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Interruptions
by
Suzanne
Tyson
I was sitting
at my computer today, attempting to think about
what I would like to write about next, when the
phone began to ring several times in a row. The
television set climbed in volume a few times, the
dog begged to go out, and the cat begged to come
in. My daughter and her boyfriend wandered through,
as did my son and mother. I confess I was becoming
more aggravated with each interruption. I retreated
for a short time to my room where I just ‘chilled
out’ as my children would say.
I was thinking about my childhood, and how
uncomplicated life used to seem back then; and to
be honest, I was also contemplating my chances of
running away from home. While on this train of
thought, the stories my father used to tell me as a
child about Noah John Rondeau came to mind, because
that is exactly what he did.
Mr. Rondeau
was a hermit who lived in the backwoods of the
Adirondack Mountains of New York, living off the
land and the waters of Cold River. The story is
told he was born and raised in New York City, fell
in love with a young woman, and was sadly left at
the altar on his wedding day. Jilted and
heartbroken, he banished himself to the woods to
live out his life away from the rest of the human
race. Rondeau, as the family called him, lived
entirely off the land. Fishing and hunting were his
means of survival.
My grandfather, Dr. C.V. Latimer, and his three
sons - including Dad - were avid fishermen and
hunters. Although Rondeau did not care for most
humanity, he befriended my grandfather, so my
family would pack the family’s model T Ford and
make the three to four day trip along the rough
dirt roads to Rondeau’s camp to spend a week or
two. Quite a trip in the thirties! Especially if
you are traveling from the southern portion of New
York only a few miles from Pennsylvania.
While there, my family, who had all the luxuries a
home offered at the time, would live alongside
Rondeau. Traps would be cared for, trout
fished for dinner, a repair or two to be
done to the hut where they laid their heads at
night, or perhaps meat had to be prepared for the
long, cold winter. Work was daily life!
As a young child, I had always wondered why my
family would choose to spend their vacation with
this man. Money was definitely not a problem. They
could have spent their summers anywhere else in a
fancy hotel, if they desired to. They could have
easily toured Europe or anywhere else in the world.
Instead they chose to go to the middle of
‘nowhere,’ as some would say.
Unfortunately, my father has passed away, and I
will never have the opportunity to question him,
but it did dawn on me today perhaps they favored
and cherished their time in the backwoods of the
Adirondacks for the pure peace of it. I imagine
they found solace in the woods without
interruptions, except for the occasional call of an
eagle or a deer passing through the camp or a fish
jumping out of the clear waters of the river.
Perhaps listening to the trees and watching the
filtering of the sunlight as they found their way
down a path to set traps was not work, but
pleasure. Perhaps the companionship of working
together to thatch a roof or dry meat was what
brought my grandfather close to his sons. Perhaps
fishing together with quiet conversation encouraged
them to share their thoughts and feelings. Perhaps
the inconveniences of life in the woods were minor
compared to the convenience of having God’s hand so
close they could reach out to Him and touch Him by
way of the nature around them.
The lesson I have learned today is clear to me. My
family is peace. My family should not be excluded
from my life and especially from my writing,
regardless of how many interruptions they swing my
way. Every deep emotion I have comes from them; my
love, feeling of companionship, my hopes for the
future, and, yes, peace. Because without them, I
would have none of these things. Without these
things, I would lose my desire to write, and I
would lose my desire to continue. They are my
refuge from the rest of the world, and I don’t have
to travel in a model T for three or four days to
reach that wonderful refuge. I know I’m a very
fortunate woman, and I have promised myself that in
the future, I will try to be more thankful for all
my interruptions.
Thanks Dad! Thanks God!
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