We are alive in the land of lakes. Some 620 km from were we started. We are perched on the edge of Batchawana bay, off Lake Superior. Nearest town: Sault Ste. Marie the place of my birth. I have zero recollection of this city, these parts, or this area in general. I left as an infant and to the best of my knowledge this is the first time I have ventured back since.

This is the land of lakes. They are everywhere. There is some irony in the lakes and their names. Are these done on a whim, without a second thought or does someone devote serious time to coming up with east lake, white lake, little lake, and catfish lake? I wonder if some of this is purposeful or just happenstance:

why is orphan lake next to mommy and baby lake?
would you sit and ponder life beside desolation lake?
would you care to skinny dip in fungus lake?

In all seriousness this is some beautiful country and we are having a splendid time. I've gotten emails and notes with anecdotes like "hope your vacation is going well" or "hope you are having a great time." Vacations like life are not a destination, but an experience. We are called to suck the marrow out of each moment of life, not to arrive at some destination and experience accomplishment. Vacation is the same. Joy is caught up in simple moments of smiles, laughs and experience. We have ventured far, but it is not the distance that makes this vacation of value. It is the moments along the way that make heavy burdens lighter, that raise hopes to the goodness of people where joy can spring from within and not be a distant thought.

I listened to our neighbour last night. Grandpa yelled, was sarcastic, chided his wife, daughter and grand children at each turn. The only one who got a gentle voice was the dog. Sad irony. I wanted to tell him not to take out his own short comings on small children. To value the wife who stood beside him. I wanted to tell him that he should consider himself lucky in a world of death and sorrow to be surrounded by family. Instead when we met I made small talk and broke off our conversation. I was sad for him, not because his life was horrid, but because he was squashing all the simple moments with family that make life epic.

Our favourite part of the day was a simple game of tag. It was better then drumheller, or the zoo. We splashed in the warm waters of lake superior late at night and laughed and laughed at the silly antics. We were, together, happy and enjoying each others presence. There was nothing that could have made that moment better.

In the end I am sure that the miles driven, tanks filled, items lost will pale in comparison to the moments lived. I often reflect that "this is all we get." If we miss these moments, then we arrive at the end empty. This is far to philosophical and deep, but I cannot help where a nameless grandpa pushed my thoughts: Life is too short to yell. Life is too short to mistreat. Those things suck the very essence out of what we are given in each other.