Artwork by Kaitlin Zaumseil
Originally published in the September 2003 “Notes From the Dells”
The Teacher, Grumman
©By Don Miller
On July 12, 2003 the Miller family Grumman canoe turned 41 years old. If treated with the proper respect and care, a Grumman can be passed on through generations far into the future. At 41, is a Grumman canoe approaching middle age? I don’t think so. It shows no signs of being close to mid-life. I see no mid-thwart expansion taking place, no receding keel line can be seen and the canoe is always eager to leave the rack for the next canoe adventure.
In 1962 it was pounded, shaped and riveted into the form of a canoe. Subtract a Chicago Cubbies decal on the stern, (faded, like the Cubs team did in ‘69), take away two roadrunner stickers, put on for the simple reason that my dad liked them, and rub out a few scrapes on the bottom side and the canoe is just like new. Given the choice in the early ‘60’s of an existence as a floating means of transportation or that of a Sabre jet flying missions over Vietnam, I’m sure the canoe is satisfied with its path. There are few things that can transport one through portals back into their childhood, or holds ones attention in the present, or can carry one into future dreams. The canoe is such a vehicle. I start every canoe trip seeking just a few answers to life’s many questions, but the journey usually only creates more to inquire about. I do know this however; everything important in life I did not learn in kindergarten, most of the real good stuff I learned while canoeing. What follows are just a few of the many lessons learned.
Seek out the side branches, there are always adventures waiting there, something new and different to learn and discover. Escape the mainstream and keep the mystery of life alive. It is here that one can retreat and find your true self. Rest in the eddies and immerse oneself in the sensations of the natural world; let the silence and beauty take you places even your imagination cannot. Go there and visit often.
Work less and play hard, let the current do the laboring. The Severson Dells staff took some kids and their parents on a canoe trip a few summers ago and we stopped at one of my favorite swimming holes. On this hot August day we checked it out and in we went. We floated as one with our heads held back, howling like coyotes. We slowed the pace to lie on the sand with the sun warming our eyelids. There must be something about me wearing a hat that shouts out the words, “keep away.” So it was with my favorite Bulls cap. The kids had a great game going and I couldn’t retrieve it. One of the guys decided to throw the hat to see if I could swim fast enough to catch-up with it. Favorite Bulls caps do not float, they sink. They go down faster than the real Bulls did without Michael Jordan. In seconds the hat would be gone forever, to be seen only by the bottom feeders. I miss the hat and I don’t like to litter my favorite river, but if my hat was going to spend an eternity away from me, I’m glad it is with the Sugar River.
Smile often, laugh loud and feel it in your belly. Laughter can create memories that last forever. In the following story I am about to relate, the names have not been changed to protect the innocent. In fact, because this story has been retold in our family for decades, the names may be the only truth to the tale. I’m not quite sure of my age when the “big dump” happened, but I was sitting in the middle of the canoe occupying the equator seat and it was really hot. I was sporting the latest fashion of bright orange life jacket and it was tied tightly around my neck. I was helping by paddling my hands along side of the canoe and thus the refreshing waters of the Sugar River kept my body from over heating. The canoe I was in had successfully navigated a sharp bend in the swift June waters of the Sugar. My eyes were focused on making sure the snapping turtle I was just informed of didn’t take my fingers off at the second knuckle. When suddenly from behind me came an excited voice, “No, don’t grab that branch!” I turned as fast as one can when in a life preserver straight jacket. All I could see was the bottom of the canoe that seconds earlier was full of my relatives and right side up. The canoe looked like the back of a large aluminum whale that had breached. One, two, three heads pop up, paddles and lunches riding the current, no longer in the belly of the metal whale, but floating along side of it. My Uncle Chuck, my cousin Carol and her fiancé Floyd, had just been baptized in the Sugar River. Fortunately they were in a shallow section of the river and after the initial shock of capsizing; they walked to a nearby sand bar to analyze the situation. The only causality besides bruised egos was a camera lens lost by my Uncle. Like me, he had been riding innocently enough in the middle hot seat, probably looking for that finger biting snapper when it all happened. So the story goes, Floyd (note here at this time Floyd is the only non-family member in the scene), grabbed an overhead branch at the apex of the turn and got a quick lesson in canoeing and physics. He had become a great fulcrum to spin the canoe bottom-side up in record time. After everyone was accounted for and the dry ones of us had a good chance to really look at our partners, the laughter was side splitting. None of us had ever “dumped” before and as good as a story this was at the scene of the crime; after telling it at holiday gatherings for almost 35 years, my dad has improved on it. There have been many laughs and good times since. The laughter and memories are sacred.
Some of the other lessons go without descriptions: bring plenty of cheese and crackers; sing and dance on the sand bars; leave only prints behind; have someone with a good-looking backside in the bow while you paddle in the stern; and the lessons are many and are still being learned.
When I die I have asked friends and family to take my ashes to the Sugar River and allow them to flow freely down the river. Let them settle on a sunny sand bar, or next to my Bulls hat, or on the back of an ancient snapper. Let them circle forever in the current of an eddy, round and round. Allow my soul to watch over this special wild place and let it remain the way it is for generations of kingfishers, catfish, dragonflies and people to come. It is areas like this that the most important lessons and discoveries of life can be learned about a sense of place, of belonging and of an inner peace. Pass more on to the next generation than just a Grumman canoe. — DM
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