Love of a Father

“They say necessity is the mother of invention, so it’s not surprising that the snowmobile was invented in the deep Northwoods of Wisconsin. Born with a bum foot, Carl Eliason of Sayner needed a way to keep up with his friends and to check his traps in the winter. After working on his idea for two years, Eliason developed the prototype for his “motor toboggan” in 1924 and received a U.S. patent for it in 1929.” (Wisconsin Trails 2011)

During my preteen and teen years (and well past my years at home), our family owned snowmobiles. It began with a Polaris around 1969. Not many years later we acquired another sled, an Arctic Cat. Somewhere in the mid to late 1970’s my dad became a huge John Deere fan and we owned two John Deere sleds.

  

When I was growing up, my dad seemed a bit distant. Looking back, I realize he had much responsibility running a 250-acre farm and providing for a family of six; a family that would grow to seven in 1971. Farming was not and is not easy. We never took vacations, never went camping, rarely went on picnics, and all because of the farm. I resented it all through my teen years. When we kids asked if we could go on a vacation, Dad would respond, “We can go anywhere you want, as long as we are back by 6:00 to milk the cows.”

But then the snowmobiles came into our lives and snowmobiling became our vacation. At our house we prayed for snow, but not to have a day off from school. A day off from school meant the morning (or longer) spent cleaning the barn, feeding the cows, and bedding cows and calves. Really bad snow days meant thawing water troughs, silo unloaders, and gutter cleaners—a whole day of work. No, we wanted snow to accumulate over a week or so; the soft gentle snow, falling for days on end so school was still in session but the snow was piling up for the weekend. We wanted snow so the snowmobiles could come out of summer hibernation.

Often the first snowmobiling trip of the season was on Christmas night. My Aunt and Uncle LeJeune, and their three boys, always came for Christmas and always brought their two or three snowmobiles—Skidoos, yuck. Jovial banter about which sled was better and more reliable was always part of the trip. Our sleds were heavier than three of me and if I got that monster stuck, I wasn’t strong enough to lift it out; I was stuck.

The Christmas night ride was tradition. On a good night, we would ride for hours. I don’t remember very many rides being cancelled, despite the cold. If it was below zero, we just bundled up more and made the ride a short one. When the weather was good, and we were lucky, my dad and uncle would plan a whole day of riding for December 26. Christmas just wasn’t Christmas without the LeJeunes with us. Those three boys became my big brothers.

Snowmobiling fever really took a hold of my dad. Soon we were acquiring helmets, special gloves, one-piece snowmobile suits, and big insulated snow boots. Occasionally, in the evenings, my mom and dad would go riding with a group of neighbors. Another aunt and uncle were really into snowmobiling, and soon our two families had created a snowmobile club—the Sno Knights. We even had patches made for our snowmobile suits.

The Sno Knights would plan daylong adventures that would become vacations for our family. The day before the ride, Dad and Uncle Dave would venture into the Blue Hills of Northern Wisconsin and blaze a trail for our “vacation.” Chores were completed quickly on vacation days so that more time could be spent on the trails. Hot dogs, Shasta pop, hot chocolate, and cookies were loaded up with the firewood into our mush sled. The sled looked much like an Alaskan dog sled, but it was not nearly as lightweight. It had well built sides so two kids and supplies could be hauled easily. Trucks and trailers full of snowmobiles and accessories rolled into the Blues Hills. We kids were giddy with anticipation for the day’s ride.

The mid-day stop was a much-needed break from the trail. The fire provided an opportunity to warm up and make a hot lunch. As a young teen girl, wearing a one-piece snowmobile suit, I was quite careful about the amount of fluid consumed. Men don’t have the same bathroom issues as women wearing these one-piece straight jackets. Going to the bathroom was just one topic for complaint, and occasionally the cold was the other top area of contention. But these are not the things I choose to remember about our snowmobile vacations.

The crisp smell of snow, warmth of the sled, comfort of hotdogs and hot chocolate, banter about the best brand of sled, frozen eyelashes, cold fingers and toes, smell of snowmobile gas, drone of the snow machines, and time spent with family and friends are the things I remember. So much so, that 40 years later the smell of snow or sound of a snowmobile brings wonderful family memories flooding back to my mind, memories of a farm family’s version of a vacation. It is a reminder that as we grow our vision of our father can change. A father, who seemed to be distant, really wasn’t. He had his way of showing love for his family. My personal growth allows me to see my father more clearly.

Similarly, my growth in faith should allow me to see my Heavenly Father more clearly. My immature vision of a distant father was so wrong. He is a Father who loves me unconditionally and I don’t always understand His actions of love. I must choose to grow and mature in faith in order to see Him correctly. This is not a growth that occurs naturally as each day passes. This is a growth that only happens by choice, and each day I must make the choice to grow and mature. Will you make that choice today?