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The Reluctant Outdoorswoman- A Tribute to Bette Norman

Writer's picture: Susan NormanSusan Norman

While finishing up the final edits for my memoir RISK before going to print, I was unsure how to refer to my Mom in the dedication. Was it Betty or Bette, and would she have wanted me to use her maiden or married name? My parents divorced due to financial pressures related to her illness with acute multiple sclerosis. (She could only get state assistance when she was unmarried.) But I also know my Dad still considered himself married until she passed.


In my initial research, I found no trace of her existence online. Therefore, in addition to determining how to name her in my dedication, I realized I wanted to create at least one place on the World Wide Web for her to be remembered—because she was a badass.


The reason I started canoeing as a toddler was because of an ultimatum. 


In 1959, when my twin brother and I were two years old, Dad returned from a weekend canoe camping trip in the Ozarks to find a letter from Mom on the kitchen table. In conclusion, it read, 'I am tired of sitting at home with the kids while you go to play at being the great white explorer. Either we all go, or nobody goes.'   


Living in Tahoe, it has been no big deal to see young parents out in the mountains and rivers, hiking, skiing, mountain biking, and paddling with their young children, exposing them early to the outdoor adventure lifestyle. Naturally, I have also been aggressive in outdoor adventure parenting my son, and I was in good company when I did that. 


But in the late 1950s, it was unheard of.  


My mother grew up in a small rural town in Iowa. Her outdoor experiences involved occasionally driving to a small state park lake for the afternoon to sunbathe and picnic. She didn't really want to become a whitewater canoeist or a camper. But she sure as shit did not want to be left at home alone with two toddlers.


Through essays and letters, she wrote that for the first two years, holding my Dad to account for her ultimatum was pretty miserable. She was overwhelmed by camp chores, diapers, and keeping two toddlers running loose in the wild from maiming or killing themselves every single minute. Also, she (and my brother and I) suffered a few unfortunate whitewater swims when my Dad overestimated his abilities. His skills improved, and my Mom quickly learned enough about whitewater to know when to tell my Dad she and the kids were portaging. 


To put the icing on the cake, my brother and I became symptomatic with all the childhood malaises, measles, mumps, chicken pox, and my brother's severe allergy to bee stings while on these weekend canoe trips. Canoe camping with toddlers is not for sissies. 


But by the time we were four, her writings reflected a profound change in her outdoor experiences. My mother grew up with a strong and consistent relationship with the church, but she wrote that it was on these trips she developed a personal relationship with God. 


My mother swooned over the natural beauty of her floats through Ozark rivers, developing a deep appreciation for the natural world. She also described how deeply gratifying her friendships were within the Ozark Wilderness Waterways Society paddling club with which we shared our adventures. 


Sadly, my Mom was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis when I was five, became wheelchair-bound and unable to participate in canoe trips three years later, and completely bedridden by the time I was ten. That was when she moved back to Iowa to be cared for by my grandparents rather than have to live in a nursing home. 


Her treasured memories and ongoing correspondence with close friends from the Ozark Wilderness Waterways Society provided tremendous comfort to her during her last fifteen years as an invalid. I also believe that because of those experiences, she maintained a close connection to her God throughout her life. 


I have no memory of my mother walking. I have gauzy memories of her paddling in front of me as I sat next to my brother on little wooden seats in the middle of our canoe, dangling and swirling my hand in the mesmerizing currents of cool spring water. 


But my strongest memories of my mother are of conversations in my teenage years, sitting next to the hospital-style bed she lived in, in front of a huge picture window in the bright day room of my grandparent's house in Bloomfield, Iowa.  


Because she could no longer hold a pen and her eyes could not focus well enough to read, I also helped read her mail and transcribed her letters to maintain her extensive correspondence with numerous friends and causes. Nearby friends visited her frequently, and their conversations were always filled with laughter. 


She was often physically uncomfortable, surrounded by acres of boredom, and frustrated by physical dependency on others. But within the limits of that reality, she engaged in life with remarkable verve. She was a staunch environmentalist and a women's rights activist and did her best to give me motherly advice. Including giving my brother and me the book 'Everything you always wanted to know about sex (*but were afraid to ask)' when we were 13.  My Dad, brother, and I were about to move to Los Angeles, and since she wasn't going to be around to help guide us through puberty, this was her way of providing a crash course during our summer vacation.  


My Mom passed away at age fifty from complications caused by her affliction. By that time, her physical limitations were so great that her death became a blessing. 


I am so grateful that Mom's strong will and Dad's passion for canoeing resulted in our entire family being part of a tribe of whitewater pioneers for five years before it was too late for her. I think that is why she could give me so much, even confined to a bed.  


She taught me to seek joy, beauty, and laughter whenever possible. She also showed me the importance of a strong relationship with the natural world and the value of deep and long-lasting friendships.


My Mom embodied the best values of an outdoor adventurer—not based on skill levels or lists of accomplishments but on the deepness of one's spiritual connection to the outdoors, whatever your definition of that may be. She used this connection to sustain herself throughout her life and pass the gift of her love to her children. 


That is why Bette Norman will be the first name on the dedication page of my memoir. May her essence live on in everyone who finds connection like she did. 



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6 Comments


Meghan
Jan 24

Beautiful. Can’t wait to read your memoir!

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Your tribute to your mother, Bette Norman, beautifully captures her strength, resilience, and transformation. Her journey from a reluctant participant in outdoor adventures to someone deeply connected to nature is inspiring. The story of her ultimatum to your father, leading to family canoe trips in the Ozarks, highlights her determination and adaptability, even amid immense challenges.

It’s moving to see how these experiences provided her spiritual connection and joy, sustaining her during the hardships of illness. Her laughter, advocacy, and ability to live with purpose despite her limitations reflect her extraordinary spirit.

Including Bette Norman’s name in your memoir’s dedication is a perfect tribute. Through your words, her legacy of finding beauty and connection in life and nature will inspire…

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Rachel Elste
Jan 22

This is so beautiful Sue! Thank you for sharing, I now have a better understanding of where your grit, determination, and intense connection to the natural world stem from. Bette was an amazing and inspiring woman.

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Laura Bowly
Jan 22

Such an inspiring and moving tribute to your Mom. It sounds like she was an incredible woman. I am very much looking forward to reading your memoir!

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Viva
Jan 22

Sue, your tribute to your mother is so moving. I just loved it. In just a few paragraphs, you gave us a real sense of her verve and strength. I was already excited to read your memoir and now I am even more so. I am glad she wrote that consequential note to your dad when you were two. So much good flowed from that act. ❤️

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