There is a place in northern Wisconsin that has been in my family for well over a hundred years. It first belonged to my great-great-grandparents, D.L. and Lady Taylor and now, six generations later, a little bit belongs to River.

It has been a place of many milestones. A place where generations gathered and celebrated and really grew up. Among other events, my parents were married there, and 26 years later, so were Elie and I.

We spent the last week wandering through the woods, savoring the hemlock shade.  We saw a coyote right out the door of the log cabin, picked raspberries and made jam.  We paddled and swam and savored these still-early days with the boy.

In that spirit we baptized River along the shore below the original cabin. There were no ministers present. Just Elie, River and myself—singing as we walked slowly down the hill. At the shore we spoke to the boy and welcomed him to the woods and to the family. I have belonged to that place all my life, and as we cupped our hands in the water and let it wet River’s hair, I knew he also belonged.

It was important to both of us that River earn his dual Mid-west/West Coast citizenship early, which has also brought us back to the humid arms of Minnesota to spend some time with Elie’s family. We know it will pass too quickly. But we’re getting it all in now, while the getting is still good.