Agawa Bay

Sometimes there are moments that creep up really quietly, but then hit you with such a force, that you are undone and overwhelmed.  You never expected it to be that powerful, even if you may see it coming. Sometimes there is nothing that will prepare you for how your heart will respond. This very thing just happened. 

Since the time that our boys were very little, we made it a point every August, to take a long summer camping trip to Canada. It was a given.  It's what we did. Every. Single. Year.  We didn't always have a lot of extra money and this was a way we could connect and spend time together outside of our normal hussle of life.  We would spend the days hiking, jumping off rocks into waterfalls, and exploring the beautiful land around us.  We would swim in the incredibly cold Lake Superior until we had no more feeling in our bodies. We would sit by campfires for hours telling stories. We would pack picnics and we would take a whole day finding adventure.  It was a time we poured into ourselves as a family.  If you were to talk to our boys about memories as kids, Canada would surely be at the top of their list.  It surely is at the top of mine.

Well, as time always does, it changed things.  When the boys got into High School, it was no longer feasible to take the long August camping trips.  Extracurricular commitments took priority, and sadly, from necessity, the Canada camping trips faded out.  It's what happens.  It's called life.

Suddenly, this past week, my husband, who is the most spontaneous person I have ever known, decided we should take a short trip to Canada.  Back to the place we have not been in ten long years, Agawa Bay. So, we cleared our schedule for three days and made it happen.  We packed up our little camper and hit the road.  It is about a seven-hour drive to reach this magical place.  When we arrived at our campsite it was dark, and it started pouring rain just as we pulled in. It was fine by us. We happily hunkered down in our camper, with a battery-powered lantern and played two games of Kings in the Corner. Then we went to sleep, anxious to get up the next day and go visit all the places we had been so many years before.  We only had three days.  Not near enough time, but it is all we could muster this trip and we meant to make it count. 

The next morning we had campfire coffee and breakfast, and then we were off. It was then, in the light of day, the moment hit.  A moment I had suspected would happen, but not the force with which it came.  The power of all the memories took my breath away and brought on a litany of tears; remembering when.  Everywhere I looked, I saw and heard my little boys. Their little ghosts of "remember when" running and laughing and growing up, summer by summer.  I saw their little feet running down the beach with their towels tied around their necks like capes.  I saw their little chairs around the campfire and their colorful kites flying in the sky. I saw them building Tom Sawyer-type rafts and paddling out to the rock island. I heard their laughter and goading as they dared each other to jump off higher and higher rocks, into beautiful Sand River Falls.  I listened in on all the conversations and scary campfire stories that were once told.  I heard the strum of the guitar. I saw the stones still lining the shore, the ones we collected for keeps, and the ones we skipped across the water at sunset.  I felt the icy water with my feet and remembered how the wind would be squeezed from our lungs as we made that first plunge of the year. I saw the path where we stirred up the swarm of bees during a hike and thanked the Lord again that he wasn't allergic.  Everywhere.  In all the places we revisited, there they were. My boys.  My family. My memories. It was like it was still happening at that very moment, but also seemed like a lifetime ago.  

As Mike and I sat on the beach that second night, watching the sunset, we were swallowed up in emotion.  Emotion we hadn't expected. The nostalgia of it all was overwhelming. We sat in a daze of peaceful silence. There were no words spoken or needed for what we were feeling, and sharing.  This little piece of the world holds so much of our Motcheck history. It brought us together as a family year after year. It refueled us, refreshed us, cemented us. It built who we are more than we ever realized.  If you could see the puzzle pieces that fit and hold us together as a family unit, a pretty big corner piece of that puzzle would be these moments, here in this place. I believe the power source of this moment that we found ourselves caught up in, was time. The span from when we had last been in this place until now wasn't something we looked at every day, and suddenly we saw how fast it had gone.  We hadn't seen it for ten years. Suddenly, all at once, we could see it, hear it, feel it.

It was then thought about all the cottages back home in Michigan. Cottages we have had the privilege of servicing as clients of our plumbing business for as long as we have been in business.  Many of them have old aging sienna or black and white photos hanging on their walls. Generations and generations of family laughing and playing and posing for photographs with chubby babies in kitchen sinks, and adults lounging in the sun. It is part of what makes their place, their cottages so special to them.  The time spent there. The people gathered. The memories. As I sat there on the beach in the setting sun, with my husband's arm around me, I felt that these memories we were wading through, have in their own way, become a black-and-white photo of our life.  A moment now gone by, but so worth remembering, because of the joy the moment had brought with it.  

It was also during this very sunset, when were once again able to find our words, we vowed to one day bring our whole family back here. Our boys, our new daughters, and someday the grandbabies yet to come.  We vowed to let this place be what it is, a place that holds part of our history with black-and-white memories of old, and also a place that pulses waiting for the new memories yet to come.  A place that restores, refreshes, refuels, and cements us as a family.  A place where new little feet will run down the beach, and fly colorful kites in the sky. A place where they will laugh and squeal with excitement as they take the first icy cold dip of the year. A place where we will skip stones on the water, and gather some for home. We will pack picnics, jump into waterfalls, watch sunsets, and tell campfire stories. We will build on the history we started a generation ago. 

That night we prayed and thanked God for the blessings this place has brought to our lives and also for the blessings it has yet to bring. I don't know what sparked the fire in Mike to want to make this trip after all this time, but I do know, we won't wait as long to go back.