I’m writing this to you from a hotel room, and in almost exactly ten minutes I am going to get in the car and drive the remaining six hours home. Squam is fabulous, but cell and internet coverage are spotty, and so last night I talked with everyone at home, caught up, and realized that I am going to be hip deep in it when I get there. I know it’s all doable, I’m just going to have to keep things really planned, organized, calm and beautiful to keep everyone (mostly me) moving though it all without losing it. The drive here, I let go of Squam, worked through everything I’d learned and who I’d seen and what I thought, and last night I caught up with home, and today I’m going to use this time on the road to make a really great plan for how I’m going to accomplish everything that I am over the next two weeks, and still be a smiling gracious mother who doesn’t scream "are you freakin’ kidding me" while smashing her forehead repeatedly off of the left side of her steering wheel.
I slept forever last night, to bed early and up a little late – for me anyway, and that was a good step one. There’s something about Squam that leaves me feeling like I got hit by a truck. I don’t know if it’s how busy it is, or how much energy it is, or if it’s the five years that I took off my life with the decision to swim in Squam Lake yesterday morning, but I was so tired that I couldn’t even see straight. (The swimming in the lake thing? I swim in Squam Lake every year. Our little cabin of Canadians always does, and this year, since I ended up representing solely, I was determined. As a general rule, I don’t mind swimming in cold water. I sort of feel like the only time that I might object to the temperature is if I had fallen through the ice. I was wrong. I don’t know what made me think that it would be a good idea to swim in the lake after such a late spring, but I think I just about gave myself a heart attack. It wasn’t the kind of cold where you get in and you can’t believe it but after a minute or two you get used to the idea. This was so cold that after about two minutes in there I couldn’t feel my thighs. I talked Amanda (she was my room-mate this year) into going in with me, and she was such a good sport, but after a few minutes – trying to be really cheerful and pretend everything was okay, she sort of said "This really kinda hurts, doesn’t it?" and I called the game. We got out, and we’ll see if she ever forgives me.)
I had a wonderful Squam, but I’m getting on the road, and turning my car and head for home. I’ll have it all figured when I get there. Here’s a few last looks at Squam.
Amanda on the dock. Note the sweater. Why did we go in?
Knitting teachers, spotted resting in the wild. (Franklin and John) Careful not to startle them.
A little spot I claimed for writing in our cabin.
Amanda and I enjoyed a really cozy evening in our cabin, happily knitting our own handspun bu the fire while enjoying a really decent bottle of wine. We both took versions of this picture and then realized that this is exactly how rumours get started.
(As an aside, it turns out that if you put two bloggers together at the same event, and they mostly go places together, at the end of the day they will have pretty much the same roll of pictures.)
Anne and Erica. And yarn. Which I got.
Happy knitters that I was happy to see.
Let’s not even try to explain Stephen West.
It was great. I can’t wait to go back.
PS. A big shout-out to Casey and Jess for finding Amanda and I when we were lost in the woods. All those trees look the same.