Stormy Ride

CRACK! The thunder and lightning struck simultaneously as we sat down to dinner. I shuddered at the sound, my thoughts on Paul. Earlier, he had crossed the lake to help celebrate a friend's birthday, but was due home for supper. At twenty-one, he is an extremely responsible guy, but still, the mom instincts in me came forward. I hadn't discussed weather issues with him before he left. Would he stay put? Would he watch the sky and make a break for it? Did he know that lightning can strike up to fifteen miles away? All this crossed my mind, and we discussed it as we ate. It is hard, as a parent, to shake a feeling of helplessness.

Parenting in the Northwoods has been a privilege and a challenge. I suppose that is true wherever one chooses to live, but sometimes it feels like our situation is a bit more unusual than most. Magazine articles can only tell one so much when it comes to deciding what to teach your children, or how to discipline them when they are young. Tried and true experience, also known as trial and error, is probably the best guide. In this case, I was counting on all of the many years of conversations about being in this situation to be Paul's guide.

Still, my mind was restless. I went upstairs with my knitting, while Greg watched a movie in the store. I had my window open, and my ear cocked for the sound of the outboard. How many nights have I done this, I thought? Before the fire in 2007, the kids would take a boat across to enjoy campfires with their friends. Instead of waiting to hear the car pull into the driveway, like most parents do, I would listen for the sound of the motor, skimming the boat over the water. Tonight, it was hard to discern the sounds. It was a mix of the wind, the rain, the distant thunder, the movie downstairs, and the fans blowing in various corners of the lodge.

At one point, I was certain I could hear him. The rain had paused, and the wind was down a bit. I stuck my head out the window, listening carefully. Was that a buzz in the distance? Downstairs, Greg had paused the movie, and we walked down to the landing. A shred of light was left to the day, and we watched the grey haze on the horizon. No sound. As the raindrops again picked up, we headed back up the hill, me to my knitting and Greg to his show.

Half-an-hour later, I definitely heard the motor. I hopped up and ran to the window. I swore I heard the motor cut, and that the boat was at the ramp. Waiting by the window, I scanned the land below, watching for Paul's silhouette. After what seemed to be too long a time to wait, I went downstairs to go out and see for myself. As I reached the landing, Paul emerged from the shadows. He was soaking wet, and none too happy.

He had waited for what seemed like the right opportunity to head out onto the water. Once out there, the wind proved to be more of a factor than he had expected. He chose to follow the Canadian shoreline until he was directly across from the lodge. At that moment, the motor died. He began to paddle, and the waves lapped the stern, sending water into the boat. He looked about for a bailer, but only had the coffee mug that he had brought along. Between
paddling against the wind, bailing, and attempting to start the motor up, he was having a tough time. Finally, after several pulls, the motor caught, and he was able to start south. By then, he was west of the lodge, and when he got close to the south side of the lake, he saw a cabin light. He realized that he needed to change direction, but once again, the motor quit. The wind continued to push him west, but he prevailed and got the thing started up. At that point, he made a beeline for home. Turns out that I had heard him that first time, when he was headed across the lake. I was looking for him in the wrong direction. But here he was now, and I was extremely grateful.

Next time he heads off like this, we will have that talk about lightning. I may even take the time to check the weather and radar maps on the internet. I know that if all of this were happening in the town where he lives most of the year, I would have no way to know of it, nor any way to worry. But when it's happening right here, that old mom instinct cannot be shrugged. Guess I just have to live with that--and so does he.