Pirates clashing swords, fairies sprinkling pixie dust, crocodiles drooling and children flying around in pajamas; that is what little kids dream about, according to Peter Pan. 

About a month before we arrived in Wisconsin, we were told about the opportunity for Noah to join his cousin Harriet for Prairie Fire Children’s Theater, a company that takes a group of children for 5 days to put together a 1 ½ hour musical. This year they would be acting out the drama of Peter Pan. We took the cue to enjoy the story of the lost boy and his comrades in all of it’s forms: written book, theatrical drama, hollywood movie, and many afternoons of play acting. 

In anticipation of the theatrical performance, I read the book of the original story by J. M. Barrie to the cousins. The book is delightfully written, and very entertaining, but be warned that the pirates are violent, and the way it refers to Indians is disrespectful (as were most classic books from that era).  As I read, I was surprised at how funny some of the scenes were, and how much my heart tugged for Peter and the poor boys. I went back and forth between liking and disliking Peter throughout the book, and saw traits of myself in the woman-child Wendy. The children constantly chanted “I complain of ‘so and so’” at the dinner table, and wept at the end when Wendy grew up and was no longer able to return to Neverland.  I would recommend reading the story, but maybe editing a few words. 

The week of the play started with an evening of “try-outs”, where any student who wished to be a part of the play came to put forth their best effort in hopes of a big role. Noah and Harriet were both cast as Indians, and as Prairie Fire always puts their own spin on a story, they were the Cleveland Indians… baseball players. It was a clever move, and the kids really enjoyed their songs and lines. We saw the performance two days in a row over the weekend, then heard the songs and lines for the next two weeks as Harriet and Noah led the younger cousins in re-enacting the play over… and over… and over. Yesterday I told my children that they were only allowed to act out Peter Pan outside.

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After enjoying Neverland through a book and a play, Paul and I showed the Disney version on screen and sang along to all of the nostalgic songs from our childhoods. The kids were rolling with laughter at the slapstick humor, and recognized so many scenes and lines from the book and play. Again, the movie does a terrible job of portraying Indians, (and the pirates are still violent), so watch with caution and a good follow-up discussion. I did notice the twists and turns from the original book, but still enjoyed the story as I remembered it. 

Because we read, acted, watched and played Peter Pan in that order, I felt like both the children and myself gained a really good understanding of the story, something that I lacked when I just watched the movie growing up.  I feel much more confident that Noah and Natalie know what is happening when they experience a story in various forms. We have done this multi-exposure with other stories, as well, with great success: 

• Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (play, book, music, movie)
• The Secret Garden (book, play-acting, movie) 
• Robin Hood (various books, movie, playing, short stories) 
• Star Wars (MANY books and stories, orchestra songs, legos/action figures, playing, and #4 & #5 movies)
• Mary Poppins (currently reading the books with plans for more)

We are looking forward to living in England next spring, and will have the opportunity to experience many of our favorite stories in yet another context- the original setting! The more exposure and experiences we have to a good story, the greater the understanding and impact it can have upon our lives. This is true about God’s narrative as well, and we hope that as we travel with our family to different areas of the midwest, then Europe, that we will gain a broader perspective of His story as we listen, read, explore, observe and participate in daily life. 

Gold above and gold below, touched by Midas’ fingers. 

Leaves fluttering, stirring up magic that envelopes our path, 

Leading us deeper into the maple woodland.

Crunching leaves create a symphony, 

Music rising and falling with the beams of dancing sunlight.

We enjoyed the beauty of northern Wisconsin during the month of October, and took advantage of the many trails and lands to hike through the woods. The unusually long, green summer gave way to brilliant autumn colors, and the trees were proud to show them off. There were a fair amount of rainy days as well, and I learned that if I was prepared for it, they were just as enjoyable as the perfect weather walks. 

Our Wisconsin home for October was with Paul’s sister and family. Just down the road from their house was the Gandy Dancer trail, a trail that runs through Wisconsin and parts of Minnesota. We enjoyed taking short evening walks down the trail when the kids needed to use some energy, or when Paul and I had an opportunity to enjoy holding hands for a peaceful jaunt. It was often drizzling out those first few weeks, and at first I would automatically decline an invitation for a hike due to the “weather”. After realizing that our life in England will have similar rainy days, I decided to use the opportunity to practice dressing for the weather. It’s ironic, how many from the midwest scoff at those whose lives stop due to an inch of snow? I realized the similarity when I used the rain to stop me from going outside. So, slipping into a raincoat and boots, bundled with mittens and hats, I enjoyed the darkened, wet leaves, the misty air around me, and watching the irresistible puddles draw childrens’ boots to splash.

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To make sure that I didn’t always remember the rainy, grey days, Wisconsin decided to give it’s best weather on a weekend hike at the local state park. Three sister-in-laws, together with five little cousins, started down the trail through a predictably pretty-colored forest of a variety of trees. As the trees became thicker, so did the beauty. We watched the light stream through the branches to piles of leaves, and the trail led us down to the sparkling blue lake. A tiny waterfall made a little stream to cross, and we all laughed as the women helped the faltering children across the stepping stones, trying not to fall into the water with wriggly little bodies in our arms. Our conversation was easy as we watched the running children on their great adventures, and our lungs were filled with refreshment and warmth and memories that will last beyond the end of the trail. 

The hike that inspired the poem was truly magical, a forest of golden maple trees that were in peak color, with the floor full of tiny maple saplings also turned to gold. I had gone to my niece’s piano lesson at her teacher’s house in the country, a long strip of land that had both the friendliest horse I’ve ever met, as well as a fairyland forest. I learned that maple leaves have special properties that help prevent weeds from growing, so there were no weeds covering the ground underneath the trees, besides a few ferns and the swaying grasses along the bog below the trail. After walking through with my sister-in-law and the kids, I was entranced, and asked if I could bring Paul back for a walk that evening. Some of the sun-glow was gone when we came later, but he was just as captivated as I was, and we enjoyed imagining that we had been placed in the scene of a storybook. The owners told us that they often tapped these sugar maples in the late winter for syrup, a delicious way to enjoy these trees and taste the reminder of gold.

Just taking the opportunity to write about our hikes shows me how much more I could have enjoyed if I had just put on my jacket and stepped outside more often. Often when I am in situations where I feel I may be uncomfortable, I am hesitant to even put forth the effort to try. This season of our family’s life has given plenty of opportunities to be uncomfortable, and we are learning to be more and more comfortable with that discomfort. Whether we are in perfect conditions or not, it’s still possible to enjoy our surroundings if we dress for the weather and step outside.

In recent years I’ve discovered something about myself: I really like fishing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a skilled fisherman by any stretch of the imagination. I honestly don’t know much about poles or tackle, or whether to fish upstream or downwind, or how to properly attach one of those spinny things. I can tell few, if any, of those classic, over-embellished fishing stories so common amongst avid fisherman; I just haven’t caught many big fish. But that doesn’t dampen the experience for me. I’m quite content to simply cast a worm, hook and bobber into the water and wait for a bite. It’s just…addictive. So when we arrived at our friends’ cabin on the Missouri river, fishing was on my mind, and, I was certain, would be a highlight of the trip there.

Another interesting factor of our time by the river: we invited a small army of children to stay with us for a week. Four of our good friends’ children came to live at the cabin while their parents were away at a conference. So with Noah and Natalie, we had a total of six kids: three boys, three girls. And while the girls weren’t wild about the thought of fishing, the boys couldn’t wait to go. Interestingly enough, after a couple days of six kids, Abigail thought it would be a great idea too.

So I packed up and got ready to fish with the three boys: Noah, Elijah, and Gabe. We loaded up our little paddle boat with three poles, a net, a tackle box, and a carton of nightcrawlers. After a considerable amount of maneuvering and me insisting that the boys focus on the task at hand, we got into the boat without falling into the water (barely), and the four of us slowly paddled upstream to a calm, bay-like area with a thickly vegetated sandbar that separated the bay from the river. We docked on the sandbar and prepared our fishing poles.

Immediately upon kneeling down by the poles to bait them, I realized that I hadn’t planned very well. I had three poles, but only one had a hook on it. I quickly put a worm on the first hook and sent Noah to the water’s edge with it. One down, two to go. So far so good.

The second went as well as it could have. I tied a hook on Gabe’s pole with only a little trouble, and then felt good enough about how things were progressing to let Gabe put the worm on. Gabe wasn’t a fan of poking the worm, but after some coaxing and dropping the worm in the sand about five times, I brought Gabe to the shoreline, a reasonably safe distance from Noah, and helped him cast his sand-encrusted worm into the water.

Satisfied with that effort, I turned around. “Alright Elijah, let’s get your pole ready…” and then I froze.

Elijah was gone.

I was bewildered at how quickly he had disappeared. In a mix of annoyance and panic I whirled around, scanning first the water, then the sandbar for him. At last I heard a rustle, and Elijah burst out from behind some brush, bent over, and running in zig zags with his arms out straight in front of him.

I was relieved, but my annoyance lingered. “Elijah, what are you doing?” I asked, a little sharply.

Elijah stopped and looked up at me, “There was a grasshopper.”

“Well, let’s get your pole ready so you can fish,” I said. And so we walked back over to the tackle box and I began to work on the line while Elijah looked woefully back to the tall grass into which the grasshopper had fled. I hurriedly tied a hook to Elijah’s line. By that time, gnats had discovered us and were flying into my eyes and ears and biting my neck, so I kept dropping what I was doing to slap at them. Once I got the hook on I trimmed the line too close to the knot and it pulled through, so I had to retie it, all while unsuccessfully fending off gnats. Then Noah started to yell:

“Daddy, I’m tangled up! Help me!”

I looked back to Noah with what appeared to be a cat’s cradle strung between his hands and the fishing reel. He was attempting to fix the problem by reeling furiously.

“Stop, Noah! Just stop!” I yelled, and ran over to help him detangle his mess. Fortunately, it wasn’t as bad as it looked, but it still took several minutes to get everything straightened out. All the while, the gnats persisted in their villainy. Finally I turned back to finish with Elijah.

Elijah was back in the brush. He was stalking another grasshopper like a cat.

“Elijah, c’mon buddy,” I said exasperatedly. He looked up at me, then came back over to the pole with a deep sigh. I softened my approach, a little embarrassed by my impatience. “How about you split a nightcrawler and put it on your own hook, ok?” I asked. He nodded, so I helped him pick a worm, tear a piece off, and get it on his hook. We went to the water and cast in his line.

I took a deep breath; three out of three.

I didn’t get much of a reprieve, however. Almost as soon as Elijah’s line was in the water, Noah was yelling that he was stuck again. His line was wrapped in unbelievable knots around the end of his pole, and this time it was just as bad as it looked. Fortunately his line had a swivel attached, which in turn was attached to a piece of line with the hook, so I was able to detach the hook and then work on the knots in the line without the complications of a metal barb.

As I was detangling the last of Noah’s knots, Gabe started yelling, “I’m caught! It’s stuck!” Somehow he had caught his hook on our paddle boat and was torquing on his pole like he was pulling a salmon out of the Atlantic.

“Just hold on, Gabe. I’ll be there in a minute,” I tried to reassure him. Gabe’s plea for help just increased in volume and pitch. I turned to Noah, “Buddy can you go help him while I finish here.” Noah trotted over to Gabe and I turned back to pull the last knot out of Noah’s line, slapping at gnats as I worked. Finally I got it. Then I looked for the hook. I couldn’t find where I put it. I searched the ground, running my hand lightly over the area where I was sure I had put it. Where is it? It was JUST here! Gabe started wailing. Now I was really getting frustrated. My forehead began to bead with sweat. I swept my hand across the ground hard and felt a jab. I pulled my hand back with the hook sticking into my palm. In the background of my consciousness, I heard Noah joined Gabe’s complaint that he couldn’t unhook from the boat. Then all I heard was the buzzing of a gnat that flew into my right ear.

I stood up and slapped at my ear until the gnat was either knocked all the way out or all the way in. I stared out at the lake, trying to find something to burn with my eyes. I regained my composure, and let out a long whoosh of breath through my lips. I was ok. Everything was ok.

I looked over to where Gabe and Noah had been struggling with Gabe’s line.

They were gone.

Fortunately, this time they hadn’t gone far. They were back away from the lake’s edge, huddled over something in the grass. Suddenly Gabe popped up and whirled around, a huge smile on his face. His hands were cupped genially around the body of a large, dark-green grasshopper. Over by the water’s edge, Elijah threw down his pole and ran over to Gabe, exclaiming that he had found one first. Noah was grinning admirably at Gabe’s catch.

All three boys ran over to show me their prize. “Well, well, well,” I said ruefully, “These worms haven’t worked out so well; maybe we can use him as bait.” Gabe’s smile evaporated, and I quickly retreated. “I’m kidding, Gabe.” I knelt down to take a look. “He’s a big one, isn’t he.” Gabe’s smile returned.

I decided it was a good time for us to pack up. We had been fishing for a good fifteen minutes without a nibble, and the gnats weren’t going away anytime soon. We loaded our gear back into the paddle boat and set out to go home. Noah lamented on the way back that he hadn’t had the opportunity to catch a grasshopper yet. I wondered if the boys felt as fond about catching grasshoppers as I do about fishing. Maybe more so, after this trip.

We traveled downstream on the return trip, so we were back to our cabin quickly. As we pulled up to the landing, I assigned each boy something to unload. “Elijah you take the tackle box. Gabe you get the worms. Then Noah, you get out, and I’ll hand you the fishing poles.” Noah objected to being the last one out, but I quickly overruled him. The first two boys got out, then I turned around to get the fishing poles, and I noticed the worms still at the bottom of the back of the boat. I shook my head and chuckled. Ah Gabe, you’re probably off to find another little green friend. “Hold on Noah,” I said, and then turned back and reached out across the boat, stretching and groaning a little. The worm carton slid further back into some sludge at the bottom of the boat. I reached just a little further and managed to snag the carton. “Ok Noah. I’m gonna hand you the poles and then these worms,” I said, turning around and wiping the mud from the container.

I wasn’t surprised by what I saw when I looked up.

Noah was gone.

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