MAY 16, 2022 – Blogger’s note: I must take another break from The Grand Odyssey to recount the delight that my wife and I enjoyed last weekend.
Recently, our six-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter asked, “Can I go to the cabin?” On Friday, we seized the initiative, and after getting the green light from Illiana’s parents, my wife and I headed with her to our place on Grindstone Lake in northwest Wisconsin, three hours away.
We arrived after nightfall, and after helping us unload the car, Illiana re-familiarized herself with the cabin—and stuffed animal menagerie of wilderness inhabitants. She readjusted quickly to her cozy surroundings.
Saturday brought marvelous weather. Emulating the sunshine, Illiana reveled in everything. She was wholly engaged with the features that make our Shangri-La . . . a Shangri-La.
She led us on multiple, woodland hikes; imagined old tree stumps as castles; drew treasure maps in her “tree palace”; helped Grandma clean screens, plant flowers, and bake cookies; helped me remove over 50 bud caps from pine seedlings in the tree garden and plant a dozen hemlocks; saw the moon sailing high among the stars; listened to bedtime stories on the porch, as loon calls echoed across the lake water and toads sang in spring wetlands behind the cabin.
Illiana brought us smiles when my wife and I watched her standing on the berm along the lakeshore and tossing sticks and stones into the lake. Her silhouette was enhanced by her props—a “princess parasol” and a “Moana” backpack containing books, markers, and note-paper. Nothing dilutes an older person’s troubles more surely than watching a child at innocent, uninhibited play.
Most precious, however, was Illiana’s kindness.
While she and I sat on the sun-splashed patio in front of the cabin, lunch plates in hand, waiting for my wife to join us, Illiana saw me take a bite of my potato salad. “Grandpa,” she said, “wait for Grandma before you start eating. You don’t want to hurt Grandma’s feelings.”
When Illiana and I were deep in the woods and came upon a group of delicate wildflowers, she knelt down to admire them. “Is it okay to pick two?” she asked.
“Uh-huh.”
She handed one to me and said, “This one’s for you, Grandpa.” She gave me the other and said, “And keep this one for Grandma.”
Farther down the path, she sang “Do-Re-Mi” from The Sound of Music. Before our hike was over, she . . . and I . . . sang it together countless times. Forgotten were the disturbing headlines I’d read over morning coffee.
Then there was the tick scare—and tick turnaround. Before supper on Saturday, a tick-check revealed four ticks on Illiana. She was terrorized. Yet, after cajoling and confidence-building by my wife and me—supplemented with tick repellant and pants tucked into socks—Illiana led us on a long, after-dinner hike. By Sunday, she was so nonchalant that upon discovering something on the back of her neck, she said, “Grandma, I think I have a tick on my neck.” There was, and the tick was easily removed without incident.
My favorite scene featured more attractive insects. Behind the cabin, two small, iridescent moths flitted among “fiddlestick” ferns. As Illiana chased the magical creatures, I smiled at the future.
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
