The Spirit of the Place

There are those moments when you feel, when you know at a deep level, you are not in your usual place. There are places—different for each of us—that are special in a soul-satisfying way. There are reasons, usually experiential, sometimes beyond our knowing, why we connect with a certain place.

On the last evening of May, we stopped at Rookie Pond after hours of traveling—we were within miles of our destination, but it is a favorite ‘sunset’ place to take in the beauty of the Northwoods. Breathing in the North air, I felt a strange combination of relaxation and excitement at the same time. I was not in my usual place!

The wildness of the Northwoods (the ubiquitous term describing the northern woodlands of Minnesota, Wisconsin, Maine, and other northern states) is humbling. We are the guests in this land—it is proper for us to take cues from it and to show respect and appreciation to our host. This is home to wolves, moose, black bears, and other creatures—it is their place. (The next day we saw picture proof of a black bear crossing the highway not far from this lookout the day before we arrived.)

A beaver’s lodge was prominently placed in the lake—not for our eyes but for its purposes. Nature’s great architect and builder goes about the business of being a beaver.

Our destination was KoWaKan, the Methodist camp that was the summer home for our daughter Emily and our son Aaron for a combination of eight or nine summers. Staff and campers live in large canvas tents on wood platforms, and most groups leave KWK to canoe and camp in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA) Wilderness nearby. We arranged our sleeping bags and blankets on the cots, anticipating nighttime temperatures in the 40’s. Chris was sleeping before it was dark, and I crept into the tent with my lantern a bit later after leaving the campfire. I put on my layers of sleeping clothes—two pairs of socks, long-john pants, three layers of shirts/fleeces, and a wool stocking cap. I found myself smiling in the dark—I was so happy to be there. The frogs were singing, and the loons were calling on the lake right down the hill. But I couldn’t get to sleep. I kept getting colder. Drat! I would have to get up and put on more clothes. So I climbed out of bed, added gloves and another layer of leggings, rearranged my wool blanket to go under and over my sleeping bag, then climbed back in. The cold still crept into my toes, onto my nose, throughout my bones. I wasn’t sleeping, and I was no longer smiling. I brainstormed ways to get warmer with what we had left in the tent—all would mean getting out of my sleeping bag. Then the driving force to action struck me—the need to use the outhouse. Ugh. Boots, lantern, shivers, and I was out in the woods. But when I looked up at the sky in our tent clearing, I found the gift to my cold discomfort. The stars were a shining, masterpiece mural across the dark sky! The Milky Way swept its splendor of billions of stars in a high arch above my head. A shooting star fell before my eyes. Well then!

I slept fitfully the rest of the night until the early morning (34 degrees!) light lit the path to the outhouse. A huge anthill was piled up beside the path—home for the ants. (Did you know that bears will swipe off the top of an ant hill and eat the tiny, protein-packed ants?)

It was time to get to work! Opening camp for the season includes setting up tents, putting tarps over tents to prevent sun damage, cutting brush and firewood, raising the tarp roof over the kitchen and tent-drying areas, getting outhouses in shape, setting up cots and the kitchen, and many other things. The three staff members and other KWK helpers had started the process before we arrived, but there was plenty of work left to be done. But first, it was coffee time. What to do with coffee beans and no grinder? The flat axe head didn’t work that well, but our friend Luke’s idea of a large rock and some muscle power from Luke and Aaron soon had the coffee ground up and perking in the pot! A KWK mortar and pestle.

Section 12 is the source of beauty, of singing, of solitude, of sustenance, and of cleanliness for all who dwell in this place. One greets the lake upon rising, and the lake reciprocates. It is a prayer for one another—the greeter and the lake, and for all who eat, work, worship, and sleep on her shores.

Water is gathered with a hand pump from the lake, boiled, and put into pans for washing and rinsing dishes and hands. It is a life of simplicity, of routine, and of physical work in service to oneself and others.

We had noisy neighbors called Gray Jays during our meals. They are known for their brashness in stealing human food from campsites. They were watching us and our plates!

Another frequent visitor to the kitchen is chipmunks. They scour the ground under the picnic tables for bits of dropped food. I found an eating place of theirs along the trail where fir cone shells were left in a pile after the seeds were eaten.

Most of the year, KoWaKan belongs only to those who inhabit the woodlands and lakes—the bears, Jays, wolves, and chipmunks. It is their place. For three months of summer, we are guests of their land. It is a special place, not only for the memories our children and decades of campers have gathered, but also for the intrinsic spirit of the place. KoWaKan means ‘Place of the Almighty.’

Where is the place that satisfies your soul? The place that floods you with memories and brings a smile to your face? Those places teach us the business of being ourselves, where life is simple and hard, all at the same time. Those places challenge us, yet give us unexpected gifts. We use our minds and bodies in work and problem-solving, serving ourselves and others. May you be blessed in your special place.