One year ago, nearly down to the date, I was packing up my small Ford Focus for the biggest succession of adventures I had yet to experience. From June through the middle of July, I worked as a camp counselor and lifeguard at Lac du Bois, a French-immersion summer camp tucked away in the northern woods of Minnesota. A day or so after that ended, I was chewing up highway once again headed west, destination: Brusett, Montana, to work on a ranch with a close friend for a rough and raspy-voiced ex-cowboy by the name of Dave Solberg. Endless fencing and tractor driving, a small run-in with a mountain lion, a kitten named Audrey, and many quiet mornings of infinite sunrises are a small glimpse of that experience. Finally, on the 19th of August, 2012, I found myself waiting in the terminal to board my first flight out of the country. Full of excitement and big plans, I was to spend a little over four months living among the French, meeting people from all over the world, trying new things like rock climbing and surfing, and getting lost.
Boom. boom. boom – the three successive events that had satiated, for a time, a hunger for adventure that had been progressively building throughout my final years of high school and the few years of college preceding the trip. What a wild ride.
I’m back in the great state of Minnesota with all of its 10,000 lakes, its excessively nice and overly apologetic, flannel-wearing, potluck throwing and hot dish consuming Scandinavian, Irish, German, Native American, and Polish folk. For the first time in long time, things have slowed down quite a bit.
Sitting in bed for the past two days healing up from having my wisdom teeth taken out and a broken heart from having had my wedding proposal turned down by the nurse, I can think of nothing better than to write about what inspired this blog one year ago.