One of the things that has filled—and I mean really filled—my life is paddling canoes. Junking around on ponds, following the shore of bigger lakes, getting lost in the rhythm of stroke after lovely stroke. In the past year I have begun paddling most frequently in a style some call “Canadian.” This means the paddle never leaves the water, but is spun silently underwater and feathered back to the original position in one seamless move. The boat glides after the short pull and leaves the remainder of each stroke for subtle maneuvering. It is an utterly quiet way to travel and I’ve noticed how my thoughts are instantly quieted under its spell.

All this is really to say that we’ve just returned from a very brief trip in the Boundary Waters with River. We had a great time, though it wasn’t entirely romantic (trying to get the boy to sleep in the tent is much harder than walking him around a dimly lit room), but when it came down to it I really wanted to start River’s life in a boat. To give him a chance at being that paddle that never leaves the water. Or at least knowing those rhythms early on.

We are finding new and better ways to parent nearly every day, and to do this means stumbling through many things that don’t work all that well. It means that we laugh a lot and sometimes nearly lose it over silly things. We have kept it together, largely I believe, by helping each other find time for our most important daily traditions.

I go canoeing for the same reason that Elie practices yoga: to be immersed in a ritual teaches you about life and about living (which I consider two very different things). We’ve added the ritual of scrambling at the simple, but often mysterious, needs of a little boy. We are immersed, and, as humble students, we are learning that though we may be more worn down, being attentive to his rhythms teaches us many of the same things.