Chapter 23: A Guy From Up North Tells Him How to Play it Cool.
“But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. And having food and raiment let us be therewith content.” 1 Timothy 6:6
As luck would have it, it wasn’t just any old island; it was Baffin Island! “Cool!” Luke exclaimed as he looked about. The place was cold, all right. And snowy and rocky and empty, but they were still happy to be there, because hey, they’d never been to Baffin Island before. But after a brief look around, they quickly got bored and they got down to the business of accomplishing what they had come ashore to do. They needed to replenish their fresh water supply. Sure, there had been plenty of ice around them all the while that they were making their polar passage, but its awfully hard to defrost an iceberg at sea. (They keep bobbing around.) Now that they were on solid ground, they found some dry wood and built a fire, and dragged an iceberg to shore, and chopped pieces off it with their axes, and melted them in their soup cauldron and poured them into the empty barrels that they had brought in their boats. They could have just melted snow instead perhaps, but with this crew the Admiral had found that tended to lead to snowball fights and clownin’ around!
They were thawing out the last tip of the iceberg to fill their last barrel when a bearded, thick-skinned man in a fur parka and snowmobile boots came walking up quietly and surprised them. He was carrying a spear, but he didn’t look too aggressive. “Hi,” he said, in a friendly way. The sailors turned around. They really didn’t know what to say.
After a hesitant pause, Bert cheerfully greeted the new guy, “Howdy fella! Pleased to meet ya. We are the intrepid crew of The Nautilus, the fastest frigate in the British Navy, and I personally am Ensign Pulver” he embellished. “This must be your lovely island?”
The Parkaman shrugged. “Guess so,” he agreed.
“Well, we didn’t mean to intrude,” Bert said, politely. He had taken on the responsibility of doing most of the talking in this encounter with the owner of the property, because the Admiral wasn’t much of a diplomat, whereas Bert considered himself smooth, charming and lovable. He continued, “We were just getting some fresh water. We’ll be on our way shortly, of course. Meanwhile, is there anything we can do for you? Bert Loreword at your service,” he contradicted himself carelessly, shaking hands with the Islander.
“I am Reykjavik,” the spearman said. “Just call me Rick.” Then Rick the Baffin Islander made a generous offer: “We don’t get much company way up here. Why don’t you men come have dinner with me and my wife before you go?” The crew liked the sound of that, especially the idea of getting a good home-cooked meal; because while they liked their cook Che Vanier as a person, by now they were getting a little tired of constantly eating the same cuisine.
Rick the Baffin Islander led his maritime friends back to his summer house by the seashore, a small but cozy bungalow with aluminum siding and pretty curtains. There they met his lovely northern wife Nina, who greeted the visitors and then helped her husband barbecue some tasty caribou steaks, using plenty of hot sauce as always.
After the huge and healthy home-cooked feast, Bert patted his belly and went to find the facilities, while Luke strapped on borrowed snowshoes and went for a walk and a talk with Rick, (hoping this far-flung friend had some far-out advice) while the rest of the crew helped Nina clean up and wash the dishes. They also couldn’t help flirting a bit because she was a beautiful woman and a good cook (double bonus), and they had been at sea for quite a while. She kept them in check with tough eyes and a sharp wit, and they in turn respected the regretful fact that she was married. Besides, they remembered that Rick had a spear.92 So they cleaned up, and told stories about the sea, and laughed at her tales of life on the Island.
Meanwhile, Rick and Luke were standing on the edge of a cliff at the south end of the island, watching the seals play and the cold surf roll. Luke came right to the point, “I’m looking for wisdom; I thought you might have some you could share with me.”
The native Islander stilled him with a raised finger, and pointed back out to the shore. Luke quietly watched the tameless, timeless, northern nature for a while. Finally, after he thought his visitor had seen enough, Rick summed up, “This is wisdom.”
Luke waited respectfully again, like he was appreciating it for a while, then said gratefully, “True. But is there something I could write down in my book? Something pithy and quotable?”
The Parkaman sifted though his supply, thinking out loud, “Proverbs, aphorisms, axioms, adages, precepts, sayings...” Then he got a twinkle in his eye as he chose one out that he thought would be helpful. “Ah yes. My father once told me, what he in turn learned from his father, passed down from his father’s father.” There might have been a slight smile just then, but the Parkaman did his best to continue with a straight face, as if giving solemn and historic life-saving counsel: “Don’t eat the yellow snow.” He nodded his head proudly as though he had just given Luke valuable knowledge, but really he was just so proud of himself for finally having a chance to get off an oldie-but-a-goodie. With no one else about, he had been saving it for an unbearably long time.
Not knowing whether to thank their host for that unexpected advice, Luke thanked him for the meal instead. “Hey, thanks for the meal, by the way. That was good.”
“Welcome. Yeah that caribou sure is tasty, huh? We don’t get those very often though. Most of ‘em keep away when I’ve got my spear. Mostly hafta settle for fish.”
Luke had had his fill of fish already, and asked, “Don’t you get tired of fish? Of the same diet day in and day out?”
Rick the Baffin Islander answered slowly and thoughtfully. “We eat what God provides. How shall we complain about it? He gave the Israelites quails in the wilderness, and he gives us fish in the tundra. Good gifts. Instead of complaining, we thank God--at least there are lots of different kinds of fish!”
“True,” Luke nodded, trying to see it that way. Then, looking around at the bleak, empty, barren land, Luke wondered aloud, “Gosh, this is pretty desolate country, though. Do you folks ever get lonely?”
Rick’s eyes sparkled, as he looked out over his vast domain. “This is paradise! A northern resort! It’s just the off-season...”
“Oh, I didn’t realize. When does tourist season start?”
“Never,” the Parkaman admitted, and then laughed at his own joke93. (He was so used to not having anyone else around to laugh at them.) Then, half-seriously, agreed, “I guess you’re right; there aren’t too many people around here. Most of them left after the only local industry, the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine factory, relocated to Iceland. But Nina and I don’t get lonely; we’re happy together. We give thanks that in all this vast emptiness, we found each other.”
Aw, how romantic, thought Luke the Artist. Still, he wanted to know, “Why do you stay here, though? There seems to be nothing much to do here, not much reason to stay.”
Rick looked around at the same country Luke was looking at, but he saw something different. “This is Home,” he explained. “I fish, and hunt, and spend time with the land, and time with my wife. I wouldn’t know what else to do with myself. My people have always lived like this. It’s a family tradition,” he remarked, in an unaware-of- Hank-Williams way. “You can’t change where you’re from. So you’re better off trying to find a way to enjoy it.” Luke the self-exiled Hun stored that away.
Luke stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders to keep warm, as he stared out at the dark and hungry sea and shuddered at the autumn cold in The Land That Never Really Gets Warm. Hun-tough as he was, the North was still starting to wear thin, and his heart ached to get back to the real world. So he asked his guide, still incredulous, “How can you stay so happy and satisfied in such a cold and wretched land? Don’t you get bored?”
“Bored? You can always pray,” the Parkaman corrected. “Cold? ‘Two have warmth’,” he rem
inded, smiling at the thought of his beautiful Nina. Wretched land? God has given us this bleak beautiful ground. God has given us this cold wonderful water. God has given us these stark glorious skies. We are satisfied with his gifts.” Then he answered the first question: “If you really want to stay happy, all you have to do is decide to be happy. It’s that simple. It’s all up to you.”
That reminded Luke of something he had heard before: “What was it my friend Bert was tellin’ me? ‘It’s not God’s duty to give you a perfect life; you ought to find perfection in what he gives you’?”
Rick agreed with the sentiment about keeping the right attitude, but took exception with the part that implied that God didn’t give us perfect lives. So he added his own variant. “Finding the good in everything is our part. God’s part is to put it there...” Then added with a shrug, “He’s better at His job.”
Luke commented and complimented, that Rick seemed to be both happy and wise. “The last people I met who were both happy and wise were my Christian friends, the Good Guys. Say, I don’t suppose you also know about God, like they did?”
Rick the Parkaman looked up to the heavens, and he smiled at the terns and the arctic-blue sky and the evening-gray clouds. Then he said slowly, with feeling, “Of course not. How shall a man know about God? God is more than a man can know. But does that really matter? Perhaps it is enough that God knows us.” But then Rick acknowledged, “I am a Christian however. A missionary named Highfield gave me a Bible once. Their ship had quite lost its way, spun around in a cyclone on the way to southern soul-fields. It was all she had to trade for provisions and directions. I thought I was being generous by helping them anyway, but it turns out I got more good out of that book than I would have believed. There’s a verse in it that sums up some of what I’ve been telling you. ‘For I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed to be both full and hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’ That’s a useful passage to remember sometimes on this island, believe me!” Then Rick had an interesting thought about it. “We ought to remain content, because God guides all that happens. Things don’t happen the way we want, but they happen the way He wants. Those missionaries? They thought God had called them to save souls in the south. But he sent a strong wind to show them, he had a soul in the north they had forgotten about. Me? I thought I was saving their lives with the food I gave them, only to find out they saved my life with the Word they gave me. And you? You came ashore for fresh water, and instead you got... caribou steaks,” Rick finished, too modest to praise his own advice.
“Caribou steaks…Right,” Luke agreed, catching on. “They were just what I needed.”
When they got back to the bungalow, the Admiral was just getting his crew organized for the trip back to their ship, coz it was about that time. They said Good-bye to Rick and Nina, and thanked them for their hospitality, and then they hit the sea.