“Believe me my young friend, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.” Kenneth Grahame, ‘The Wind in the Willows’
These words about messing about in boats were inscribed on a small round disk placed near the tree where we recently buried the ashes of Jeff, my husband’s brother. Jeff loved to sail. Growing up he sailed the family catamaran on Lake Minnetonka. He sailed a Sunfish with his friend Kelly on Lake Harriet. And we owned a small, red Bombardier sailboat with him for awhile. We sailed it on Gull Lake where the family had a cabin. It could be a wet and wild ride. There is something so good and healing about messing about in boats.
Jeff’s wife, Gina, also chose these words about boats because Jeff’s favorite book was “The Wind in the Willows.” Gina shared that when they began dating, he read aloud to her the entirety of Grahame’s classic. This is how Jeff, a University of Minnesota fraternity boy, captured her heart.
The day of the burial our family walked together a path in the woods near Scandia. After getting to Jeff’s tree, the staff explained how we would be mixing Jeff’s ashes with the soil from the forest so the tree would better accept the ashes. We took turns mixing ash, soil and dried flowers together. Then the mixture was placed in a nest near the roots of the tree. Each of us took a turn to place ashy soil and parts of our souls in the hole. Gina had chosen Cat Steven’s “Oh Very Young” to be playing as we planted. Yes, “the goodbye makes the journey harder still.”
The tree where Jeff’s ashes were placed around was near a small lake. You could see the glitter of the sun on the waves through the leaves on nearby trees. Scott, another brother, read a poem, “The Gift of Water”, written by their grandmother, Helen. He read this poem just after Gina watered the soil around the tree.
The poem reads in part,
“Water—
Carrying the cup of life,
Splash of a child’s laughter,
The salt of grief . . .
Bearing the burden
Of insuring our survival . . “
I often find myself drawn to water like Jeff was. The week before his burial at the end of August, Tim and I spent the week camping on the shores of Lake Superior in Ontario. One of our favorite spots was Neys Provincial Park. We hiked the Point and Under the Volcano Trails. The first part of the trail was easy with stunning views of the lake. The Under the Volcano part of the hike took us deeper into the forest with some trees and rocks to climb over. I have to say this part was more challenging.
At the end of the trail, we found ourselves on a large rock outcropping with stunning views of Lake Superior. On the outcropping we found the remains of two wooden boats. The boats had belonged to the Pigeon River Logging Company. During WWII, Neys had been a prisoner of war camp and many of the men worked for the lumber firm. The boats had been used to transport prisoners and supplies.
I wondered if those men enjoyed messing around in these boats? It seems that many did, at least according to the provincial park literature. One piece boasted that Canada had an incredible honor system in its treatment of prisoners and that many of the men returned to live there following their release.
Where will we return to after our release? As I think about this question I remember some old wooden boats on a rocky outcropping in Ontario and a tree near a shoreline in a forest near Scandia. They are reminders for me to take some time for messing about. And in my head these days a song echoes on,
Oh very young, what will you leave us this time
You’re only dancin’ on this earth for a short while
Oh very young, what will you leave us this time
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