Joan’s first painting project: a hand painted chest depicting children playing during the winter holidays.
One of her feet sank about a foot deep in mud. She couldn’t lift it out, so she grabbed the side of the boat, struggling to get loose. Joan recalled Mom’s decision to jump in too, but I know canoes can be tippy, especially when balance is disrupted by too much weight on one side. Anyway, Mom ended up in the marsh. I don’t think she stepped in willingly since she later shuddered as she described the rice worms and other bugs — this, from a woman willing to perform minor surgery on her children or herself when necessary. Like Lucy and Ethel, their best-laid plans had gone awry. Both women soon noticed that boats were moving back toward shore. Perhaps the men were ready for a lunch break. Though Mom and Joan were not far from shore and the water was not deep, neither wanted to spend the day in the lake. “Help!” they called feebly, laughing at first. They kept this up, but there was no response from the men. They decided they better yell a little louder. Nothing from the guys clad in plaid. Soon they were yelling “Help!” at the top of their lungs. Finally a man hopped in his canoe and oared over. Soon others came and helped pry the women out of their muddy mess. It was a chore that took several minutes. In the course of getting pulled into the canoe, their rice trickled from the boat and into the lake. Both women, caked in mud, worms, and bugs, finally reached the shore. To top it off, the car keys were gone too. Luckily they found a spare in a box hidden under the car’s bumper. Chagrined, they drove as far away from their ricing experience as possible. Although both women’s bodies and spirits may have been dampened by their blunder in the bog, this setback was only temporary. Mom never did rice again. Years later Joan went once more with another female townie, a veteran ricer. Our Christmas seemed just as bountiful that year; we never missed those imagined ricegifts. Author’s note: Mom and Joan, with their husbands who both taught and coached, raised five children and six children respectively during the turbulent ‘60s and ‘70s. Later they discovered creative outlets besides sewing and homemaking. Mom took classes with Jon Hassler, she joined poetry groups, writing pithy prose and publishing poetry. Joan became an artist, starting with a chest to commemorate her children, pets and neighbors. The gift of their friendship and their sacrifices for family is a wonderful reminder of love’s meaning as Christmas nears.
HV
Charmaine Donovan
Charmaine Pappas Donovan is an author whose first poetry collection, “Tumbled Dry,” was published this year. She is a member of Brainerd Writers’ Alliance, Heartland Poets, a chapter of the League of Minnesota Poets; and The Loft Literary Center. Her recent prose and poetry is published in “The Talking Stick” and “Lake Region Review 2011.”
WINTER 2011 | her voice
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11/4/11 11:08 AM