Dear Farm Journal,
The clock ticks down to our Boundary Waters trip and I gradually lose my will to work. I squeak out a few more farm chores from my waning ambition and finally turn my attention to a different sort of “pack out”. Rufus and I assemble, organize, and stage our gear in the living room. The butterflies in my tummy are starting to talk now, and I can almost smell the lake. I’m grateful for our opportunity to run away to the north woods, into the wild, into each other, and deeper into ourselves. The wilderness is a place we disconnect and ground ourselves, a place to remember how to relax and adventure, and a place that calls us back year after year.


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