Gone fishing

We are finally able to hang up the sign: Gone Fishing. Over the years, we watched boats, campers and recreational vehicles head north on our road as we milked cows on perfect summer weekends. We dreamed about what it would be like to slip away to the Northwoods, surrounded by the beauty and peace of a lake. The only problem was that we had never taken such a trip in our lives. What would that look like? What would we do? How do we start?

Bless our children’s hearts. Back in December, before Clara arrived in their family, Michael and Rachel decided to create a new family tradition: grandparents’ camp in the Northwoods of Wisconsin for both sides of the family. We checked our calendars and locked in Father’s Day weekend to discover why everyone headed north on summer weekends. What is so special about camping in the woods?

One step into the lake house Rachel booked, and I was hooked. The view from the living room was the picture I had imagined, with pine trees framing the view down to the dock. The clouds reflected in the still waters gave you the feeling of being encompassed by sheer peace.

It didn’t take Mark long to find a fishing pole with his fresh supply of worms to see how the fish were biting. All day, he kept throwing his line in the shallow waters off our dock. It seemed this was the spot the fishies hung out. Bite after bite, he pulled in the fish. A few were big enough to keep for a meal, but most were released for another day.

Others took the canoe and kayak out to fish in deeper waters, but nothing seemed to be hungry. Luckily, we brought along a couple of bags of frozen fish for a lakeshore fish fry, just in case we got skunked.

In the evening, deep conversations mingled with the rising smoke of the campfire. As the baby monitor kept an eye on Clara sleeping, we started to talk about changes we have seen over the years and the changes to come in her future.

Fifteen years ago, when you said “A.I.” around a dairy person, it was a reproductive term. Today, it still means the same thing to a dairyman, but everyone else now thinks it has something to do with intelligence.

Clouds have been hijacked by changes, too. They used to be puffy white cotton balls floating in the sky or an ominous, heavily laden storm filled with moisture and energy. Now, a single cloud is where pictures and information are stored. But is it up in the sky, too?

Michael and Rachel have already put a stash of pennies aside for their daughter because they will never be minted again. I don’t think pennies will completely disappear, but it may be harder to find extra ones to flatten in a penny press as a souvenir for a summer vacation.

The way in which we do business will continue to evolve. The days of bartering commodities for a doctor’s visit to online banking seem impossible to comprehend; no more discounts for using cash, let alone carrying cash in a billfold. Will billfolds be the next thing to disappear?

Will Michael be the last one in the family to actually use a rotary phone or recall the farm’s landline number, along with the numbers of five close friends? He has dangled a twisted phone cord to “lengthen” it but has never raced his siblings to answer a ringing phone.

There will be no more waiting for rolls of film to be developed with captured moments of a summer vacation. There will be no more wrestling to fold an oversized paper map back to a size that fits in the glove compartment. Photos and maps are all in the palm of our hand in a phone we carry in our pocket.

The campfire flames reflect on our faces as we ponder the things “lost” from our lives. Our silent thoughts mingle with the swirling smoke as we try to imagine what new things today will be lost during Clara’s lifetime.

It is amazing how free your mind becomes by just hanging out in the woods. The peace and solitude release the tension from your body as you just relax. Your mind wanders away from the to-do list that sits in the front of your mind.

The morning call of the loons serves as my alarm clock. I watch a private fireworks show of silver sparkles dance across the water in front of our dock as Michael tries to catch fish for breakfast. I am starting to understand why the call of the north is hard to ignore once you have lost yourself in the peace that surrounds you with such awe and beauty.

As water laps at the shoreline, my mind starts to rethink this retirement thing. Maybe we should refocus on transitioning instead. Much like a river polishing rough jagged stones into smooth pebbles over time, life’s transitions shape us. We are shaped, softened and made beautiful not by avoiding the harsh tides of life but by enduring them.

Waves crash against rocks not to destroy them but to sculpt them. The impacts and struggles of life are what carve out our inner graces and beauty. As time passes, the harsh tumbling and friction wear down the rough, sharp edges.

Farm work is difficult in its simplicity, but like the waves hitting the shoreline, it also shapes you, strengthening your resolve, creating clever solutions to tricky situations. You learn you will survive despite the storm clouds overhead.

We need to look at transitioning to different ways to use our time. I think we’re going to be hanging that sign a bit more: Gone fishing.

As their four children pursue dairy careers off the family farm, Natalie and Mark Schmitt are exploring new adventures on the farm outside of the milking barn at their farm north of Rice, Minnesota.