Weekend Getaway

This afternoon we are home-school convention bound. The kids are going to stay with Joe's parents for two whole nights and Joe and I have two nights on our own. Woo-hoo!

I do, however, think it's funny that our big adults only weekend every year is a home-schooling conference... a weekend in which we listen, talk and think about kids.

Vacation, II

We're back from our too short vacation. Well, at least three of us are, anyway.

We had a fantastic time in (drum roll, please)... Door County! Really, I don't know why we all love it so much up there. I've grown so accustomed to our fall and winter birthday trips that I've fallen in love with the gorgeous views, the relaxed atmosphere and, of course, the swimming. We never have a bad time, we always seem to be successful at leaving any stressful thoughts or problems behind us when we get there and we never seem to run out of things to do.

This trip was no exception, but the only problem was I didn't really take many (or any) pictures. I'm quite certain, however, that the reverse would have been true had I had a new Nikon D40 in hand (hint, hint).

We rode horses, visited and toured a beautiful old lighthouse, swam (or course) grilled fabulously delicious bacon cheddar burgars, played a lot of cards and board games and made trips into a couple of the sweet little towns for ice cream and window shopping.

The only downers were leaving and, even more sad, dropping Madeleine and Hank off in Green Bay for a week (!) of camping with Super Grandpa, Super Grandma (Superdad's parents) and their cousins. Superdad, Elisabeth and I will join them on Friday (hopefully early Friday; again, hint, hint!)

It's good to be home though I don't quite know what I'm going to do with myself with only Elisabeth to occupy me for the week. Any ideas?

Northwoods, II

Superdad's family has, in some incarnation, owned the same plot of land for four generations. His great-grandfather came over from Norway with his family (father, mother and brothers) in the early 1900s hoping to be lumberjacks as they were in their home country. In Norway at that time farming was for women or sissies, not men (the reason for this being that farm work was simply something that had to get done along with the lumber jacking so while the men cut down trees, the women farmed).

Upon arriving in Northern Wisconsin they built a lean-to into the side of the hill and since it was more important to protect the animals from the elements than the humans, a barn was built first (three houses on various plots would come later). In that barn Superdad's grandfather was born, the first male Olson born in America.

The family cleared all the trees on the land they'd claimed but without buying more land with money they didn't have they were forced to turn to farming.

Superdad's grandfather eventually farmed that land, as would Super Grandpa and his brother (Superdad's uncle). Superdad lived on that farm for the first few years of his life in two of the three houses that were eventually built. In fact, he used the same nursery in the main house that his father had used before him and his father before him (the house was finished shortly after his birth in the barn).

Now most of the farm has been sold. The original homestead was bought by a questionable lot who later burned the house down. The barn, however, still stands.


The second house that was built, which was across the street from the homestead (and is also where Superdad lived) was torn down when the land was bought by another farmer so that a larger field of corn could be planted.

The third house, along with forty acres, is still in the family and is owned by Superdad's aunt. It's in the picture below, far across the field.


Superdad's grandparents lived in the homestead (the one that burned down) while raising their family (one girl, two boys) but moved down to the smaller house, the one owned now by Superdad's aunt, when their kids started reproducing (one son had four children, the other son had two).

To be continued...

Northwoods

We spent this past weekend up in Wisconsin's Northwoods with Superdad's family. Saturday was a gorgeous spring day and the weather dictated that we simply must spend the day outside.

What does one do outside in the Northwoods on a beautiful spring day? Why, shoot guns, of course. I had never even seen a gun in real life (well, other than on a police officer) until I met Superdad, let alone shot one. I had no interest in it, I wasn't going to do it and no one could make me.

But then I met Superdad and he loved to hunt and I wanted to impress Superdad, so I agreed to go out to a shooting range with him so that he could site in his rifle for the upcoming deer season. While there he asked me if I wanted to shoot.

"No!" I thought to myself. "Um, sure," is what came out of my mouth.

What followed is an enjoyment of target shooting. No, I have no interest in going hunting, and I don't have to impress Superdad anymore, so I feel pretty confident saying I'll never go, but target shooting is a completely different matter. It brings out my usually repressed competitive nature.

On Saturday the shooting was just my speed. Superdad and Super Grandpa set up a target and brought out the baby gun (a .22 rifle) since my girly, delicate shoulder can't handle any sort of recoil. I was a little annoyed that the kids got to go first, but I tried to act like an adult and waited my turn.

Hank was beside himself at the opportunity to shoot a real gun. Superdad and I weren't entirely sure if Hank was ready to grasp the seriousness of the situation and act accordingly. Boy, were we wrong.

Superdad ran through a lengthy gun safety speech, complete with how-tos and what to never, ever do and I think Hank knows the rules better than I do now. Superdad decided he was mature enough to try it out.


I never realized exactly how much there is to know about a gun: how to clean it, how to load it, how to chamber a round, how to know when to shoot, when not to shoot, when to turn the safety off, etc. and was always a bit nervous around guns. I still am, to a degree since I can't do all of those things but I rely on Superdad to be there and provide instruction (I would never, ever shoot on my own; I don't know enough). I've come to believe that if you think your child might become a hunter (which Hank already says he wants to be) that it's important to start teaching them the basics early on so that by the time they're in the woods with a weapon on their own the rules of firing a gun safely are second nature.

Finally, it was my turn. I kicked butt with the .22; packing in five shots in a 2" radius, and then moved onto Super Grandpa's 9MM pistol. I didn't do quite so well with that, but it was still fun. Superdad wants to buy me a 9MM so we can join a gun club and target shoot together. Romantic, huh?


For those who blame the violence in the world on the mere existence of guns are who are loathing this gun post, fear not. Later in the day we took a lovely walk through old family haunts and gorgeous Northwoods scenery. But since we didn't shoot anything, I thought I'd save the walk for a post of its own (tomorrow, maybe?).