To Go On Record…

The Boundary Waters Canoe Area

Truthfully, I hope he has the time of his 6 year old life.  I hope he catches a fish as big as he is.  I hope he screams when he hooks it.  I hope it nearly pulls him out of the boat and his dad grabs him by the collar to keep him from going in.  I hope he cleans it and eats it.  I hope his dad gets a picture of a dirty faced, snaggle toothed smiling boy holding a monster of a fish.  I hope he sees birds and moose and other animals he’s never seen before.  I hope he appreciates nature and thanks the One who created it.  I hope he stays up late drinking hot chocolate by a campfire.  I hope he gets to hear stories from his granddad about when he was a boy.  I hope he gets so hot and dirty he jumps in the lake fully clothed.  I hope he falls asleep in the tent each night tired and contented.  I hope he comes home freckled faced and sun tanned with weeks and weeks worth of stories to share.

BUT I’m going on record believing this is NOT the best idea!

The boys with ther giant bag before they left this morning.

What am I talking about?  Here’s the back story.  Husband took Bruce fishing in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in Northern Minnesota.  They fly from Atlanta to St. Paul today where they will then drive to Ely, MN.  Here’s where it gets interesting.  Husband and son are going with his dad, mom, sister and another couple we don’t know.  Why am I not going?  I’ll get there momentarily. 

Now for some reason I find this scenario odd and strangely off putting.  Why?  Not sure.  A family getting a house on the beach for a week is not odd.  A family going to say Tuscany for 3 weeks isn’t all together odd.  Families go on cruises together all the time.  But this THIS is peculiar. 

Husband’s dad (John) has been camping here since the 1960’s.  Husband’s family took their vacations here for many a summer.  His parents first took him when he was 3. 

See!  Manual labor. 
For me, this does NOT a vacation make!

A little bit about this place.  This is not your modern day camping.  This is hard core, primitive canoeing and camping.  We’re talking if you don’t catch fish you don’t eat.  We’re talking no camp ground, camp site, camp store, or electric hook ups.  Generators and motors are forbidden.  And yes – there are NO TOILETS!  You paddle in as far as you can.  Then you get out and make a portage to the next little lake.  In other words, you put a canoe and a pack on your back and make several trips with your belongings to the next put in place.  Sound like fun?  Yeah, me either.  And they are staying for a week! 

I had envisioned husband taking Bruce.  But I thought it would be with another dad or two and their children.  Not quite like this.  Here’s where I have to raise my eyebrow a tad.  Although I know they are not malicious, I question the motives of those attending this little excursion.  Four septuagenarians and a 41 year old woman of only average strength are going to need some help.  I fear husband has signed on for a week’s worth of indentured servitude and yeoman’s work.  Which is fine.  He’s a grown man.  If he wants to burn his vacation time on what might be called a fool’s errand, far be it for me to intervene.  But this time, he’s got my son with him.  Actually this irritates me too that he’s taking valuable vacation days gallivanting with his parents and sister, while I’m (HIS WIFE) stuck in the GTSA (Greater Tri-State Area).

Think they're related???
Husband, his Uncle Ralph and Dad John circa 2004. 

Bruce has never ever done anything remotely like this.  Who has?  And military service doesn’t count.  For Bruce to be kept safe, entertained, safe, warm, safe, dry, etc., it’s going to take someone dedicated solely to that end.  In other words, Husband (who has put his fishing and exploring ambitions on hold for this trip) needs to deal with the child and not be the lone worker bee for the camp. 

Now, to the reason’s I’m not attending.  Firstly, that pesky baby!  Secondly, I don’t participate in any activity containing the word “primitive.”  The aforementioned primitive camping, primitive Baptist, primitive cooking, primitive art, primitive transportation, none are my cup of tea – EVER!!!!  Sure I probably could have taken the baby to Arkansas so I could go on this journey through one of the outer circles of hell.  I’d have a horrible time and everyone else would too.  They’d probably take a secret vote to just leave me behind and pick me up on the way out if I managed to live. 

So despite feelings of frustration, nervousness and of just plain being left out – I wish my big boys well on their expedition.  The little bit and I will hold down the fort here. 

I left husband with these words however, “Bring my first born back safe to me!  Husbands can be replaced, sons can’t!”  I think he got my meaning.