Mille Lacs Kathio State Park — 90 Years Ago...
Ninety years ago today, my mom was born.
She died seven years ago at the age of 83, but I feel her presence every day, one way or another. Sometimes it is a memory that unexpectedly surfaces. Sometimes it is something I say or do that makes me realize, That came from Mom. And sometimes her presence is found in the people I love.
This morning, it was found around a campfire in the Minnesota woods.
We woke to another cool morning at Mille Lacs Kathio State Park and soon had a fire crackling in the fire ring. Janice and I gathered around it with my cousin Cece, sipping our morning drinks and enjoying the warmth.
Sitting there with Cece on what would have been Mom's 90th birthday seemed especially appropriate.
Mom loved her nieces and nephews, and she cherished the close relationships my sister Lynn and I developed with our cousins. Those relationships stretch back to our earliest childhood memories.
Mom was the youngest of five children. My grandmother was 45 years old when Mom was born, and Mom was especially close to her oldest sister, Stella Elizabeth—our Aunt Beth.
Aunt Beth and Uncle Lawrence Huff lived in Staples, Minnesota, and had nine children: Lenore, Joe, Bonnie, Chuck, Al, David, Cece, Renee and Nicole.
On my dad's side, Aunt Jo and Uncle Denne Nelson had five children: Denne Keith, Diane, Tom, Pam and Terry.
Add my sister Lynn and me, and there were 16 cousins in those two families who formed such an important part of our childhood world. Fourteen of us are still here today. We have lost Joe and Tom.
Lynn and I grew up among both the Huffs and the Nelsons. We bonded with our cousins when we were children and accumulated a lifetime of shared memories during those formative years.
Cece and I were both born in 1958, as was my cousin Pam on Dad's side. Lynn followed me 363 days later in 1959.
Cece and I have always had a special bond, even though we have seen each other only a handful of times since we were teenagers. And then there was Fernando.
Mi Hermano de Otra Madre
Cece's husband, Fernando Jimenez, was born in Ecuador on February 8, 1958—my birthday—and within just a couple of hours of when I was born.
When we finally met in 2002, we bonded almost immediately. I called him "Mi hermano de otra madre"—my brother from another mother.
Cece and Fernando, "Cecenando," as we affectionately called them, built an extraordinary life together.
They even got married in extraordinary fashion: a surprise wedding during their annual Halloween party in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
Cece was an LPN and Fernando a respiratory therapist. They worked for five years on the Navajo Nation before embarking on an entirely new chapter of their lives through the U.S. Foreign Service.
Their work and adventures eventually took them to dozens of countries around the world. In some smaller postings, Cece served as the chief medical officer at the U.S. diplomatic mission. Her assignments also took her to challenging places, including Kabul, Afghanistan, and Pakistan.
In 2017, Janice and I traveled to Washington, D.C., and stayed with Cece and Fernando at their home about 15 blocks from the U.S. Capitol.
We had a wonderful visit, although Fernando had to leave unexpectedly to attend the funeral of a close cousin in Chile.
Fernando loved collecting beautiful pens. Before he left, he gave me one of them.
That pen still sits on my desk at home. I save it for special occasions.
I didn't know it then, of course, but that would be the last time I saw my hermano.
During that visit, Cece, Janice, our friend Loren and I also participated in the Women's March on Washington. Hundreds of thousands of people filled Washington that day; contemporary estimates placed attendance as high as roughly half a million. For the four of us, being part of such a massive exercise in peaceful civic participation was an unforgettable experience.
Then, in October 2018, tragedy struck.
Fernando was killed in a drive-by shooting in front of their Washington home while sitting in a friend's car, still dressed in his medical scrubs. The people responsible were never caught.
Cece was in Brussels at the time.
Later, I joined family and friends who came from around the world to Washington for Fernando's memorial, held at an ambassador's residence. In recognition of his service, the American flag was lowered to half-staff at the residence and at the U.S. mission in Brussels.
Afterward, Cece gave me Fernando's favorite leather jacket and one of his sweaters. Like his pen, I treasure them and wear them on special occasions.
What I remember just as strongly from that terrible time was watching the Huff family gather around Cece. Her brothers, sisters and their spouses took turns staying with her in Washington and Brussels, helping with everything that needed to be done while simply being there as she grieved.
That's family.
And that brings me back to this cool September morning in Minnesota, sitting beside a campfire with Cece.
She is an extraordinarily vibrant and strong woman, and Janice and I are so grateful for this time together.
I couldn't help thinking Mom would have loved it.
Back on the Trail
After breakfast, the three of us took Tad on a long hike.
The trails around Mille Lacs Kathio State Park are wonderful. The Rum River winds through the area, and swans, geese and ducks gather along the water and fly overhead.
The first fall colors are beginning to emerge. There is just enough yellow and orange appearing among the green to remind us that summer is slipping away and autumn is waiting in the wings.
We hiked joyfully while Tad bounded from one interesting smell to another, discovering an entire invisible world of treasures with his nose.
Back at camp, we had a light lunch and discovered another pressing matter:
The campfireman's supply of firewood was dwindling!
Clearly, something had to be done.
Janice and I hopped on our e-bikes and rode the three miles to park headquarters to replenish our supply.
We bought two bundles of firewood, and I managed to secure one to the back of my bike with bungee cords. The second bundle proved considerably more challenging. Janice and I struggled with our remaining bungee cords, trying to devise some ingenious method of fastening it to her bike.
Apparently, our predicament was entertaining, or perhaps simply pathetic, enough to attract the attention of Kevin, the ranger who had sold us the wood.
He graciously offered to deliver the bundle to our campsite.
Well, if he was going to haul one bundle...
"Could we buy three more?"
Kevin laughed and said he'd be happy to haul them all to our campsite.
We thanked him profusely and pedaled away, now considerably lighter than we had expected to be.
On the way back, Janice suggested we take some trails rather than simply following the paved road. That sounded like a splendid idea.
We turned toward the "Trail Center" and began looking for a dirt trail back toward the campground.
We couldn't find one.
What we did find was a roughly 15-foot-wide grassy trail disappearing invitingly into the woods.
There wasn't another person in sight.
Why not?
Off we went.
The trail was grassy, bumpy and covered with thousands upon thousands of acorns. Before long, we realized this wasn't exactly the bicycle trail we'd envisioned. It was apparently intended primarily for horses and, in winter, cross-country skiers and snowmobiles.
But by then we were committed.
For more than two miles we bounced and twisted along the topsy-turvy trail, wondering exactly where our clever shortcut was taking us.
Eventually, we emerged from the woods...
...onto the county road a couple of miles before the park entrance.
Oops.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
We laughed and pedaled our way back to camp.
Around the Fire Again
When we arrived, Kevin had already delivered our firewood, and it wasn't long before the campfireman had another respectable blaze going.
As evening approached, Cece roasted potatoes, peppers and tomatoes, while Janice cooked blackened salmon we'd bought at Costco, wrapped in aluminum foil on the grill.
It was delicious.
Then the three of us settled around the campfire once again, exchanging stories as daylight slowly faded into twilight and twilight surrendered to the darkness of a Minnesota autumn night.
Eventually, we retreated into our respective little camp homes, filled with memories from another wonderful day together and anticipating more adventures in the morning.
As I settled in for the night, though, my thoughts returned to where the day had begun.
Ninety years ago today, Mom was born.
Seven years after her death, she is still here in so many ways, in Lynn, Janice and me, in our cousins, in the stories we tell, in the bonds she treasured and helped nurture, and in a campfire shared with Janice, Cece and I on a cool September morning.
Perhaps that's one of the gifts our parents leave us.
They teach us that family isn't only the people sitting beside us.
It is also all those who sat beside us before.
Happy 90th birthday, Mom.
I miss you.
And I felt you with us today.
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