm discussing the best way to make this happen- where do we put them in the water, how many frames do we float down at once, how do we attach them, what do we use to transport, how many people are needed and where. If you imagined that it would be hard to agree on all these different variables, you are correct. We agreed on none of them at first and then compromised until we were left with one main disagreement- how many frames do we float down at once. I was adamant about one while Michael was advocating hard for three. We settled on two.


With Dan and Ang at the helm of the kayak (our tug boat) and Michael, Beth, Garner, and I aboard the barreled frames with paddles, we way too easily and quickly navigated 2/3 of our new boathouse platform in to place. We were not without a rescue boat in the distance; Ma and Pa observed in the channel with country music on blast.

If you read through this whole thing without knowing what the heck we are even up to, I’m going to rewind for a minute. In the fall of 2016, Michael and I purchased a boathouse- a floating cabin on Latsch Island in Winona, Minnesota. The boathouse had been housing bats and rats for some time now and was beyond decent repair. We’ve since made new boathouse plans and this summer is our summer to execute them.


Prior to this weekend, we got our city building permit, boathouse association approval, and various supplies. One weekend was spent acquiring 100 blue barrels (which pack the platform to our boathouse allowing it to float), prepping them with dry ice (to keep them expanded), and sealing them with silicone. Thanks to Chris and Ben for that weekend! I hear it was full of really good smells since the barrels came from Watkins and held flavors like bubble gum and caramel.

The next weekend was spent picking up LOTS of wood from Menards and building the nine 30 foot frames. Thank you Sam Henninger and Kelly Brandon for assistance there along with help from cousins Chaniah and Zoe. Big thanks to Grams and Gramps for letting us use their shed for construction and storage.

The third weekend and one I could not be there for (thank goodness because this one made me the most nervous) was dedicated to cutting down part of a dead, overhanging tree that reached high in the sky over our boathouse site. The Sams (Sam Larson and Sam Henninger) were in on this one. Some demo and oversized bonfires happened then too. I can imagine that Sam H. (or “Neighbor Sam” as we endearingly differentiate him) was very involved in the tree climbing portion and Sam L. (or “Sam Sam”) in the fire tending portion as these are their bread and butters; that weekend certainly had the right humans for the jobs.

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This weekend brought Dan, Ang, Beth, Garner, and Rachel to the river for a perfect Mark Twain-esque adventure story.

Jeff and Sara Brandon and Scott Yess, three neighborhood river gurus, also helped to streamline the disgusting and difficult demo process.


After weekends like this, Michael and I wonder what we could ever accomplish without our village- our family and friends who are willing to fall in the water, climb uncomfortably tall trees, inhale bubble gum scented air all day, navigate a kayak with 30 feet of timber attached to it, and take evening swims in the river in lieu of a real shower. I wouldn’t be surprised if our friends visit for the free food- brunch at Grandma’s house or dinner by Mom, but whatever keeps them coming, we are thankful.


And finally, Michael and I talk incessantly about the blessings we have in each of our parents- the backbone to our village. On Sunday (Father’s Day), I woke up to my dad cutting up wood from the demo the day before. He had been up since 4am working on this project. He goes and goes until sunset. He doesn’t say much and at one point I turned to Michael and said, “Has Dad said anything yet today?” Michael says, “I don’t think so.” Shortly after, I hear Dad unintentionally mutter, “I’m exhausted”. As much as I ask him to rest, he never does. He also never drinks water which I find absurd. In every project or dream we come up with, he’s right in the trenches with us- always doing the dirty work, the heavy lifting, the early morning jobs, and the late night grind; he smiles at the end of an incredibly long day and I know he loves this as much as we do.

Mom is there too, every time. She’s keeping us fed, keeping our spirits high, contributing logical insight during stressful moments, and getting her hands as dirty as the rest of us. Within this process, Michael’s parents are cheering us on from out of town. They’d be right here with us if they could- before sunrise or after sunset; they know hard work and love a good project. I see them in Michael throughout all of this.


As we drive home on Monday morning, we’re exhausted but happy. Michael points out the tan lines on my shoulders and for the first time all weekend, I look in the mirror. My hair is all over the place, and I can’t believe I didn’t pack more than one headband to tame this mess. I have dirt stained legs from work this morning and sore shoulders and scattered bruises from the days before. I’m happy to carry these pieces of the weekend home with me. I look over at Michael who is coping with the idea of a work week indoors. “Make it fun,” I tell him as he drives away to work. “I will”, he yells back.

Tonight, I read Michael all of this and he tells me that he remembers what the tarot card was- the one we found in the boathouse wall. It was the “Ten of Wands”. We google this and find the following on www.tarot.com: “The Ten of this suit represents an all-out effort, an obsessive commitment to a task which demands everything you’ve got. The person shown in decks with pictures is in no position to rest until he makes it inside the stout walls of the well-defended castle in the distance. If he fails, he will become prey for the highway robbers after dark. It doesn’t matter that he’s overloaded and underfed. With this card, you have to do whatever it takes to get to completion — nothing can be allowed to interfere.”

This page goes on to say, “The Ten of Wands in this position advises you to remember the true, simple heart of your youth and all the idealism it held. Now may be the time to reach deep into yourself and identify your purest, most wholesome impulses. As you do this, allow your optimistic and honorable side to see what’s good about the world.”

“Make it fun,” I tell him as he drives away to work. “I will”, he yells back.

 

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Jimmy & The Bees

Ever since I’ve known Michael, I’ve known Jimmy. They were the basement boys; I met them as my neighbors six years ago. I married Michael last year, and by marrying Michael, I’ve committed myself to a lifetime of Jimmy. After all, Michael and Jimmy do have matching tattoos. While some may have run the other way knowing the stipulation, I braved the challenge- a lifetime of Jim.

Alright, since sarcasm doesn’t always translate through writing, I should probably let you know I’m only kidding. I love Jimmy like a brother and adore his eccentricities. He has always been one to think and do outside of the box; in this case, the bee box. So, let’s talk about bees.

This year is the first year in the history of the continental U.S. that a bee required federal protection when the rusty patched bumblebee, a once prominent pollinator, was placed on the endangered species list. According to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, this bumblebee has declined nearly 90 percent since the late 1990s / early 2000s (not that long ago!). While the cause is multifactorial, disease, pesticides, climate change, and habitat loss are big players. The hard part of this news- these are human driven causes. It’s time that we take notice, educate ourselves, and take care of our environment and as a result, our small but important pollinators. Without these pollinators, we would be without more than one third of our food crops which contribute billions of dollars to the economy and put real food in our tummies. Sure, it’s easiest not to care; to believe that one type of bee is insignificant in this world of 20,000 bee species and 3,600 in our own country. But hey, it’s more important than ever. We, the human species, have more impact on this world than we are responsible with. It is evident in where we place value- on things, on money, and on the individual rather than the collective. The bees are a model for the values that we, as a species, lack. It is time to slow down and take notes from some productive, hard-working, selfless citizens of our world- the bees.

Jimmy returned from Kuwait and Afghanistan after a year of service in the military. He says that he spent plenty of time reading and thinking while away. I heard him conjure up many ideas of what he would do when he got home. He talked about borrowing my husband and sailing the world but the wild idea that stuck was buying bees. He cultivated this, and I got to keep my husband… for now.

Jimmy got his knowledge from youtube videos and Beekeeping for Dummies. While you can buy a beekeeping beginner’s kit, Jimmy made much of his own equipment and saved money doing so. That’s right ladies… he’s handy and single! After two years of learning about bees, this is Jimmy’s first season as their caretaker, and today, I follow him around as this novice beekeeper explains what he’s learned.

He starts with prepping the smoker. Jimmy says that the smoke he creates prevents a sting as the bees sense a forest fire and with this response to danger, they fill themselves with honey should they need to evacuate. With bellies full of honey, they don’t want to sting as this would lead to their death and a waste of the honey the hold.

Jimmy then gowns up to approach the colony. I laugh as Michael puts on the upper body garb too but disregards the fact that he is wearing shorts and sandals. As Jimmy pulls out the frames, I say “Jimmy, you seem like a pro”. He responds “Just wait until one lands on me” and describes the time one landed on his hand and he dropped the frame. He worried after this that if the queen was on that screen, he could have potentially hurt her which would have meant destruction for the whole colony. Although the hive is full of females, she is the only one that can reproduce. As he pulls out the screens, he watches for the queen. “If you know what you’re doing, you find her. I just look for eggs. They look like grains of salt. If I find fresh eggs, I know she’s alive.” He also checks for mites or for a bad smell; mites could attack the colony while a bad smell could indicate disease.

Soon, bees are flying everywhere. I sit in the grass as they hover around me. I always thought this experience would be chaotic or frightening, but now, it’s peaceful. I say this from a distance as Michael says “this is definitely the most bees I’ve ever been in” as he stands with his head in the hive in his cut off shorts. I guess he’s not that scared either.

Jimmy explains that 99% of the worker are female and adds “so this is what it’s like when women are in charge… they get shit done”. Jimmy still has not met his queen, and no, I’m not diverting back to the single Jimmy thing although that would also be applicable. Michael and Jimmy inspect closely until Jimmy exclaims “There she is! Holy shit, she’s huge!”. I can’t help but make my way down in to the swarm to see the queen; she is certainly distinguished. Jimmy tells us that she only leaves to mate with the goal of getting a variance of genetics; “survival of the fittest kind of stuff”. Jimmy does this hive check weekly. He inspects his ten frames for overall health. At the end, he smokes the bees so they duck away from the top of the box; he doesn’t want to crush them.

(Queen Bee pictured below… can you tell which one?)

We discuss the complexities of bees, and as a novice beekeeper, I can tell Jimmy has already developed a respect for these intelligent and hardworking creatures. He admires them in saying:

They’re so smart. Like they make these perfect hexagon shaped honey combs, and they can’t even talk to each other. For example, the three of us could get together, talk about it, go to Home Depot, and still not make something as good.

It’s true. Bees are amazing. In writing this, I spent two mornings reading all I could about bees. On a rainy afternoon, I encourage you to take time to do the same. I can tell you that the level of intelligence they possess is surprising. The way they work together for the good of the hive is admirable. They are systematic and adaptable. While adaptable, like us, they still need their basic needs to be met. They need a good habitat. They need us, the humans, to stop messing with it and to restore it where we can. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife website listed these simple ways to help the habitat. It stated to “provide a mix of flowers”, “plant flowers in early spring”, “don’t mow or rake”, and “be pesticide free”. Let’s take care of the bees, honeybees and bumblebees alike, so that they can in turn, continue to take care of us.

As for Jimmy, he’s still single… with bees. You’re welcome Jim for morphing this in to a dating ad. Also, he bought a sailboat. I’m a bit worried Jimmy might take my husband and sail the deep blue. Perhaps, this is why I somehow turned this into a dating ad. Any ladies out there want to go sailing? If you have first mate experience, please apply.

 

 

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