Nate + Canoe Class = a dream fulfilled.

I know what you're thinking.

Nate finally fulfilled all my dreams:  he bought me a red house, a red truck, complete with gravel road.
Well, sadly, that's not exactly what this post is about.  {Check back in ten years for the red house, but I'm holding out for a red truck in five.}

Nate went to the North House Folk School in Grand Marais, MN for a week, to attend the Cedar-Strip Boat Building class.  He was ecstatic, but tried not to show it too much.  After all, he was leaving the kids and I for a week and it wasn't even for business.

I was excited for him on his behalf.

As you can see, the campus at the NHFS is pretty incredible.

But now let's move on to the photos of the cedar-strip canoe building.

Nate took all of these photos, but I can't consult him about any information right now.  He and Viggo are camping in the backyard.  So I am sitting here, wondering, who are these people?  What are their names?

Let's give them some names:  from left to right, here we have Junior, Billy Bob, Lars, and Big Eddie.

Or not . . .
You can decide what to call them.

 About 15 or 16 years ago, my dad and I participated in a cedar-stip canoe building class at our church.  Under the direction of Pastor Tom, and over several months, many hands built a beautiful canoe.  So I felt like I could simply teach Nate all he needed to know.  He didn't need a class!  Experts?!  Whatever.  Here he was, living with a built-in professional woodstrip canoe-builder.  How convenient!

Nate wasn't buying my claims of expertise.  He has become a little obsessed over the past couple of years, reading books on paddle making and boat building.  He would ask me questions about steps that I didn't have answers to, proving that I recollected almost nothing about the process.  And have I mentioned he stayed up late at night reading these canoe building books for months weeks?  He actually read them.  Don't people just flip through those books and look at the pictures?

 Stapling the strips together.
I remember that.

The end of the canoe (technical term) is looking good.

Epoxy, paper towels, plastic milk gallons cut in half to hold the epoxy.
I remember the mess.  It was sticky and smelled like sawdust.

I'm not sure what is happening here.  Perhaps some detailed epoxy application?  Probably not.  It looks like a lot of clamps.

Sanding.  Hours and hours of sanding.

 More sanding.

They put a dress on the canoe made of fiberglass.

Gunther* applies the epoxy.
*Not his real name.

More.  You have to be careful when you put it on, to make sure there aren't any crinkles.
This kind of nit-picky detailed work was Nate's dream come true.
He would call me late at night and gush about canoe class.
I would weep.  The children.  They were all insane.
To relieve the guilt I'm sure Nate was feeling, I purchased an expensive jacket for myself (on sale, of course) to help pass the time and make him feel better.

 I can honestly say I have no idea what is going on here.

 All done with the epoxy.

I really hope this was epoxy.  That's what I remember using.
Maybe there's been major advances in canoe-building, and this isn't epoxy at all.  Forgive me if that is the case.

I love this photo.  Totally impressed with Nate's photography!

 Everyone got cute little aprons.  They were not designed for tall people, so Nate's fits him more like a bib than an apron.

Now time for the inside.

Please can we move here.

 Did I mention that half-way through the week, Nate called and said, "This canoe is going to be so gorgeous.  I kind of want to buy it."

That was not in the plan.

The plan was, Nate takes the class to gain skills, to build his own canoe - someday.

Failing to mention my jacket purchase, I said, "Well . . . how much does it cost?"

Nate, king of rationalizing, explained that it was only $X,XXX and was actually quite a bargain, considering the cost of wood, the forms provided, the space to use, etc.

Feeling like a bum, because Nate never asks for anything (or sneaks around buying jackets), I said, "Well, how many canoes and kayaks are up at the lake right now for us to use, between what we have and what your folks have?"  I was thinking:  Four!  There are FOUR.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

I felt like such a jerk having to talk Nate out of this because I knew he was enjoying this class so much.  "Is this something we really need right now?  Or can it wait a couple years, until you can build one yourself?"  Then Nate mentioned something about needing more room in our garage to build one that long.  This was what I was thinking:  I am not even ready to sacrifice my parking spot in there.  Do you know how many years I lived without a garage?  Too many.  There is no way I am trudging through snow with groceries.  That era of my life is over.

I didn't verbalize those thoughts at that moment.  What I did say was, "That money might be very useful in buying a new car soon.  You know, the new car you're going to need."  Because your beloved 1999 Mazda Protege just isn't going to last a whole lot longer. 

Nate acknowledged that was an idea.

Please don't even get me started on the $XX,XXX suggestion to simply put a workshop addition onto our house to build the canoe in.

Baby, if I could give it to you, I so would.  I'm sorry to tell you that you married a penniless woman.

That was the end of that conversation.  When we hung up, I think I said a prayer.  Please, Lord.

I don't know a lot about this step right here, but I do know one thing:

Clamps make the canoe-building world go round.

Clamps.

All I have to say is, I would not want to be the person responsible for putting the hole in the boat.

Time for some details - like the seat.

And this part.

Nate was so thrilled with taking this class.
He did not buy the canoe.

 One of these other guys did. 
Nate was glad that the person who bought it would be using it on a daily basis for his job, because apparently this person is a forest ranger.
It was going to a good home.  It was a like a beloved pet, given into caring hands.  (Or perhaps even a child.)

I'm just happy that Nate got to have this experience, which I later learned was my anniversary gift to him.  I'm so super-thoughtful, apparently.

Nate suggested I look at what the NHFS had to offer - was there a class I would like to take too?  To just get away?  A bread-making class, perhaps?  {There was a bread class going on when the canoe class was, so Nate frequently suffered having to eat freshly-baked bread.} I ran this idea by Viggo, and he said, "But Mom, I love the bread you make!  You don't need to take a bread-making class."  My son, I love him.  For about half an hour, I considered taking a mukluk-making class.  But no, there are not any classes that I need to take, but a lot of them sound really cool.  Maybe someday.

If you are interested in the North House Folk School, check it out here.

Please provide your wife with childcare if you go.