Pico Pico Pico and a mermaid.

Paul Bunyan wants to buy a 50 foot sail boat some day. He wants to live on it for months at a time. Bath in the ocean. Sleep on deck. Drink rum and hang upside down from the mast. I told him I would go for short trips, but he knows I want to die in the house on the hill in our happy valley. I don't want to die by the hands of dirty pirates jumping aboard to steal our rum.



So, instead, he's training his troops. His deck hands. Auggie came off the water the other day and said that they had flipped over and Paul Bunyan had to right them. He was lying. So, I'm pretty sure he's on board for any excitement that the open waters might bring.


Timmy is game too, but was very glad to be learning on the Pico Pico Pico (sorry, I have this need to say it three times) and not in the open ocean.




And both were pretty excited at the prospect of someday pooping in the ocean and drinking their father's rum.




She, on the other hand, she is training to be a mermaid.




Similar to the rust colored one we discovered on a rock in the middle of Canadian waters.




She's starting to get the mermaid hair down, matted and tangled.

And she, too, is excited at the prospect of pooping in the water.

How 'bout that?

Just sayin'

I don't read too many other blogs out there. I've got my favorites and I check in with them pretty regularly and sometimes I'll venture off on a tangent from their blogrolls. But that generally puts me off into a cyberspace land of the blues, or worse yet...land of the reports. The 'report' blogs are the ones I try to stay away from. The "I woke up this morning and had a cup of coffee, and then I went for a run, and then I read my book, and then I just about died of boredom except someone came and dumped me out of the hammock I was hanging in upside down to make my life seem so much more exciting."



But I feel like sometimes I do that. And then I start to realize that not everyone can post things like this. This is a picture of three Augusts all born in August. Now, that's pretty cool. Not everyone can do that.




And okay so maybe I can't write as well as she can. Because she could probably make this event- my youngest son holding his father's toe nail clippings- into an artistically important life changing event. Just sayin'.





But it's not everyday, if (let's say) I was reporting on yesterday's events, that you come across a cement mermaid on a rock island who was covered in a rust colored algae.




In a lake that has over 1,600 islands.





That has over 1500 miles of shoreline.




That has a maximum depth of 161 feet.





That is 227,600 acres big.






That has fish in it the size of my 8 year old daughter.





That is half Canada and half U.S.A.





That is one of the most spectacular places on earth.





I mean...if I were to try to "report" on yesterday's events, let's just say I would say that all these people jumped off a cliff. Or clifft as Auggie calls it.





Into dark bottomless waters.




Sometimes upside down.




But every time without hesitation.

Would you still read my blog?





Because the report would include something like this, which might be a little too much of that, which you've already read about, which you're probably all sick about, which no one around here can get enough of, which I'm pretty tired of taking pictures of, which I'll stop now reporting about. And maybe tomorrow we'll focus more on bald eagles, or Long Island Iced Teas, or the way the poplar leaves blow in the wind. Something definitely more vastly important than seeing an iron colored mermaid on a rock island in Canada on a very big lake. But you'll have to come back and see.

Unless this "report" has totally bored you to death and then you can move on to a more entertaining and promiscuous blog.

god speed.

6th Sun, Red Moon, Snow of 2010

Last night was Grand Council on Deer Island, the island that houses the boy's camp Paul Bunyan spent 15 summers going to.




Camp Kooch-I-Ching is where Paul Bunyan first started his career with nicotine. No, I kid. Well, not quite. But he also picked up a serious work ethic, the incredible ability to maneuver a canoe down any set of rapids, his love for working with wood, sleeping outdoors, jumping in cold water, eating Dinty More and Mac n' Cheese (together), and his appreciation for all things Native American. The camp is rich with lore. And most activities that the campers participate in lend themselves to the teachings of the Native Americans, including Native American crafts, dancing, and woodsmanship- all of which culminate in a performance on the last evening of camp.



This is the Council Ring. It is swept clean and in the center is the central fire, ready to be lit to begin the ceremony. The white lines represent parts of the Law of the Woods, which you can read a little about here.




When people enter the council ring for the performance they are not allowed to step within the white rocks. If you don't know about this rule, and or fall within the rocks by accident, the footprints you make will be raked out. And you will be "waaahed" by the crowd. Very embarrassing.




We wait patiently until we hear the drum and the dancer's bells ringing in the distance. Their cadence becomes louder as they approach the council ring from behind. Auggie and Timmy, still learning that their voices are louder than they think they are, were practically shouting, "I see them!" "There they are!" "They're coming!" sshhh. ssshh.




The ceremony begins when the herald finishes his song. Wa-ta-ho, ta-ho.

Paul Bunyan was the herald once.




And the central fire is lit.




This is Alex.




He's the best fire starter there is at camp.




He and his mullein stick are one.




And then the dances begin. We witness the Beaver, the Pigeon, the Pipe, the Snake, the Other Buffalo, the Waboos, the Cheyenne Buffalo, the Little Men, Blackfoot Dog, Kachina, etc. etc. Some are painstakingly long and boring. Others are exciting to watch because of the story they tell. Paul Bunyan has danced them all.



This is our little buddy J.R. He's not really little. He's actually one of the directors of the camp and he's quite tall, very skinny and quite tall, but we call him 'Little Buddy' anyway. Paul Bunyan sneaks out a 'Little Buddy', drawing out the buuuddy, when Little Buddy dances by. And then we see a little smile, even though the dancers aren't supposed to respond to the crowd.




This is Little Buddy's daughter- the one standing up. She is trying to figure out why daddy is dressed up so weird.




And then it gets darker and more of the older dancers start to show off their dancing skills. The little kids in the stands grow a little more restless and the night sky has lost its dusk.




And so then we know it's time for the Torch Powow to begin.




The council ring is lit up only by fire at this point.




And only the best dancers are in the ring.




And then the flaming hoop arrives.




And all you can hear is the woosh of the fiery hoop and the beat of the drum, although its lulled too.




And you become mesmerized by the dance, as the boy who holds the hoop steps in and around...




And over...




And through.

And then, in sync with the drum beat, he spins around (maybe twice) and whips the hoop up and over the crowd sitting in the council ring.

Paul Bunyan has done this.

And the herald sings one last lonely song to dismiss the crowd and we are done for the night.

Until one more winter has come and gone.

A Room With a View

When I opened my eyes this morning this is what I saw. Tree tops. Clouds swinging by. Blue sky candies.

This window has seen the approach of thunderstorms from the north, lightning approaching laterally and vertically. It has seen stars, shooting and otherwise glowing, like the dreams that follow it. It has witnessed the likes of Aurora borealis- green apparitions dancing naked in the night. Tonight is supposed to go down into the 30's and 40's- a perfect cocktail for the red ghosts to join in the party.

I've road Suey's bike around "the loop" more times than I can count on my two hands. But that's only because I have three sets of legs who continue to ask me to join them and only one bike between them.

And still, every time I ride I feel like this:






I hope you "live like it's your party".

Where In The Heck Is The Hussy? Season 2. Part 373

Being up here is like pulling on your favorite skinny jeans and having them be too big.





Being up here is like putting your hand in a jacket pocket and finding a $20 bill and a Bonnie Bell Watermellon Lip Smackers to boot.





Being up here is like eating a chocolate chip cookie right out of the oven.




Or better yet: chips and guacamole with a Paul Bunyan homemade margarita on the side.





Being up here is like experiencing a first kiss all over again.




Or climbing into bed with clean sheets dried in the sun.




Being up here is like what I imagine my life would be like without children.

Nah, I'm just joshin'...these cats make my life. But sometimes being at Popi and Suey's house up here on the border of Canada, where we have bald eagles flying over our heads and sunshine sparkling off the water to wake us up every morning, feels sort of like what it felt like to travel across the U.S. with Paul Bunyan before we were married. Sometimes we took a left and sometimes we took a right, but we had the wind in our hair (well, at least I did) and a Dairy Queen around each corner. And that was all we needed.