The dark waters of Lac des Mille Lac rapidly fill my blue metal container. Giving a mighty heave, I pull the bucket up and swing it onto the dock. This is my dish/hand washing water supply that I will boil and use. You could call it my “running water,” since either Dick or I have to run up and down a hill to transport it.
Out across the lake a pair of loons bob on the waves. I watch them dive, resurface and disappear. Then I return to the task of water carrying and lug the big container up the path to the cabin, thinking of how lucky I am to be able to enjoy this beautiful spot.
Water splashes from the pail, so I stop for a minute and readjust my grip. A sudden thought crosses my mind.
What am I doing?
I could be home in Grand Marais with all the conveniences of the modern world…running water… electricity… indoor plumbing… but I am here lugging water up a hill. It seems totally crazy.
That evening, neighbors stop for a visit, and I throw the question at them. Why are we here? No one has an answer, although the husband suggests I want to get in touch with my inner “pioneer.”
I confess that “roughing it” at Lac is nowhere near like “roughing it” on Tucker Lake 40 years ago. Technology has made wilderness living easier. I now have a gas refrigerator with the capability to make ice within an hour and a half. I thoroughly enjoy my new propane gas oven/stove that lights without matches and don’t know how I’d heat up my morning donut without my small microwave. Admittedly these luxuries have a price tag. They need either a generator or propane tank and both take some work.
But the fact is I don’t mind living without amenities. I enjoy “roughing it,” but can’t explain why.
The evening’s dishwashing chore gives me a partial answer. As I prepare to wash dishes, first heating the water, then setting out a dishwashing pan and a rinsing pan, I remember doing the exact same thing during my farm childhood. I hated it!
It had seemed the worst fate in the world— having to wash and dry dishes in containers on the kitchen table. I recall how happy my sister and I were when we moved to Minneapolis where we could do the dishes in a sink.
Yet here I am many years later not exactly enjoying but not minding the soapy water and the act of rinsing and drying plates. As I work, I gaze out at a beautiful cedar grove and listen to the evening calls of chickadees as the peace of twilight falls.
And maybe there’s the answer to my question. Here on this remote lake, life is a slower and less stressful than the rest of the world.
I’m not certain. Maybe someone else has an answer.
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