I sat with my tea watching steam gently dance out of my little tin cup and into the periwinkle sky. I glanced across the campfire. Behind the smoke and sparks, stood Beaver. He was wrestling with a giant cedar log, trying fixedly to maneuver it into the perfect position. Once he found a suitable spot he took a step back and nodded with approval, to no one in particular. He reached over to retrieve his little axe from the snowbank beside him. I watched him absorbedly as his actions became focused. Each movement calculated and intentional. I rarely see him this way when we traverse life at home. His attention is fragmented when he sits down to conquer long division. He is mindless and disconnected when he is watching television. He is hyper emotional and panicked playing videogames. Nothing like this, this was different. This was him dialed deeply into the moment. He lined up a swing and let the axe drop. A small, perfect piece of kindling fell to the side of the cedar log. He looked up at me, fire reflected in his eyes. A wild grin spread across his face, sinking those perfect dimples into his cheeks. Beaver adjusted his cedar log and took another swing.
Being a mother is the hardest job I’ve ever had. Trying to balance work, relationships, expectations, stress, passions, and identity all while attempting to raise the next generation in a complex, digital age. I try to create time and space every day for connection with my kiddo, but we are in a constant battle with commitments, conflicting priorities, social media, and videogames. I think as parents we try and do our best with the resources that we have available to us but man, most days are freaking exhausting.
Beaver and I are very similar people. We are both passionate, intense, inattentive, short tempered and prioritize our own needs. We are both free spirits, hate being told what to do, and need space to explore and learn in our own way. I’ve found that we get along best when we are outside where we have space, are free from distractions and separated from the “business” of life.
We create opportunities to connect outside in a lot of different ways. It can be as simple as a walk around our community or having supper over a campfire in the bush. These opportunities allow for us to build connection. Our conversations are always more meaningful and honest, we explore the world and face challenges together. We found a simple way for our relationship to flourish. We also prioritize bigger adventures, all day hikes, back country canoe trips, and other exciting things so that we are granted more time and space. One of our favourite adventures has been winter camping at Quetico Provincial Park where we have found a way to embrace a long, dark, cold season and appreciate the beauty of our snow-covered wonderland. Our Quetico trip this year was particularly incredible. A powerful reminder of the importance of creating opportunities for my son and I to connect. Let me tell you about it.
We left home midafternoon and drove along the sun-soaked highways of Northwestern Ontario. We were seeking a much-anticipated weekend away in one of our favourite places. As we put distance between ourselves and the business of life, tension faded into the rearview mirror. Work and school and chores and expectations got left behind as we looked to the adventure ahead. With Johnny Cash singing in the background, it was easy to be ourselves, chat about life, solve the world’s problems and re-learn to listen to each other without distractions.
We arrived at Quetico late afternoon and drove through the park with our windows down. The sky was vibrant cerulean, the sun cast glorious rays through the pine trees, birds were singing, and little creatures scurried on top of melting snow. The world outside called to us loudly. I put the car into park. We looked at each other and grinned.
Beaver and I were staying at the Ojibway Cabin, which is a 2 km hike in from the parking area. Quetico provides a sleigh for guests to transport gear to the cabin, so we found it and loaded up. Beaver and I both brought our cross-country skis and decided to ski in. Beaver went up ahead to scout the trail and I pulled the sleigh behind him. I seriously regretted the amount of gear and food we brought, especially as I hauled the sleigh up hill. I sweat through my first layer of clothes, stripped down, sucked back some water, and continued onward.
The trails were beautifully groomed, and the conditions were perfect. The forest was hustling and alive, chipmunks preforming acrobatics on tree branches and chickadees singing welcome songs. It felt like spring was on its way. We must have been distracted with our beautiful and mesmerizing surroundings because we missed a turn and ended up at the far end of the campground. Eventually we found our enchanted little cabin on the shore of French Lake. It was so quaint and picturesque. A little wooden building nestled cozily in the trees with sparkling icicles hanging from the eves and the frozen lake, glittering beyond. We skied right up to the back door and went inside. It was cozy and warm, with the electric heater gently buzzing. Sunlight spilled in through the large sliding doors that led to a little wooden deck. Beaver threw down his bags and flopped onto the bed. We unpacked our food, rolled out our sleeping bags onto the bed and went out to explore.
We walked down from the cabin to the lake, where we noticed a little firepit. Well-worn trails were visible on the ice, so Beaver and I put our snowshoes on and set out along the shoreline. Winter sunshine was high above our heads and illuminated the snow-covered lake. The gentle crunching under our toes added to the symphony of life all around us. It was a beautiful day. We came to a small bay and made our way onto an inland trail. We talked about places we’d been and adventures we want to have in the future. By then our bellies started to rumble and we began to talk about all the delicious food that we had packed. We made our way back to the cabin to make supper.
When we got back, we collected wood and made our way down to the little fire pit. We made a campfire, set up our grill and roasted some sausages and gnocchi.
We served up our incredible feast and sat fireside to eat. Every bite, flavorful, smoky, and delightful. Food tastes so much better when it’s cooked over an open fire and enjoyed outside, especially when you get a heartfelt compliment from your ten-year-old food critic. There are no sweeter words than: “Wow! Mom, this is really good”.
By this time the sky was changing into her evening attire. Beautiful periwinkle above us and glorious gold on the horizon. The fire glowed brighter, orange flames danced in gentle wind, and sparks floated into the sky.
I had my eyes closed and I was trying to stop time because I couldn’t remember the last moment, I had felt peace this deeply. I was trying to hold on to this precious feeling and exist, just for a while, immersed in the present.
“Mama?”
The sound of Beaver’s voice pulled me from my mindful coma.
“Are you tired?”
“No buddy, I am just listening”
“Why are your eyes closed then?”
“Because it helps me listen to everything better”
He came over beside me and shuffled close. He grabbed my arm and put it around him and closed his eyes. We sat there, for a long time in front of our little fire, just listening. Sunlight disappeared below the outline of my snowshoes that were resting on the shore. We looked at each other for a second and with a squeeze hopped up and went to the cabin.
Our favourite nighttime activity while we are out camping is listening to Roald Dahl audio books. So, we crawled into our sleeping bags, planted sleepy heads onto our pillows and listened to James have adventures in his giant peach. We drifted into peaceful sleep while the stars twinkled brightly through the windows in our cozy paradise.
We woke up early. The world was still dark and cold, so I fired up my Jetboil on the deck outside and made coffee for me and hot chocolate for Beaver. We sat snuggled in our sleeping bags and watched the sun come up.
Quetico outfits the Ojibway cabin with ice fishing gear, so after we finished our morning coffee we packed up and set out in search of trout. Beaver and I hand drilled holes and set our lines. We sat in the sunshine and waited patiently, joking, laughing, and betting on who was going to catch the first fish. By about 10:00 am we were getting hungry, and we hadn’t caught anything. It was so beautiful and warm that we didn’t want to leave so, I hiked back to the cabin to get food and our cooking gear.
When I got back Beaver was trying to hand drill a hole all by himself. He worked hard and eventually got the auger through the thick ice. He set up a new line and with a triumphant skip, went out to check the rest of our lines. I love watching him build independence and develop new skills outside.
I stayed back and set up a chef’s station in the middle of French Lake. I made bacon and pancakes for breakfast that we enjoyed sitting in the snow. It was hands down the most wonderful breakfast I’ve ever had. Smoky bacon, fluffy pancakes, and maple syrup… each bite savored in fresh air and warm sunshine.
With no fish by lunchtime, we decided to pack up. Beaver wanted to head out for a ski that afternoon, so we changed, grabbed a snack, got our skis, and hit the trails.
We came back to our cabin late in the day. Beaver had his mind set to chop up wood for kindling. He’d been talking about it for the last hour, and I had been weighing out what my response was going to be. Sometimes I’m reluctant to let my inattentive kiddo wield an axe, but out here we had nothing but time, and I had plenty of attention to give him. So, I said yes. We reviewed safety and technique, and I let him go for it. I watched him for a long time, figuring things out for himself, missing the wood, swinging too hard, getting his axe stuck. But eventually he got it and produced a great little pile of kindling. I watched him with pride and was able to share in his joy when he proved to himself, he was capable. He then set up the fire and lit it all by himself.
We had another delicious supper and sat around attempting to roast the perfect golden-brown marshmallow, a long-standing contest to see who can cook the best one without burning it. Beaver became quiet and reflective and then started talking…
“Mom, we need to talk”
“Oh yeah, buddy, what about?”
“Sex, Mom”
Inside I freaked out and tried desperately to play it cool.
“What do you want to know about sex, buddy?” I nervously inquired.
He grinned and replied
“Everything”
I will save you the details, but Beaver and I had a long discussion about birds, bees, consent, relationships, responsibilities, and kindness. I don’t know what made the conversation flow so easily, but while the fire cracked and sparks flew into the sky, we just talked, and it was incredible. After marshmallows and sex talk, we walked out onto the lake for sunset. We watched the horizon light up once more with orange and pink and sat quietly as light seeped out of the world.
We played cards late into the night and went outside to watch the night sky twinkle. We found constellations and searched for shooting stars to wish upon. I remember looking at Beaver and thinking about how grateful I was to have this incredible little human in my life. A beautiful wild spirit, who was able to find his happy and reach his potential in the snow, dirt, water, and wilderness.
When we woke up the next morning, we made coffee and hot chocolate and ate cheese buns for breakfast. We took our time packing and made our way back home with full hearts. The adventure, the time spent, lessons learned, important conversations, the laughter, and the fun. Memories I will cherish forever.
Despite the stress and challenges of parenting, Quetico reminded me of the space we need to create to ensure that the business of life doesn’t consume our most precious relationships. We need to find what works so we have energy and patience to help our children find their own way. We need to remember that being out on the land and simple things are what create peace, happiness, and joy.
I hope that when Beaver looks back on his childhood, he remembers all the happy we shared. I hope that he remembers that I tried to teach him patience, determination, kindness, and love. I hope he remembers the late night snuggles, star gazing, conversations about life by the campfire and each time we did hard things together. Every cast, every axe swing, every hike, I hope a little memory of me lies with him in the happy he creates for himself outside in wild places.
Getting Lost on The 49th 