Embracing the Wind: Messages from Memories

Reading Time: 5 minutes

By Michael Avery

When memories of water skiing come to mind, they generally evoke feelings of fun, freedom, and ninety degree days, but not always. My fondest boating memories are from the time Eldon, a friend from the plywood mill where I worked, taught me how to slalom ski. I learned a lot about water skiing from Eldon, and a little about sacrifice. The latter proved invaluable.

When Eldon agreed to teach me, there were two conditions; both I found inconvenient. He insisted on being at the lake at the crack of dawn on Saturday mornings. Being in my mid-twenties, Friday nights revolved around staying out late with friends and socializing until well after midnight. 

They say that anyone fifteen years older than you are is looked upon as being “old.” Eldon was in his early forties when we skied together. He probably went to bed around 8:00 p.m. on Friday night so he would be fresh on Saturday morning. I was amazed that someone “that old” could still water ski! So, I learned that, providing your body is in good shape, you can recreate to your heart’s content at almost any age.

Having only a few hours sleep was not the only issue. Eldon’s favorite season for water skiing wasn’t summer, it was fall. Most people abandoned Cooper Creek Reservoir just outside of Sutherlin, Oregon, after Labor Day. With no other boats on the lake, the water, although chilly, was often silky smooth unless a curious breeze sent ripples across the surface. Donning wet suits, we skied until mid-November one year. For the most part, getting to the lake at dawn and negotiating the frigid water were acceptable sacrifices for one good trip around the lake on glassy water. 

That memory of skiing on Cooper Creek returns to tell me: 

“Be willing to make sacrifices for something you value greatly.” 

Lake Billy Chinook

An equally important message arrived with the memory of a trip to a large lake near Bend, Oregon. It was only in retrospect, however, when the memory popped into my awareness one fateful day, that I realized what the memory symbolized. 

Two friends invited me to meet them at Lake Billy Chinook. When we planned the trip two months earlier, we expected an eighty degree day and reasonably calm water for skiing since August had just given way to September. Upon arrival, we found neither to be true. Skiing against the gusty wind with white caps churning up the water did not appeal to my friends. However, they decided to launch their 21-foot boat, and we settled in for one last ride around the southern part of the lake to celebrate the ending of summer.

At about the mid-point of our loop, I asked my friend driving the boat to stop—I was going skiing. In disbelief, he stopped and watched me dive overboard with my ski in hand. As the boat engine revved up, I could hear fragments of the conversation between my two friend, words like “crazy,” “I thought he was joking,” and “This is going to be ugly.”

And it was ugly, as well as uncomfortable and downright cold. But it was also unforgettable, heroic, confidence building, and exhilarating. As I negotiated the largest waves I had ever skied across and through, I projected my will down upon the water. Rather than fighting the gusts of wind that pushed against my body and blew back my hair, I embraced them. It was as if the wind accommodated my shift in consciousness and rallied in my favor, applauding my effort. I jumped the boat’s wake and dipped my shoulders close to the water in turns as I had done on glassy water. 

My friends never said a word about my skiing when I climbed back into the boat or when we parted ways for our various homes. But, deep inside, I knew I had created a stalwart memory that would be my friend when other memories hid from the storm.

The message of that memory was this: 

“When a situation calls for strength of will, 
call upon the memory of Lake Billy Chinook.”

Water Skiing Memories Return

Little did I know that my two clearest memories of water skiing in my youth would later come to my aid during a crisis. During my glue mixing days at the plywood mill, I ingested several toxic chemicals including formaldehyde, phenol, and caustic soda over, not months, but years. Much later in my life, as I was completing an aggressive cleanse when I was working for a Water District as a water quality specialist, those chemicals overwhelmed my body and broke through the blood brain barrier.

As I struggled for survival, I remembered my skiing memories. It was as if the Memory Master, sometimes also called “the Dream Master,” had given me those experiences in preparation for my near-death drama. Two weeks after my cleanse, I was barely able to drive a car or speak coherently. Collecting water samples in small containers was one thing; opening fire hydrants and flushing distribution lines—another part of my job—was quite another.

The day I returned after my “two-week vacation,” my supervisor informed me that he wanted to take some photos of me opening a hydrant for a company brochure. I give “Lake Billy Chinook” credit for getting me through the day. 

My energy ran out midway through my task. By calling on the memory of Lake Billy Chinook and summoning my will power, I was able to open the hydrant and manage a half-hearted smile for the camera. Had I not experienced throwing my will against the water to help hold me up, I would never have known such a thing was possible.  

Recovery from my chemical brain injury and compromised body spanned months, then ran into years. Six months after my injury, I contemplated suicide by sleeping pills. My brain was both fried and scrambled. Only divine intervention got me through my first year back at work.

The message I garnered from my memory of skiing with Eldon came to help. What was I willing to sacrifice to gain something valuable, good health again? After my near-death experience, my diet completely changed. If you know anyone who has acute food allergies or chemical toxicity, you’ll get some idea of what I endured.

I could eat only steamed organic vegetables, organic eggs, and meat. If I ate a single almond, my muscles would seize up. Stimulants, sugar, carbs, wheat, soy, nuts? All scratched from my list for one reason or another.

When I asked my Nutritional Response Testing practitioner if I would ever heal, he answered, “In time.”

Would I be willing to sacrifice the foods, sweets, and drinks that I loved for a return to good health? he asked. Remembering my skiing adventures with Eldon, I answered, “Absolutely.”