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            The next morning I drove through rainstorms in the Adirondack Mountains to meet my father at our family’s cabin, where we worked together to open the place for the season and, most importantly, turn on the water.  We shut it off during the winter so the pipes don’t freeze and burst.  It is finally warm enough, so even though we still experienced rain storms here and there, we spent the afternoon on the project.  He explained how all of the pipes and valves worked and then made adjustments while I turned valves and reported whether we had succeeded, the measure of which was if water was gushing from the hose.  The first few times we realized there were clogs in the pipes that were already in the lake, so my dad waded in the lake and handed me sections of pipe until we had shortened the length from the pump to the intake.  After that we tried again, and water came bursting forth with dramatic force.  Our mission was a success, and I knew more about plumbing.  One more Super Mario skill to check on the list.  We celebrated with dinner at a restaurant a few minutes down the road, just over the small mountain my grandfather and his brothers purchased and later sold decades ago, and, best of all, hosted my parents’ winter wedding in the 70’s, with several feet of snow, winter boots and all.  He went to bed early and I continued re-reading Huston Smith's book on the world’s religions, specifically, the section on Hinduism, and the paths to God.  I mostly read about the “way to God through work,” which seemed to fit the (3461) theme of the mission, especially since I was with my father.  I also read about the “way to God through love,” the “way to God through knowledge,” and the “way to God through psycho-physical experiments.”  Then I went to the lake to be peaceful with the silent waters, although the sky was still covered in clouds.  I could see the bright lights from Burlington, Vermont across the lake, and the shadowy darkness of the island I had begun exploring six years ago when I first started feeling the itch to escape from the city.

            My father returned home the next morning to work on his many projects around the farm.  He would come back a day later with my mother to enjoy the place for the weekend, but I still got to have the cabin to myself for one day.  I enjoyed relaxing to the sounds of the rain on the roof and the crackle of the flames loving the logs in the fireplace.  I worked on my book, ate healthy food, explored my imagination and memories, and when there was a brief break in the rain and a little bit of sun shined through the clouds, I took advantage of the opportunity to float on the water with my canoe for the first time anywhere in seven months.  I also returned to paddle around at night for a little while, even though there weren’t any stars visible.  Clearly this visit was a lesson in patience.  I had another fire in the fire place, listened to music, and slept in a bed that is much more comfortable than the one I have in the city.  I woke up after a few hours to use the bathroom, and when I emerged from my room I saw the sun rising from behind the Green Mountains of Vermont and reflecting gloriously from the waters of Lake Champlain.  Even better, you couldn’t even see the other side, because it was all covered in pure white clouds, made even more spectacular by the sun shining on them from above.

            My parents returned a few hours later.  We mostly relaxed, but it being opening weekend, there were many chores to see to, such as sweeping the porches, moving stacks of firewood, and, best of all, chopping firewood with an axe.  Despite all the swearing I’d do every fifth log, that one where the wood just wouldn’t let the blade cut any deeper than an inch or two, I mostly enjoyed myself and felt incredibly alive.  There were a few times when I heard the wind blowing through the pine trees, my grandfather’s favorites, and remembered how he dedicated his life to this type of work.  I also thought of how my grandmother had insisted he build this place.  I took another log from the pile, placed it on the stump, began a wind up similar to that of a baseball player and then swung with all my focused might, instantly splitting the wood in two with a satisfying thwack.  If only they were all so easy.  Then again, when it gets stuck and you need to swing the hammer down on the axe with your other arm, you feel like some sort of Norse god, and it’s all worth it.  Later that night I got to canoe under the stars for the first time since I’d come back.

            On Memorial Day evening I drove through the Adirondacks down route 87 to Harlem.  I got a late start, which blessed me with a spectacular sunset while driving amongst green mountains.  I arrived in the city at midnight, and went to sleep around 2.  Then I got up at 6 to begin my final week of work as a language teacher in the Bronx.  A week earlier I had finished my classes after seven months of employment at that branch, but one of the teachers went on vacation and my transfer to the midtown branch on 37^th street wasn’t for another week.