Day 13, July 10: When is over 'over'?

I spent the rest of the day on the 9^th wrestling with my decision to stop the row as well as luxuriating, I must admit, in the shower and soft bed at the B&B. I knew that the safe and logical thing to do was to call it quits here at Baie St. Paul: 425 miles was not a totally shameful effort, and escalating conditions ahead beyond those that had so challenged me over the last two days all pointed towards this logical conclusion. And the news from Jane’s family was more than the capper; it was indeed time to go home.

Yet as I put the boat and my gear in storage by the barn across the road from the pier, I kept looking out at the river. Alternatingly calm and inviting, roiling and white-capped, the variability I was witnessing virtually hour-by-hour from the security of land represented the real danger. Just two or three days of concentrated effort would get me to the Saguenay river if normal conditions prevailed, but the “normalcy” of this region was volatility.

A Pretty Spot for a Boat to Wait.....

I was so close…yet so far.

Packing to catch the bus home that afternoon, I felt disappointment on a bunch of levels. I’d come up short on my stated destination for the first time in five long rows and over 2,000 miles. At any moment I could get back in the boat and try again, but I’d elected not to. In trying again, I would no doubt have another exciting adventure, right? Why not go? Was I losing spirit? Was 62 (now 63!) making itself felt? I again missed Matt’s company and counsel. I don’t know whether his capable presence and companionship would have spurred us both on or whether he would have said, “Pop, it’s beyond us; it’s time to fold ‘em.” I do know that I would have listened, and I missed his voice.

And then there was Alec, my Sage of Baie St Paul, who wandered down later in the afternoon to say hello and to applaud me for my good judgment. His respect for the St Lawrence was driven by a lifetime of observation far beyond my own single week of experience, and I’d like to think that his experience and candor enriched my “good judgment” at this moment.

So the packing continued and Nicole, Daniel, and Christian, my collegial hosts at Auberge Le Cormoran & Le Domaine Belle PLage, agreed to watch over my stuff while I was gone. Alec then guided me to the bus station along the most delightful path to any bus station, anywhere.

Gentle Reader, earlier in this blog I’ve already recounted most that has happened since: the overnight in Montreal’s bus station, Jane’s passing, Peg’s generosity and spirit in accompanying me back to Quebec, Timmy’s role in getting us through Customs and such. But as I gaze at this photo of the path to the bus station, the obvious closing metaphor forces its way to the page….

Sublime can supplant stupendous. Gentle closure, be it a walk down a grassy path to a bus station or a loving family gathered around a bedside, can trump the dramatic. Just trying hard can indeed rival clear accomplishment if one’s head is on right. And as Alec escorted me down this path, I wondered whether relying on the best natures of others, giving yourself over to the possibility of acceptance and hospitality and to rejection as well, teaches us more about ourselves than about anything else. On this short trip I’d met Peter, Phil and Helen, Denise and Gerald, Nancy and Nancy and Daniel, Nicole and Daniele and Christian, Michael and of course Alec…..and many others whose names I’d neglected to record but whose kindnesses will be paid forward.

At a moment when CNN, the background noise to this writing, conveys global challenges of every shape and form, my own insignificant sojourn suggests that countless unseen acts of compassion and unconditional kindness are the most important stories of all.

Thanks for having joined me.

Love, and be kind,

Al