I can’t close out these recollections about our time on Washington Island without mentioning our wonderful host, Kari Gordon – a friend of mine from Luther College who, in an incredible coincidence, now lives four houses away from us in Racine, in a house she and her husband Rod built right around the same time that we were building ours. We had absolutely no idea that we were about to become neighbors of each other until we bumped into each other at a restaurant one night and started comparing notes about the pleasures and perils of home construction. “Wait a minute, you’re building your house where?!?!” and the rest is history.
Anyway, Kari may live most of the year in Racine but her heart remains on Washington Island, where both her family and Rod’s have had deep roots for generations- and when Kari heard that Kathy and I were going to heading up there for a few days, she kindly offered us the use of the guest room in their lovely home on the island. Little did we realize that we would have not only a beautiful place in which to relax and sleep… truly a home away from home… but that Kari would be an absolutely ideal tour guide, showing us all kinds of lovely sights while filling us in on some of the island’s history.
Of everything she shared with us, I think I’m most grateful for a story she told us about the construction of the stunning Stave Kirche, an astonishing replica of a medieval Norwegian church, complete with dragons on the roof and built without so much as a single modern nail. It was clearly a labor of love for the small Lutheran congregation across the road- and particularly for those parishioners who did the actual work of erecting the structure.
One of the men of the church who played a major role in the construction work would typically leave his tool belt at the church, rather than haul it back and forth from home. One day, as the church was nearing completion, he went home as he always did … and died of a heart attack. And in a small yet exquisite gesture of respect and gratitude, it was decided that his tool belt should remain exactly where he left it that last day that he worked in the Stave Kirche. And there’s where it is to this very day, hanging from one of the beams above the main door. But if you didn’t know it were there, you would almost certainly never notice it- because there is no plaque to draw your attention to it. And that seems exactly right to me, because the typical Norwegian Lutheran would be loathe to seize the spotlight except under extreme duress. So this kind of small, intimate, almost private tribute could not be more fitting. And thanks to our host, we got to see this lovely, moving sight for ourselves.
And beyond this particular story, it was also a poignant reminder that whenever one gazes upon an impressive, ancient structure …. or, in this case, a carefully wrought reproduction of one …. there were flesh and blood human beings who labored to bring it into being. I know that I don’t tend to think very much about that sort of thing… none of us do …. especially when looking at enormous, spectacular cathedrals like St. Patrick’s in New York City. We just marvel at the magnificence and never stop to consider the sweat and toil it took to create it. Do we harbor in our minds and hearts some strange fantasy that these structures took shape by magic, built by someone roughly akin to the Shoemaker’s Elves? I’m sure my brother-in-law Matt doesn’t. He is a carpenter, and he built the marvelous home outside of Decorah where he, Randi and their children live. It was really neat to see that home slowly take shape- and to know that there were hundreds if not thousands of precise calculations and decisions that had to be made to fashion a house that was safe and secure, in addition to being jaw-droppingly beautiful. As someone who is stymied by the challenge of closing the venetian blinds, I can’t help but be awed by that kind of talent and skill.
God bless the builders among us. . . and especially that devoted man on Washington Island who didn’t live long enough to see that lovely Stave church to completion, but whose tool belt hangs within it as tribute to his devotion.