Peaceful, Beautiful, Spiritual

On my first morning at Flathead I had a moving experience. I felt a deep connection to all my loved ones who have gone on before me; Mother, James, Lonnie, Little Lonnie, Mr and Mrs Carrillo, all people I loved but who had no connection what so ever to Flathead Lake. Jerry looked out over the lake and said, "When you are in a peaceful beautiful spot, you can't help but be spiritual." Among all the other things it was, it was profoundly spiritual.

Like Greenleaf, as Jerry said, there were the trees, the lake, and the human beings enjoying themselves. Flathead and Greenleaf a common experience to diverse families.

Jerry and Jane drove me to Flathead Lake and spent the night on their 50th wedding anniversary before continuing their travels the following day, leaving the Gimpy Gang without them. As the book club retreat unfolded we kept going back to wondering where Jerry and Jane had got to. Did they make in into Glacier National Park? Were they home yet? We are a curious lot.

Claire, Mary, Lynn and myself, the gimpy gang, were the original charter members of book club. We barely made a whole healthy person among us. Lynn and Mary limped with bad hips and knees, Claire and I wheezed with bad lungs, but it didn't stop us. Talking or not, eating or not, reading or not, traveling or not, picnicking or not, boating or not, settled in or not, we scattered and came together like fall leaves whirling in the breeze. We always had time for a nap. A perfect book club retreat.

How terribly strange to be seventy (or nearing), book club members for 16 years, charter members, quietly sharing space, time, memories in such a stunningly beautiful location. We cooked in the kitchen with a view of the lake, smoked on the deck with a view of the lake, rocked in the living room with a view of the lake, slept in the bedroom with a view of the lake, read in the easy chairs with a view of the lake, did laundry in the laundry room with a view of the lake. Did I mention there was a view of the lake? The biggest purest lake west of the Mississippi, twenty-six miles long, fifteen miles wide, a big, big lake. Mary and Jerry are the only ones who ventured down the steep hill for a private lakeside moment.

Rain? There was an abundance. One morning it wasn't actually rain at the morning smoke bench, it was water sprinklers that had me fooled, when I went around back to the deck, the deck was dry as a bone. There were Tamarack trees, Mission Mountains, Swan Mountains, yaks, sunshine, a missed boat ride and a successful boat ride, drives into town to Walmart, and to the end of the lake for dinner. Lynn found a vest she wanted to purchase at a local gift shop that was marked free with twenty dollar purchase. Yes she found something to buy, then Mary went back in and got one for herself.

Claire said we could have ten book club meetings and not have as varied conversations as we did on this trip. Lynn cooked creatively. Mary and I reminisced thoroughly our childhoods, and our different lake experiences. Claire asked the questions like a good Claire would. She has always been our question asker.

Claire said she knew Julia and Jean were good conversationalists, and now knows Jerry to be one also. As silly as it may seem one of the things Lynn and I loved about the lake house was the abundance of plates. An endless streaming supply spilling out of the cupboards. Plates and chairs. Chairs across the back deck, around the picnic table, at the dock, around the dining room table. There was room at the table for everyone, no one would have to sit balanced on a ledge somewhere.

Sandy missed the lake experience, she missed the Dragon Boat races, we missed her, but Mary found her some Dragon Boat news in the local paper. I don't want to relive my tumble off the picnic table, nuff said about that.

Family photographs filled the house top to bottom from one end to the other. You could feel the years of family fun and activities that imbued the house with spirit and love. Children growing up, old ones passing away. The life that ebbs and flows like the shoreline of the lake, sometimes crashing like an tsunami other times peaceful as a dove.

Susan Carstensen provided us with so much more when she gifted us a week at the lake house. It all added up to more than food, fellowship, laughter, and a few tears. It added up to an experience of profound depth; as elusive as love, as grandly magnificent as the stars. An experience that cannot be weighed or measured by human standards. I think I got to know Susan a little bit on this trip. Her house is organized enough for Julia, pots and pans enough for Jean, historical enough for Jerry, I know Susan loves heart shaped rocks, cuddly throws, clean sheets, and sharing with her family. I know she loves her family.

She had a quote displayed by Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce that I found meaningful: "Let me be a free man, free to travel, free to stop, free to work, free to trade where I choose, free to choose my own teachers, free to follow the religion of my fathers, free to talk, think and act for myself -- and I will obey every law or submit to the penalty."

Thank you Susan and family who provided the rocking chairs, bear locked trash cans, books, beds, smoking sections, and plates. I'll never forget the plates, somehow metaphorical for abundance, sharing, family, food and fellowship. Somehow metaphorical for love. You made Mary all warm fuzzy and teary.


Asides to the trip:
I fell in love with the Columbia Plateau.
I saw more camouflage clothing in those five days than I think I have seen in my lifetime; Jackets, shoes, sweaters, purses, and sundry other articles. Not to mention boats, trucks and motorcycles.
It has been a long time since I did a three state road trip. I remember Arkansas, Missouri and Kansas on one food fest drive.
I still haven't looked at a map to see how the Missouri River flows.
I remember camping at Greenleaf when Ian was a baby and cranky and asleep. James and Linda were making campfire cherry turnovers, everyone was laughing too loud. I kept telling everyone "hush, don't wake up Ian." But Jeff told a joke that made everyone laugh loud enough to wake up our side of the lake, yes, he remembers the joke. Ask him.
I love those memories, that laughter, that fellowship.
That was the year Jean made all the apple pies, the year the older newly wed gentleman kept digging bottles out of the trash, washing them then filling them with wildflower arrangements. One for every table, camp, group. I love those memories.

And now Susan's book club retreat, lake house memory, is mine. I love those memories.

Blessings be with Jane and her family as they continue to watch over Joe.
Love to all.