Rock the Raft (My Aunt Madge's raft)

 

Aunt Madge Cronan-Ryerse

Lately, I’ve used a raft anchored out on Lake Michigan, for a much-needed metaphor. I needed something to give me a visual for my challenges and aspirations. I needed a strong one!

When I was growing up my Aunt Madge had a large, wooden raft anchored out in the bay on Lake Michigan. You could see it from her picture window, (in a cabin eventually made into a house) on a sandy, grassy hill above the beach. My memory intensifies with every one of my senses.

Her raft had large, red, rusting metal barrels under it to keep it afloat. A marvelous wall-less room made of large planks of wood sat above the barrels. Exposed to sun and eyes. Wooden steps led from the water. There was a sturdy anchor to keep it from being torn away by waves.

When I was under the raft the barrels seemed to deflect most of the small waves. The under part felt safe to me. It was shaded from the bright summer sky while I tread in the water, hanging on. Most of my body was camouflaged and I could hide behind the barrels if I didn’t want to be seen at all.

The room above felt free. There was the warmth of summer air and sun with sounds of wind, voices from the beach and seagulls. I could lay down on warm planks and see St. Helena Island, the peninsula to the east and an abandoned fishing dock to the west. 

Sometimes I’d stand with my feet wide apart and rock the raft. I was free to jump or dive off into Lake Michigan, scoop up the beautiful sand at the bottom and emerge for air.

The raft helps me picture life’s paradoxes. How I balance the demands of my purpose in life and question the reality of my limits and life’s uncertainty.

I imagine I can stand on the planks, exposed and vulnerable with strength and focus. 

• My blunders and accomplishments are my strength
• I can keep balance enough to reach for what I want
• Fear becomes part of my courage

I imagine I can shield myself under water in the shade. Invisible and unreachable. Shielded from distractions.

• Time to think, asses and clarify possibilities
• Space to figure out what I need or want 
  
• Realistically chart the steps I need to take, to climb to the planks.

All this requires both shadows and exposure to the elements. I don’t expect to eliminate failure from my life. I do want it to be a measure of how I’ve survived and can step back up and try again though.

I remember times a brother or cousin would sneak up behind me and throw me in the water when I wasn’t ready. Or the raft would become a “King of the Castle” game and it was no longer free. 

It’s another part of the metaphor. They’re all lessons to hide in the small slots under the planks to think about.

Thanks for the raft, Aunt Madge. Your suntanned face and laughter I won’t forget either. I appreciate the encouragement you gave me to swim stronger so eventually I could make it out to the raft in the deep water.

I think Aunt Madge is the little one on the bow
My Grandma taking them out in a rowboat.
Any identification welcomed