By David Van Diest
Years ago, my wife and I decided that instead of giving extravagant gifts during the holiday season we would give experiences to our boys. Being a blended family – with some of the boys living with us all the time and some of the boys on the weekends and evenings (yes, five boys) – it became difficult to be fair with the gift giving thing. In fact, “fair” became the “F-word” in our home – which likely caused confusion for them as they moved into adolescence and began engaging with peers. But, let’s leave that topic for another time.
While we usually had a Christmas tree, ours didn’t have presents cascading into the living room space as is often depicted in most renditions of a family Christmas tree. In our unsuccessful effort to not be the “scrooge parents” by our boys and others, and to reduce our guilty feelings for not having an abundance of gifts, we gave each a modest present or two for unwrapping on Christmas morning. Usually something really exciting like pajamas or socks.
Admittedly, the change was done in part to save money spent on gifts typically given to satisfy five boys’ expectations. We were surprised to discover that this way of celebrating the holidays didn’t save us money, but in fact cost a whole lot more than the traditional gift giving model. Taking five boys and often two or three of their friends to a lake for a week cost a small fortune – at least that’s what if felt like to us. While being self-employed has its benefits, consistent income isn’t one of them, and even though my wife worked part-time at the high school as a Spanish teacher, we were anything but cash flush.
Surprisingly, when we initially announced this change to our boys, it was not met with enthusiastic applause and raucous approval. More like a classroom of third graders who are told they will forego their snack time for additional reading and study time “because, in the long run, additional reading and study time will be of greater benefit.” None of them were all that excited about giving up receiving the “stuff” in exchange for a week at the lake, white water rafting trips, or skiing excursions. The “stuff” was tangible and immediate, while the excursions were neither.
About the third or fourth year of doing this my wife found a lake front house that was fairly reasonable in price. The pictures promised an unbelievably private and picturesque setting which boasted being right on the water without another dwelling in sight. Amongst other things it offered a boat dock, a covered fire pit, and a deck displaying an incredible and secluded viewing of God’s beautiful handiwork. We had hit the proverbial jackpot. Additionally, the house appeared modern and spacious.
We have found from experience that pictures often lead to conclusions that are not completely accurate. Photos can be framed in such a way that allow the viewer to jump to conclusions that are beyond what the photos show. Being seasoned vacation house renters, we’re typically skeptical. We were fully aware that what appeared to be the “private and picturesque setting” could be strategic framing that led the viewer to conclusions that aren’t true by excluding the reality of all sorts of unpleasant surprises….
… and, this one was no exception.
Sure, the house was clean and had the latest appliances and amenities, but who knew photography could make rooms look so spacious? The combined kitchen/living area was so small, the seven of us (along with a few of the boys’ friends who would come and go throughout the week) couldn’t all sit in there together. The upstairs “bedroom” (on the 3rd floor) did have two beds as promised but no one over 5’ tall could stand up straight – and you had to get to it from a ladder which was conveniently located at the top of the stairs and right outside the second floor bathroom.
Happily, the pictures told an accurate story of the picturesque setting. We spent countless hours on the dock playing “king of the dock” (I know, kind of dangerous), swimming and diving into the water, tethering the innertubes together and trying to push each other off. Every night we would build a fire at the covered fire pit and sit around playing games and engaging in conversation. Every morning we would cook breakfast and enjoy it on the deck overlooking our own private section of the lake. On rare occasions our private space was invaded by a curious boater who came exploring.
You see it’s easy to be private when there is no road access to the lake house. Yes, the house we rented was on a portion of the lake that had no road access. So somehow, we would need to get the people, all their luggage, and the food for the week to the house – BY WATER. But we knew this going in. It said as much in the information provided, so there was no surprise.
While we didn’t own a boat, we owned a wave runner and could use that to shuttle people from the parking lot to the house – one at a time. We were also given the use of an aluminum boat to help with the transportation of people, luggage and food.
How hard could that be?
The aluminum boat was about 12-13 feet long with a 1966 – 16 horsepower outboard Evinrude engine. Clearly marked on the inside of the boat was the capacity boasting “4 passengers Maximum, 400lb Total Weight”. Undeterred, we disembarked on the five hour drive to the lake with three vehicles fully loaded with people, baggage, and food for the week – oh, and an aluminum boat behind one vehicle and a wave runner behind another.
As with nearly every trip, we arrived an hour later than anticipated due to bathroom breaks, food stops, and sightseeing. After carrying all the “stuff” from the vehicles down to the dock, we realized there was very little room left for people. So, as our two eldest boys and I launched the wave runner and boat, others waded into the water while a few waited “patiently” from their lofty perch near the parking lot – not wanting to get in the way of progress. It quickly became obvious that getting people, baggage, and food was going to take more than a few trips, but we still had plenty of daylight left even though settling in at the house would now likely be after the dinner hour.
Still, how hard could this be?
We had invited the parents of one of our boy’s friends for the first night. They too had made the five hour drive to witness – I mean, enjoy this adventure. It would be fair to say that the father’s risk tolerance is on the low side while conversely, my risk tolerance is greater than most. So, for me something like a small delay in getting the boat running or finding our rental house was a blip on my “risk radar” but for him it probably seemed like a giant flashing warning sign blaring “DANGER, RUN AWAY BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!”
Our plan was to get the wave runner in the water so my wife and eldest son could begin the search to find our lake house. Having no road access means there are no street signs or house addresses to help the location process. Phone navigation wasn’t helpful either and one ran the risk of dropping the phone in the water – which did happen during the week. Armed with a picture of the house, my eldest son and wife took off on the wave runner. While they worked on locating the house, my second eldest son and I loaded the aluminum boat with supplies and baggage so we’d be ready to follow the wave runner upon their return.
How hard could that be?
Prior to leaving home, the owner of the boat gave me a “crash course” on how to get the motor started and how forward and reverse functions worked. He explained we may need to “lean out the gas/air mixture” because he typically used this boat in a mountain lake at a much higher elevation. I thought, Um, lean out the gas/air mixture? However, he never actually showed me how to do this.
But, hard could that be, right?
I’ve been told by my engine savvy friends that when a small engine won’t start it’s one of three things: spark issues, gas issues, or air supply. Simple as that. An hour later, our plans were not unfolding as anticipated. Due to exhaustion, my middle son and I were now taking turns tugging on the starter rope while periodically adjusting the choke – from full choke to no choke and every position in between, with little or no sign of life from the engine. During this time my wife and elder son had circled back several times without successfully locating our rental house. At some point in that process the parents that we had invited decided this was too perilous to risk and announced they had decided to drive back home – another five hour drive. Having two less people to transport was a godsend. Since arriving they seemed very anxious – I can only imagine what was going through their heads. They offered no explanation for their departure, simply, “Um, we’ve decided to drive back home. Hope you have a great week.” Leaving their child with us to face the dangers without them.
After an hour and a half of tugging on the starter rope, the engine finally billowed, puffed and grudgingly sputtered to life. Within minutes our search team returned and excitedly announced they had located the house.
We were in business.
Hurriedly, we loaded up the “400lb max weight limit” boat to well beyond capacity with people and food and followed the search team toward our home for the next week. Leaving the main lake, we were led through a narrow canal which opened into another whole undiscovered section of the lake. From the canal, the lake opened into a great expanse encircled by towering Douglas fir covered mountain peaks. It was breathtaking! I imagine Lewis and Clark had many experiences like this where God’s handiwork was revealed in unexpected ways.
Skimming along, wind in our face at blistering 7 mph was exhilarating, in part because of the expansive beauty displayed before us, but mostly because of the knowledge that one moderately sized wake could send water cascading into the boat. We couldn’t afford to lose any buoyancy by having water invade our dry space. Nonetheless, the idea of being on our way gave us a dose of unfounded courage and renewed hope.
After crossing the expansive portion of the lake, we were led into a small inlet about the width of a football field.
And there it was – our lakefront house.
Upon locating the house, my wife and eldest son had turned on the interior and exterior lights which made for a most inviting setting. As we approached, the lower dock reached out toward us, ostensibly drawing us in. The stairs from the lower dock were lined with lights and the upper deck was encircled in them.
Its charm tempted me to stay but there were bags and people waiting at the dock to be transported. As my eldest whipped out from the dock on the wave runner to ferry another passenger to the house, my other son and I took the “mini-barge” to gather more people and supplies. Halfway across the open expansive leading to the canal, the engine began to sputter and then stopped. The proverbial “dead in the water” wasn’t so proverbial, it was reality.
After a few tugs on the starter rope we realized we’d run out of gas. While we had both gas and two stroke engine oil on board with us, we had no way of gauging how much oil to mix in with the gas. We didn’t even know for sure what the appropriate mixture was for this type of motor. As I mentioned before, I had worked with chainsaws quite of bit and know that the mixture ratio for a chain saw engine is 50:1. Translated means 50 gallons gasoline to 1 gallon of oil so we decided that would be a good mixture ratio. The only problem was, how would we know we had attained the correct ratio? So, we guessed!
How hard could that be?
The reason I chose to become a therapist was, in part, because I don’t like math. I do my best to avoid calculations beyond adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing. Math that involves letters and grammatical symbols seems wrong to me at every level. Figuring out the correct ratio was a real challenge, so I left the calculations to my smart, mathematical son. Estimating whether we had dumped two gallons of gas in the tank was a sketchy proposition because we couldn’t take any out if we put too much in. We had to be fairly accurate because we had already experienced how temperamental the seasoned engine could be.
Finishing our precise mixing of the gas and 2 stroke oil, we tugged a few times on the starter rope, and to our delight the engine billowed and the beautiful humming of the powerful 16 horsepower engine roared to life once again.
We were on our way.
A few more trips loaded with people and supplies, and we found ourselves headed back for one last trip. The two youngest boys (15 and 11) had remained at the dock to “protect” the last load of food and supplies. 400lbs is not a lot of weight. At the time, my son and I each weighed just under 200lbs. The recommend maximum limit was reached with just the two of us in the boat. Over the course of multiple trips, we had become accustomed to the boat hull sinking deeply into the water. As we loaded the last of the supplies and the two remaining boys climbed in, the top rim of the boat sunk closer to the water level than all of the previous trips. But with dusk upon us we knew this would be our last trip of the evening. We didn’t want to bring the rest of the supplies back to a vehicle nor would my wife had been keen on leaving either of the boys at the dock overnight so, we kept on loading.
With me and 3 of my sons loaded – along with the rest of the supplies, we pushed off. With just the humans we were well over the maximum recommended weight, but we also had two ice chests, some sleeping bags, clothes bags – along with two oars and two kayaks loaded crossways from port to starboard to leave maximum amount of room for people.
I’m sure we looked like refugees fleeing a warzone under the cover of darkness.
By the time we reached the canal, dusk had turned to night and there was no moonlight to illumine our path. Armed with two flashlights, one shined toward the front and the other roamed back and forth to warn any person crazy enough to be out on the water in the dark that we were there. Halfway through the canal the engine died. Initial attempts at starting it failed. After about 15 minutes of pulling, one of my sons suggested he jump in the water and pull us the last ½ mile to the house.
Running through his mind was likely, “How hard could that be?”
It appears that kind of thinking is genetic.
As we continued to tug on the starter rope, the boat drifted, and we eventually ended up pointing the way we had come. Finally, after about 20 minutes the engine hesitantly came to life.
Unfortunately, we were now pointed in the wrong direction. The canal was too narrow to simply swing the boat around, so I shifted it in reverse and backed up toward the side of the canal – being careful not to run the propeller into the bottom as we backed toward the shore. As I shifted the motor into forward the engine died again. Another five minutes of pulling on the starter rope and the engine started, but we were once again pointed in the wrong direction. I backed it up again toward the shoreline and shifted into forward. Again, the engine died. Another five minutes of pulling on the engine rope and it came to life, but once again we were headed in the wrong direction. Exasperated, I decided not to risk shifting the engine from reverse to forward but backed the boat all the way through the canal – roughly 300 yards. Backwards.
When we got into the open water, I didn’t want to risk the engine dying again so I revved up the engine and jammed it in to forward. As we entered our private finger of the lake, we could see two people on the dock. Like the Father in the story of the Prodigal Son who unceasingly scanned the horizon for his son’s return were my wife and eldest son – nervously scanning the horizon, waiting for us. Admittedly worried that something terrible had befallen us they were relieved when they heard the sputter of the approaching engine, and we were relieved to see them and the beautiful lights of our house reflecting off the water.
It was now well past 10 pm and we hadn’t eaten since lunch. I have to confess, chili never tasted so good.
The rest of the week we were faced with a number of other unplanned events, but as time passes, they are all remembered with fondness – adding depth and richness to a trip where the “unplanned” became the norm.
While it’s been about 10 years since that trip, we still frequently reminisce, laugh and remember fondly that week at the lake. The enjoyment had little to do with the picturesque setting or even our scheduled adventures at the local “must see” places, and more to do with the experiences we had together – the unanticipated blunders and mishaps that will be long remembered. That week produced many points of frustration and at times a bit of trepidation. The times spent at the fireside, playing games and joking around we’re memorable, but working together through the mishaps turned into priceless and precious memories.
Although it’s prudent to try to anticipate and prevent potential problems, we will never be able to plan or foresee them all. It’s when we expect them not to happen that they can be disturbing, distressing and troubling. Unforeseen events are often opportunities to come together to overcome, to laugh at absurdities, and to recognize life isn’t perfect nor is it sanitized. When we understand the potential of imperfection, when it comes – and it will come, it can be refreshing, memorable, and a catalyst for resilience and ingenuity.
So, expect imperfection, see humor in the unanticipated, and look for opportunities to love in the chaos. Always press on in life, laughter, and love.
Seriously, how hard could that be?
David Van Diest has his master's degree in counseling from Multnomah University and is an LPC (Licensed Professional Counselor) Intern in Gresham Oregon, a suburb of Portland. He is trained in EMDR and focuses on helping men and women through depression, addictions, anxiety, life transitions, men's issues, parenting & family, etc. To contact David, email him at davidvandiest@gmail.com, call 971.276.5675, or visit www.davidvandiest.com.
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