Kathleen M. Basi's Blog, page 38

Unrecognized Blessings

Julianna’s Sure Steps inserts, which cost way more than you’d think. Step aside, Prada.

It was fifteen minutes until Mass started, and we couldn’t find Julianna’s shoes.

Or more accurately, one of her shoes.

Now, to understand the full significance of this, you have to realize, first, that Alex was serving and he was supposed to be at church fifteen minutes ahead of time—and second, that Julianna only owns one pair of shoes.

So when Julianna is missing a shoe, it is a big deal. With the boys, I’d just say, “Whatever! It’s 80 degrees outside, go barefoot!” (Although probably not to church.) But Julianna walks on the inside of her feet. Barefoot is not a good idea.

I get very stressed when I get pressured. If I leave myself plenty of time, I can get the kids out of the house by myself without raising my voice at all. But put me in a last-minute situation, and I completely lose my head. With one shoe and insert perched at the top of the staircase, and the other one MIA, I tried to trace backwards and remember when and where it was that I saw her limping around the house with one shoe on and one foot bare—but my brain froze. And I kind of panicked.

Christian, disgusted, ordered me to the car to take Alex ahead while he looked for the missing shoe.

Alex was too late to serve, which would have crushed him except that we ended up getting to sit next to his BFF. Christian arrived in the middle of the opening song and managed to find us, tucked into the middle of the crowded church where we never ordinarily sit. But there wasn’t room in our pew, so he and the younger three sat behind me, while Alex and his bestie sat a row ahead of me.

And I had no one to supervise during Mass.

I took advantage of the rare mental space to try to focus on the prayers in a way I normally am not able to. I noticed the undercurrent of children’s voices undulating beneath the liturgical action—so many, many children. I knew we had lots of families, but I’d never appreciated before how just how many—how young our parish is, when so many parishes are aging out.

And thus sensitized, I realized anew how rich my life is. The fact that all the chaos around me is a result of that richness, that it flows from the outpouring of blessings I almost never take time to appreciate. If I hadn’t been given so much, I wouldn’t have so much to do.

It was a beautiful moment that made the rest of the day look a little more placid and colorful than usual.

And in case you’re wondering about the mysterious hiding place of the shoe?

It was in her closet.

Mental Space (or: Why I Had Such A Hard Summer)

We didn’t go on any field trips this year.

This has been bothering me all summer. For the last several years, this has been the structure of our summers, and it’s something the kids look forward to. As the summer unfolded, I couldn’t figure out why we couldn’t make it work. There was really nothing so different this year from prior years. Like last year, we had two kids in summer school; like last year, we had swim lessons; like last year, we had two kids in baseball. But we did field trips last year. What’s the difference this year?

Photo by topgold, via Flickr

It goes farther back than that, actually. I was kind of a hot mess in April and May as well, but in April and May I thought it was going to settle down once all the end-of-year concerts and events were over. I kept wailing to Christian, “This baseball season is so much more intense than last year!”

He protested. “How is it more intense? It’s the same as last year.”

All I knew was that all through the month of June, I felt on the verge of breakdown. I chalked it up to two things: 1) Christian coaching, and 2) preparing for the big trip to Grand Rapids—a big summer vacation was one thing we did not do last year. Because that trip was doing triple duty—family vacation, travel writing, and music conference—the bulk of the prep work was on me.

The summer improved dramatically once we got on the road, but even afterward, there were no field trips. I just could not get it together.

Now, why am I sharing all this with you? Because my spiritual director offered me an insight yesterday that I think might be as illuminating to others as it was to me.

She suggested that as children develop their own lives and interests, there becomes more for Mom (or primary caregiver) to keep track of. There may not be more running around than there was before, but there’s more mental energy required.

This was a light bulb moment for me. When they were littler we stayed busy, but our lives and worlds were wholly intertwined. We were one unit, a streamlined process.

These days, as logistics mom, I’m constantly making and adjusting plans, trying to figure out how to get my own needs met around the edges of theirs. And trying to help them be successful at learning to be responsible for their own equipment, for instance. You know what I mean: it takes far more mental energy to get four kids to remember to bring all the things they need—snack, water bottle, baseball bag—than it is for me to pack it all myself. But they need to learn responsibility. The upshot? Not only do I have to make sure everything gets in the car, I have to make sure somebody else has thought it through and put it in the car. Which means remembering everything not once, but three or four or five times (because every parent knows that no kid remembers everything with one reminder).

In other words, we’re not physically doing more. It’s just all taking much, much more mental space.

This all makes perfect sense to me. Doing has rarely flipped me out. But I have a finite amount of mental energy. If I’m expending most of it trying to corral the masses and remember everything for everyone, plus teach them how to remember it themselves, all while still trying to do my work-from-home schtick?

Photo by eamoncurry123, via Flickr

Well, it’s no wonder I felt like I was on the verge of breakdown. We’re not meant to run at full brain capacity 24/7.

And it makes sense, too, why Christian wouldn’t have felt the difference, because he didn’t have nearly as much of that brain-logistics dynamic to deal with, because he’s not the at-home parent.

There aren’t any solutions in this insight, but at least now I know there’s a reason for how I felt. I no longer think I’m a) crazy for feeling this way, or worse: b) a whiner.

Who, Me?

Photo by Matthieu Bertrand Struck, via Flickr

I have lots of opinions.

I’m sure this comes as no surprise to anyone reading this blog. But living with a public relations officer has taught me to think before I speak. (Usually.) Especially when people come up to me at ordinations and conventions and say, “I read your blog.” Mine is a Bumbo chair in a little tiny corner of the e-universe…and yet it is not without impact. I have a responsibility.

It’s surprising to find myself in this place, truthfully. I struggle with pride, and yet so often I smack up against the inadequacy of my knowledge and understanding—my total lack of qualification to issue judgments on any subject. When I was first approached about doing a column for Liguorian magazine, I remember clearly that my first reaction—quickly squelched—was: “Who, me?”

That reaction bubbles up when I see Facebook discussions and email arguments debates (my family specializes in those), and in my gut reactions to things I see on the news. I know what I think. But too many times I’ve taken an absolute position on things, only to feel like a real jackass when the context or the ripple effects become clear, and I realize that what seemed clear-cut is anything but.

I try not to react anymore.

I try to think my way through things, ask the questions, look for the mitigating circumstances. Usually, it takes me about two seconds to realize I don’t know enough to have an educated opinion in the first place. I don’t participate much in online discussions, partly because I know how much I don’t know, and partly because I don’t think anybody’s really listening anyway. Most of the time I just absorb as things unfold, trying to sort through the nuances until I come to some sort of reasoned conclusion—which is usually that both sides of an argument have a point, even if one far outweighs the other.

People throughout the publishing world—both music and fiction/nonfiction—often bemoan the amount of trash that gets sent out into the world. “It’s so easy to make something look professional these days,” they say. “It’s easy to fall in love with how pretty your piece of music/short story/essay looks on the page, and not view it with a critical eye.”

The same thing applies in the way we interact online. It’s beautifully easy to grace the entire world with my opinion. And it looks so nice on the screen. And I love to see how many “likes” or retweets come out of it. But wrestling with the topic of diversity has made me realize how easy it is to surround ourselves primarily with people who always agree with us, who never challenge us to question our assumptions—who never, in short, invite us to become more than we already are.

We could use a little more “Who, me?” in our world. A little more acknowledgment that the world is a complex place and that our view of it is only a little sliver, after all. That the insight and experiences of others can inform as well as unsettle our dearly-held convictions, and that we will be better human beings for it.

Extreme Prayer With the Basi Brood

In grade school, I had a principal who had once been a sister—at least, so I was told. The main thing I remember about her is how particular she

was about how we recited prayers as a school. I remember one day we all sat down in the church, and the teachers handed out cards in which the spaces between the phrases had been replaced by slashes and double slashes. She made us practice choral speaking until we all said them in unison.

I think about this many nights now at bedtime, when my brood is sprawled out in various positions around whichever room we’ve occupied.

There’s Alex: “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

And Nicholas: _________OURFATHERWHOARTINHEAVENHALLOWEDTHYNAME…”

And Julianna: “(off in la la land) “Oh! Our, Fadder, who art…”

And Michael, his hands folded, looking cherubic until the middle of the prayer, when one of his parents realizes he’s not speaking at all and scolds: “Michael!” At which point he picks up slowly and deliberately: “Die kinndom come, die wih-ohh be done…” And then, to wrap it up, he says, “In duh name of faddah and-a-son, and-a hoh-wy speet. Amen. What are we pwaying foh?” After which everyone fidgets and fights. (”I already prayed for that!” “I can pray for Father Brooke, too!” “No, you can’t!”)

I must admit: frequently, prayer time does not feel terribly prayerful in my house.

On the other hand, it’s very real.

For a long time, I felt guilty because we don’t do the whole on-our-knees-around-the-bed thing. That’s how I grew up. Christian rolled his eyes, because he grew up with bedtime prayers in bed. To me, it was one of those “the posture influences the attitude” things. To him, it just feels legalistic. But he’s learned to tell everyone to “find a quiet spot.” That way all the fighting for who gets to sit on Mom’s lap/with Mom’s arm around them (and elbowing Mom’s most sensitive body parts) is done before we start.

Truthfully, my mind wanders every bit as much when I’m on my knees as it does in any other position: prone, supine, criss-cross applesauce on the edge of a bluff…for me, prayer has by default become more catch-as-can than I would like. There’s a fine line to walk between accepting the season of life for what it is and settling for mediocrity.

So lately, when things get just a little too beat-em-up, big brother (”hallowed be thy—STOP KICKING ME! MOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM, HE KICKED ME!”) or a little too distracted (like the one who likes to sit on top of the rocking horse and gallop his way through the prayer), I’ve been yelling, “STOP IT! WAIT A MINUTE!” And when dead silence falls in the room, I say, “We’re going to start over, and we’re going to say this like a ***prayer.”

It’s a place to start, anyway.

Why Do Women Do It? Vanity Fair’s Article on The Hookup Culture

Photo by origamidon, via Flickr

This article, “Tinder And the Dawn of the Dating Apocalypse,” was shared on my Facebook feed last night. I’ve heard about the hookup culture, but this lengthy and detailed look at it was truly nauseating. I’m going to let it speak for itself today and offer the combox for thoughts and discussion, if others feel so inclined. I only ask this: if this is how young women experience sex, why are they going for the hookup culture? If what is laid out in this article is the common experience, women are getting neither physical nor emotional fulfillment out of this. They are hurling themselves onto the altar of objectification and getting absolutely nothing from it. Why?

Why I Love Both Catholic AND Public Education

When I contemplated parenthood, certain things were never a question. For instance: I knew my kids would go to Catholic school. To be honest, having grown up in Catholic grade school and worked in a Catholic grade school, as well as subbing in the public schools, I was a little snotty about it. The Catholic school community prides itself on higher academic standards and better behaved kids, and I was all over that. Insufferably so, I’m afraid.

Then Julianna came along, and we found ourselves immersed in public education. As she begins the second grade, she is in her seventh year in the public schools. And it has been eye-opening. We spent a year in conversation with the public and the Catholic school, trying to determine if Julianna could attend. By the time that process was over, I was relieved to be told the Catholic school couldn’t serve her, because I was already such a fan of her public school.

So we are in an unusual position: kids in Catholic school, a child in public school gifted program, a kid in special ed in the public schools, and now a kid serving as a “peer model” in the early childhood special ed program. We’ve got the spectrum pretty well covered.

So I thought I’d start this new school year by sharing why I love BOTH Catholic AND public education.

Image by gordontour, via Flickr

I love Catholic education because it’s Catholic. I love the fact that Christ is central to the school’s mission, that conflict resolution and behavior can be approached through the lens of faith and the dignity due to all people as children of God. I love that my boys get to learn in an environment where faith can be integrated into all areas of life and knowledge. In theory, at least, they are being formed without the false dichotomy that makes so many people view faith and reason as fundamentally at odds.

If the academic work is at a higher level, well, that’s icing on the cake, but it’s not the reason the school exists, and it’s certainly not why I send my kids there.

Image via Pixabay

I love public education because of its inclusivity. I do not doubt that there are kids at Julianna’s school whose families have made life choices deeply at odds with what we believe. It’s all but certain that as she gets older, she will be exposed to behaviors and attitudes we will find tremendously problematic.

But that’s not all bad. I am grateful that I went to public high school, where I was smacked in the face with things that challenged my insular view of the world…before I left home and the support network of my strong-in-faith parents. There’s a danger in insulating ourselves from people who see the world differently than we do. It’s hard to empathize with vastly different life experiences if all we ever hear from the people we hang around with is an echo of our own outlook on the world. It’s harder to recognize the validity of experiences that are different from our own. Harder to escape slipping into an attitude of exclusivity.

I love public education because Julianna has the chance to interact with kids of different races—lots of kids. Lots of different races. Her schoolmates, unlike those at the Catholic school, have the chance to actually interact on a meaningful level with kids with disabilities of all kinds, and break down some of those barriers.

I love public education because I’ve seen the heroic efforts made by the teachers, the genuine care they have for their students, some of whom are coming to school without proper breakfast or rest or even a secure home. I’ve seen the way Julianna’s school administrators work together to encourage families to get involved and to build community.

For all the criticism surrounding it, public education is a monumental accomplishment. The fact that they can do so much with the challenges they face? Pretty amazing, if you ask me.

So yes, I send my boys to Catholic school. But I am thrilled beyond what I can share with the experience my daughter has had in the public school system. And today I wanted to take the time to say so.

Searching For A New Balance On The Cusp of A New School Year

Photo by hdc., via Flickr

The summer of 2015, in our family, breaks down like this:

Phase 1 (up to July 4): Baseball and summer school.

Phase 2 (July 4-Aug. 17): Major travel and recovery.

The past several years I’ve structured the summer around weekly field trips, but this year we didn’t do a single one. Even now I’m not quite sure how that happened. Just like every year, I had a list of trips scribbled on the first Sunday of June—but we never seemed able to get out of town.

The past several years, I’ve also cut back on work assignments in the summer, knowing I would need to be more present to the kids. But this year even my low expectations kept being undercut, to the point where I felt like I was accomplishing nothing at all.

I was in a foul mood for all of Phase 1 this summer, and I dreaded being asked “How’s your summer going?” (I’m kind of bad at those social white lies. When people asked me that question, they usually got an epistle for an answer. Not OK, Kate. Not OK.)

With the big trip to Grand Rapids, the summer took a turn for the better: more productive, less harried, more enjoyable. But I had a short list of kid projects that I wanted to accomplish: 1. move the kids into new rooms and 2. get Nicholas off his training wheels.

We finished the first of those…yesterday. And only because Christian devoted a major portion of the last two weekends to it.

The second? Haven’t even started.

Clearly, our family life is changing. I don’t understand why this year is troublesome for field trips and summer projects. We’ve been doing baseball for five years now, and swim lessons just as long. We ought to be freer in our scheduling now that Michael is older. Yet something about the kids growing has flipped us into a new stage, and I haven’t figured out how to balance all the pieces yet.

It’s not just the family schedule that needs balance, either. It’s me. I’m finding myself reactive, not just with the kids, but to the structures that dictate their lives. Taking offense at circumstances. Angry with unreasonable requirements and inconveniences. Wanting to pick fights and go on crusades to overhaul institutions that I never before thought had any need for it.

I don’t want to be That Parent. Always before, I’ve reserved that title for people who think their kids walk on water and are never in the wrong. But now I see the potential for me to become a different kind of That Parent: one who, well, goes picking fights and undertaking questionable crusades to overhaul institutions, whether or not they need it. I mean, everybody’s inconvenienced by the requirements surrounding schools and sports teams. Where do you draw the line between “this needs to change, and I happen to have the cojones to undertake the fight” and “this is just the way it is; deal with it”?

I’m in need of a new balance in my life. The balance of the past several years is no longer viable, and I don’t want to be incapable of joy in the moment because I’m too busy grousing about the incidentals. I want to do as people are constantly telling me, and enjoy my kids. Which means enjoying everything that surrounds having kids, too.

I have a feeling this soul searching is going to define the next several months, and perhaps years, of my life.

An Update On Our Screen Time Experiment

Photo by theloushe, via Flickr

A while back, I posted about my new policy toward kids and screen time. Since we’ve been at it for about six weeks, I thought I’d take a minute to share how it’s going.

1. I’m using screen time less as a babysitter. It used to be that we had frequent fights over who got the iPad and when for “educational” games. The kids knew they could wring extra screen time out of me in order to read on MyOn or do Park Math. Apps as educational tools is a real thing, but it’s really easy to abuse, and it ended up being more a stress and source of conflict than it was a help to my children.

I haven’t figured out how to approach this in a new way yet, because I don’t think lumping educational apps into screen time is a sustainable path. But for now, we’re just not doing it.

2. We don’t have to drag the electronics on short-ish trips, either. Yesterday we went to Kansas City for the day; lately we’ve been letting the kids use the iPad on the highway, and it was another invitation for them to whine if I didn’t. But yesterday we brought an audio book for the trip out and listened to music on the way back, and nobody even asked about the iPad. Score.

3. Aside from Julianna, who doesn’t really process big-picture things like this, the kids aren’t asking me about movies at all hours of the day anymore. They’re playing with their (ridiculous amounts of) toys a lot more than they ever have. And it’s forcing them to interact with each other more. They’re reading more, too. Alex has always been a big reader, but Nicholas, insecure in his ability and let’s face it, a little lazy, has been really resistant to reading on his own. With screen time out of the way, and a couple LEGO books from the library, he’s really embraced reading, which makes me breathe a sigh of relief; I was afraid we were going to have one who wasn’t a bookworm, and I wouldn’t know what to do.

4. I have had slightly less pushback about chores. Whether that is directly tied to less screen time, or whether it’s about “okay, Mom’s proved she’s serious, may as well get it over with,” I can’t say for sure.

5. They’re having shorter screen times, not just less frequent. Now, I can tell them to turn it off after an hour, and they will.

6. A few days ago, Alex said, in response to something Nicholas said, “You know, I think it’s better when we’re having less screen time. We’re doing more other stuff.”

!!!!!!!

I’d call that a win!

Parents, Kids, and the Other R-word: “Respect”

Photo by pullip_junk, via Flickr

You know that thing about kids? That thing where they act like angelic beings, floating above a river of serenity and sweetness, any time they’re in public, and then as soon as the rest of the world turns its back, they grow horns and a forked tail?

Yeah, that. Six people watched my children while we were gone, and every one of them said the kids were cooperative, helpful, and conflicts were minor and resolved easily. And then we came home, and Nicholas did his Strong-Willed thing.

I haven’t talked about Nicholas in a while, because he’s getting older and I want to be more sensitive to the way people perceive him. Besides, things have been better. We’re hitting a stride. It’s not that we’re conflict-free, but he’s growing and we’re growing, and we haven’t had one of those epic battles of wills in quite a while.

At least, we hadn’t, until last week.

I will spare you the details that led up to this point; suffice it to say Nicholas had lost his screen privileges. I knew it was going to be excruciatingly difficult for him to resist the draw if his siblings were watching out in the open areas of the house. So, out of respect for him, for his innate dignity, to lessen his temptation and make it easier for him to comply, I set Julianna up with the portable DVD player in her bedroom, out of the way, out of sight.

A bit later, I came down the hall and found her bedroom door shut. When I opened it, I found Nicholas watching Tinker Bell with Julianna.

It was dinnertime before it finally clicked:

It was about respect.

Image by twicepix, via Flickr

I had acted in his best interest, out of respect for his innate dignity as a child of God, and his dishonesty was a slap in the face.

It hurt me.

I wasn’t angry. I was hurt. Because I try so damn hard: to give them a childhood full of great experiences, to balance that privilege with a sense of responsibility, and especially, to be fair both in my expectations and in disciplining them. It is freaking exhausting work, and it never stops, even when I go to bed at night.

Don’t get me wrong; this is my calling, and I feel honored to have been blessed by these little people who are capable of such goodness…when they want to be.

But when they throw all that effort back in my face, it hurts. A day after that interaction, I gave Nicholas a clear instruction: Take these cards downstairs and put them away. I mean put them in the Apples to Apples and Spot It boxes. I do not want see these on the floor.

Three hours later when I went downstairs to practice flute, I found the cards…lying on the floor. I kind of lost it. Sour-faced, Nicholas got up on the chair to put the cards…not in the box, but on top of the box. While looking at me to see what I was going to do.

(Incidentally, if you have ever wondered if you have a strong-willed child, ask yourself if your kid has ever done something like THAT. Because THAT is the hallmark, right there.)

Respect: to take the responsibility on myself to make sure I don’t set my kids up for failure by expecting them to read my mind and know what I mean without me bothering to say it clearly.

Lack of respect: to deliberately and repeatedly fling noncompliance in my face.

This kind of behavior is so foreign to me, I don’t even understand it. I’ve seen it in action before, in other people, but I find it completely unfathomable. Why would you choose to act this way?

This was quite the revelation. I remember as a child being admonished…frequently…that I owed my parents respect. As a teenager I had some nasty hurtful things to say on the subject, although most of it is safely buried in a Journal in the basement where it can do no damage. As a parent, though, respect has never hit my radar—until now.

But it’s on my radar now. I’m not going to demand blind respect. I want my kids to understand that everything I do is motivated by respect for their dignity as children of God—which is why I’ve made it a point to apologize whenever I fail to live up to that ideal. And that the respect I expect from them is due to me for the same reason.

I can only hope and pray that it makes a difference—later, if not sooner—and that if it’s later, I can cultivate the patience to wait for it.

“Glamping” at Camp Orenda

Ever since we shared what we were planning to do with our weekend away, people have been asking me to share “what was it like?”

I’ll start by saying that I really like traditional camping, but when I stumbled across Orenda while researching our weekend away, I thought: This is perfect. It’s unique. I mean, on a weekend away, who would choose to stay in a stuffy old hotel when you could do this?

Dave, the owner of Orenda, met us when we arrived on Friday afternoon and gave us the tour. His term for what he offers is “Adirondack retreat,” and he stresses that this thing people call “glamping” has really been around for a long time. He has pictures of 19th-century Adirondack camps to prove it, and the “lean-to”s scattered through the park are an outgrowth of that long-standing tradition.

So what was it like? Well, it was more open than you might think. The cabin is a canvas tent with no floor, mounted over a deck—a deck with gaps in the slats, through which you can see the ground. The first night, we had some critter scrabbling around underneath for a few minutes. There’s a sonic pulse emitter in the cabin to keep them out. The bed was extremely comfortable, and the rough-wood frame was made by a local craftsman. The tent was set up to maximize the breezes, with zip-open windows on both sides, a tie-back window at the head of the bed and the floor-to-ceiling zip entrance at the front. The tarp stretched over the top kept out the rain the first night. We had electricity but not cell service or wifi in the cabin, and a wood stove if we wanted it (which we didn’t—it was in the 50s, but we stayed cozy under the blankets).

Aside from the critter and the rain, at night there was nothing to hear but the whisper of the wind in the trees overhead. There wasn’t even any insect noise when we were there. I can’t emphasize that enough, the sheer quiet.

The steep paths down to “base camp” were lit with low-voltage lighting at night, but not enough to block what you could see of the stars through the trees. You don’t very often find a place where it’s so dark that the night sky glows, and Orenda is careful to preserve that experience.

There were two bathrooms, and between them an open-air sink (with hot water) where you had a small caddy and hooks for washcloths. They provided eco-friendly cleansers, moisturizers, even shaving cream—they were really quite committed to the preservation of this wilderness. In a different spot in the camp we had an open-air shower (tile floor), which was kind of a cool experience.

The base camp itself consists of two roofed pavilions—one of which is where they prepare the food–with a fire ring between. In this area, they have wifi. You need the wifi because as I said elsewhere, there’s virtually no cell service in the Adirondacks. The guests gathered here for dinner and stayed until they went to bed, wrapping up in throw blankets around the fire, chatting, having singalongs, and making s’mores. We weren’t expecting the community, but we enjoyed it.

 

Here’s the thing I wasn’t prepared for: how easy it can be to sit back and just do nothing. While we were planning, Christian and I debated whether to stay two nights or three. We opted for two because, let’s face it, it’s a pricey experience, and we thought we’d want to get out and do something else, somewhere else.

We ended up wishing we’d booked the third night, because it was so wonderful. Orenda is remote, far from the touristy stuff you find in Saratoga Springs and Lake George, and with the camaraderie of the evening, as well as at breakfast time, it was easy to linger, to just sit still and read in the hammocks, or watch the fire.

Besides, there was plenty to do nearby. We’d originally planned to take a 1 1/2 hour drive to Ausable Chasm, farther north, but we nixed that plan when we realized how much we were enjoying where we were. Orenda had archery on site, and Dave had cards with directions to waterfalls, mountain climbs, swimming holes and whitewater rafting within 30-40 minutes. (If that seems long, remember that you’re on mountain roads, so 5 miles can take twenty minutes.) We used Orenda’s kayaks at nearby Garnet Lake, where we paddled out to an extremely remote snowmobile path and hiked up to Lizard Pond—”just you and the bears,” as Dave said, and he was right; there was nobody else on that trail. They sent lunch with us for that excursion.

So in sum: remote, quiet, serene, and plenty to do. I am officially a fan.