March

Today I am excited to introduce another guest contributor, Caryn Sullivan.  A professional writer and annual guest, we look forward to her participation as a contributing blog author, as she shares her experiences here as an urban professional recharging her emotional batteries!

Making Memories at Half Moon Trail.  by Caryn Sullivan.

I arrived at Half Moon Trail eager to spend some time alone before a friend joined me for a few days. When I entered my cozy lakeside cabin, the silence gripped me unexpectedly. Realizing the room had no TV, I was unsettled, for I end most days with its chatter in the background. Gradually, my mind adjusted to the quiet, much as eyes adapt to sudden darkness.

Throughout my getaway, two thoughts poked away at me like the woodpecker on the tree outside my cabin. Become one with nature. Live in the moment.

I’d packed these sentiments, shared by others, along with my clothing, books, and toiletries. They proved difficult to honor, though, as I remained bound to home through my BlackBerry.

It’s tough to become one with nature or to live in the moment with an ever-dinging device in one’s pocket. Yet, I was unable – or unwilling – to part with it for long. The BlackBerry is my conduit to others when I feel disconnected and it’s the tool from which I manage much of my life. Sitting on the shore of the pristine lake, I allowed scheduling concerns to compete for attention with the cries of a loon and the elegance of a rare Lady Slipper on the shoreline. Becoming one with nature, I concluded, requires concentration and commitment.

I ventured outside my comfort zone and mingled with guests until my friend arrived. Rain or shine, adults were casting their lines with their kids. Guests from every generation played games inside and out. When evening arrived, grandkids roasted marshmallows for grandparents over a blazing fire.

Throughout the week, I noted how other adults were listening to the loons and the laughter of young children with an ease that should accompany a week’s respite from life back home. They had discovered the splendor of northern Minnesota and figured out how to overcome the demands of their own lives so they could enjoy it year after year. They were living in the moment.

By week’s end I had concluded that digital connections are not the things of which memories are made. Memories of time at the lake are born of fishing lines and worms, paddleboats and ping-pong competitions. The sparkle of the lake in the morning, and a walk through a rain-dampened forest with a dear friend are more unforgettable and enduring than the ding of the BlackBerry announcing the arrival of yet another email.