Since the Beginning of Time

Camping in Copper Harbor (18 years ago)

Since the Beginning of Time

After googling fluoride, I reported to Dane, “It says that fluoride is a mineral found in many foods and it’s good for preventing tooth decay. It actually promotes new bone growth.”

Dane was driving, and I was sitting shotgun, cradling a piece of green fluorite that I’d just purchased for five bucks from the rock and gem show at Second Nature at Reads Creek. I’d been attracted to its color and shape—if I squinted, it looked like the state of Wisconsin. I planned on setting it on my desk.

Dane appeared to be shooting daggers at me from the corner of his right eye. After a long moment, he said, “Ite.”

What?

“Fluor-ite. It’s a rock, Jane. Ite means rock.”

“Like granite!?”

I typed in the correct spelling and started reading again: “Fluorite is a stone heralded for its spiritual detoxification abilities and tendency to transform negative energy into positive energy...”

I reached over and held the stone over Dane's chest, slightly to the left. He chuckled as I kept the rock there and finished reading: “…boosting our mental clarity and promoting peace of mind.”

My own chest swelled at the power of this miraculous five-dollar find. “This rock will suck that cynical energy right out of you!”

Dane glanced my way for a split second and laughed, “I'll be nothing but an empty shell.”

I kept the rock pressed over his heart anyway, envisioning it performing miracles until we pulled into the driveway.

Somewhere in our relationship, it’s become apparent that Dane and I are often opposites. But instead of pushing us away from each other, it pulls us closer.

I got out of the car, smiled sweetly, and waved as he started to back out of the driveway. I yelled, “You’re my favorite beastie!”

“Bestie!” he called out the window before merging onto the road.

The day before the rock and gem show, we’d had our weekly date day (bike ride and lunch). Making time to spend with each other is critical to me—seemingly less crucial to Dane.

I’m a Jane-of-all-trades and my schedule is out-of-control crazy. During the spring and summer Dane works four long 10-hour days each week. I’ve insisted on weekly dates to keep us in touch beyond our nightly recap of comings and goings, which often translates into exchanging wildlife stories.

“Guess what I saw today?”

“A fox?” I guessed.

“Nope, a bobcat!”

I set down the knife I’d been cutting veggies with and listened to the facts. The bobcat had run in front of Dane’s car on a country road in Crawford County, where he was working.

Not even a month earlier, I’d had the same experience in Vernon County on Highway 82. Both of our bobcat sightings were in broad daylight, both of us had barely missed hitting them, and we were both thrilled at the experience.

We are equals when it comes to our observations and excitement about anything natural. We give each other extra credit for noticing details.

“Did you see its tail?”

“Yes!”

“Was it hardy looking or malnourished?”

“Hardy!”

“How big was it?”

“Maybe three feet long. It moved fast.”

I tend to be Pollyanna positive while Dane is intellectually negative—or we could say cynical. But in addition to our love for the natural world, we share a wicked, somewhat warped sense of humor.

A few weeks ago, after one of Dane’s 10-hour days, our date was at the Sh*tty Barn in Spring Green. We love the music venue, but going there on a work night is always challenging because of the distance. Dane has to hurry home from work, shower, and rush over to pick me up.

On that day, I was wrapped in a towel and searching for the one-dollar shirt I’d bought at Goodwill for the occasion. As I tore my car apart looking for the bag for the umpteenth time, Dane pulled in.

“Hi, looking for something?”

“I bought a shirt for tonight but I’ll be darned if I can find it.”

“We need to hurry if we’re going to get good seats.”

“Oh, I bought you a sandwich so you won’t need to stop and grab something to eat on the way. It’s in the refrigerator.”

“Thanks!”

As I walked toward the house, it dawned on me: “Oh, sheesh, maybe I put my shirt in the fridge with your sandwich.”

We walked into the house together, me still in the towel. I opened the refrigerator, pulled out the bag, and discovered my shirt with his sandwich.

“Wow, it’s cold!”

“Put it in the oven.”

“We should get going or we’ll be late.” I slipped the cold shirt on. “I’m actually ready, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Dane,” I exclaim as we walk toward the car, “I’ve been waiting for you since the beginning of time.”

I have been—and I’m so glad he finally showed up.