It is hard to believe that our time on Les Iles de la Madeleine is already history, and we are back in our Vermont home again, with only the memories of another trip come and gone to fill our prayers and our dreams.
The time was beyond good. Not only was it a wonderful, awesome adventure - but more importantly, it was an incredibly intense time of ministry, and we are grateful for the opportunity to be a tiny part of God's plans in this remote corner of the world.
If you want to receive email updates and news about what we were doing there ministry-wise, please feel free to contact me!
On the blog-post-able side of things...
{Ike on top of our mountain}
Hiking the mountain beside our house has always been a favorite activity. It's hard to see in this picture, but through all that blowing snow is the vast expanse of the ocean, stretching away on three sides to the unbroken horizon. On sunny days said mountain is a paradise; on wintery days, a wild adventure as hurricane-force winds rip at your jacket, suck your breath away, and threaten to blow you over. Literally.
Going up isn't much of an issue because the wind almost always comes from the North, so it pushes eager hikers from behind as they scale the steep rocky trail on the exposed northern mountainside.
Going down is another adventure altogether. Most often, we opt for the "tunnel trail" - an aptly named slippery chute that points you headlong down through the trees at a 45 degree angle; in the winter this trail becomes a completely iced luge track with only a thin, rat-eaten rope to cling to as you descend at dizzying speed and hope not to hit a tree. It is also advisable to watch for hard, frozen roots poking up out of the ice in unexpected places. (!)
This time around, I avoided the roots, but it had been a long time since we'd slid down the tunnel trail and unfortunately, I did not know that the lifeline rope was broken in one key spot. I hit the place at rather startling speed and felt the frazzled end of the rope jerk through my gloves, dangling uselessly above my head as I hurtled downwards unimpeded over the smooth ice, the trees rushing by in an alarming blur... all except for that one straight ahead that seemed to be getting bigger as I approached...
...And the next thing I knew, my arms were around the tree, my breath coming in relieved gasps, my head inches from the protruding branches, and my ankle in a disturbing twist. Hmmmm. It was very definitely sprained.
But hey - it was our last day on the Islands, so I knew I wouldn't miss many more grand adventures! Plus, I was very grateful that the next two days we were on the road, so I was able to keep my ankle still and let it heal before we arrived back in Vermont, where the mountain tops were covered with five feet of fresh powder and the slopes were calling!
And, a very important fact: a ski boot is a LOT like a cast. :)
Which means that skiing is like medicine. Or something like that...
