The Island Renovation, and a Confession

More pictures of the Island ceiling, fireplace, and loft.  I can't tell you how much I'm in love with how this brightens up the inside of the cabin.  I'm itching to get the mantle installed and to lay the hardwood in the loft, but this is such a great, great start to bringing the cabin back to its former glory.  (I have no plans to use it as the dance hall it once was, but it would be a nice one!)  The end wall in the loft isn't finished yet, but once it is, I have a feeling it's going to be just like a tree fort up there; the lighter ceiling really helps draw your eye out to the windows.  The bathroom renovation will probably have to wait for next year, since we have some important mainland upgrades to do this year as well.  One step at a time.

And now, the confession.  I was trying to figure out last night why I'm so stressed about my guide's test to the point where I fear it more than I feared the 8-hour, 40% failure-rate Professional Engineer's exam, and I think I finally landed on the answer.

I'm terrified of being a fraud.

I grew up right here every summer, about as deep in the middle of the woods as you can get.  I vividly remember one day when I was four or five, I was walking up to the laundry room on the top of the hill in a little blue-and-white striped dress, and I was thinking to myself how I lived the most amazing life of anyone I knew, and that I had better well appreciate each day that I was so lucky to spend here.  That four or five year old gave me better advice in that one day than several other years of my life gave me combined, and I have indeed remembered to stop every now and then to just appreciate what my life has been graced with.  That being said, the wise child turned into a fairly normal teenager who turned into a very busy adult. I didn't use every teaching experience I could have as I grew up; I didn't turn every question into an answer; I didn't identify every bird I heard singing; and I didn't focus on being the person that I now think I should be.

In July, I'm going to be tested on those unanswered questions, those birdsongs, and those experiences I had but may not have recognized.  As foolish as it is, I've turned this one test into an affirmation of my entire life in the woods: whether I deserve to be here at Red River or whether I'm just playing house while my parents are away.  Unlike the PE exam, this test isn't just for work.  It's for everyone who, if I fail, will look at me and wonder what I've done with that sage advice I gave myself all those years ago.  And it's for me, who will ask the same question.