My husband is a very romantic idiot. It was his chivalrous idiocy that captured my heart and swept me off my feet. It was a cool July evening in 1987 when Mark first took me to his mothers cabin for the weekend. I spent the day in anticipation of the coming evening and the excitement of adventure of going off into the woods together and being lost in each other, away from civilization. To let our spirits soar in the quiet calmness of nature, away from the overcrowded brainwaves of the city and old boyfriends.
We left the city at about nine that evening. It was about an hour and a half drive. It rained hard all the way there as Mark spoke poetically of his fond memories in Balsam Lake. As a boy, his family would rent a cabin for their vacations there. His mother bought a small cabin with her husband Bob a few years back. It was on an island in the middle of the lake, secluded from all civilization. The only way to get there was by boat. We could make love under the stars; go skinny-dipping in the lake or dance naked around the bonfire without the worry of intruders or on lookers.
There was a feminine rain drizzling softly, but constant, on our windshield as we pulled into the Sunnyside Marina on Balsam Lake. Lucky for us we packed our clothes and guitars in plastic garbage bags. I even brought extra garbage bags so we could put holes in them for our head and arms, a sort of makeshift raincoat. Mark pulled down to the docks and proceeded to show me his mom’s and step-fathers boat. We unloaded the car and loaded up the boat. I lit up a cigarette and waited on the small fishing boat with our garbage bag suitcases while Mark parked the car. We had gotten a late start and it was about midnight by now. The Marina was asleep and the lake was pitch black. I didn’t know that Mark was back until I felt him rocking the boat in an effort to get on board. It was a chilly night for July and thank the lord, too cool for mosquitoes. I shivered in the drizzling rain as Mark tried and tried to start up the motor. I had an umbrella but it didn’t do much good since the wind seemed to come in all directions blowing the raindrops into my face and drenching my hair. With a dim flashlight and a cigarette lighter Mark managed to switch the gas tanks. (It’s a strange thing but as I think back on this first cabin event in our lives, I’ve come to realize that this has been repeated over and over again throughout our years together and every time it happens I get that deja-vu feeling). Okay, be calm, the boat still wouldn’t start. Since we didn’t have any oars, our alternative was to turn around and go back home or . . .
Mark could jump in the water and pull the boat to the island. Comedy, Jokes, Love.
Ready for adventure or maybe just really horny, Mark stripped down to his shorts and jumped into the icy cold, weedy waters of Balsam Lake and became. . . Super Idiot. Removing the anchor and tying the anchor rope around his trim waist, Mark proceeded to swim out into the vast darkness of the lake pulling the boat with me and our garbage bags of gear with all the determination and daring of a young lover. I shined the dim flashlight on the foggy waters ahead fearing for Marks life, thinking of that old Indian legend about the giant sturgeon that terrorized the Midwest waters for hundreds of years. We inched slowly away from the Marina. It seemed like hours had passed when I could finally make out that we were in the middle of the lake. I began to get nervous when I heard a boat motor in the distance. Shining the light around the lake, I squinted my eyes trying to see what was out there coming our way. I couldn’t see any other lights on the lake so I held the light steady on Mark so the ever louder roar of the approaching boat engine would be able to see him. The boat passed us in the night with no lights. Soon after that Mark swam back to the boat looking pretty blue in the face as he shivered. “I’m tired. I think I’ll try the motor again”, Mark said as he stripped his wet shorts off and tried to put dry clothes on his wet goose-bumped body. I watched him as he rocked the boat struggling with his pants. “You know they might go on easier if you took this towel and dried your self off first”. He tossed his clothes aside and once again stood up naked and shivering, bared to the harsh elements of a cold misty Wisconsin summer night. I feared that we would both end up in the water with our guitars as the boat rocked furiously. Mark took the towel from me and faster than a speeding idiot, dried his body off and put his clothes on. The rain was letting up, fog was lifting and stars were beginning to break through the clouds, shining there guiding light upon the waters.
I could just make out the island in the distance. “You see those two islands there”, Mark pointed to the brow of the boat. “I can only see that one straight ahead”. “Look a little to the right of the boat”. “Oh yeah, now I see both”. I replied, “We are going to the big island on the left, just beyond that peninsula. It’s called Big Island”. Mark proceeded to the back of the boat and tried to start the engine again. It almost started a couple of times before it began to sputter again. The wind blew a strong odor of gas in my face. “Is it possible to flood one of these engines like you do a car”? “Yeah, I might have flooded it”. We waited about five minutes in silence. I put all my focus on visualizing the boat motor starting and speeding through the dark night into a warm toasty bed. As idiot’s luck would have it, the engine started on the first try this time. We were finally on our way.
