After an epic safari, we weren’t quite ready to say goodbye to Africa—so we didn’t. We headed back to Tanzania and on to Zanzibar, where more family joined us from Barcelona for a Christmas on the beach. Sandy feet, salty hair, games, lots of laughs, and the perfect shift from game drives to slow, dreamy, sun-soaked family time.
Between Kate, Lilly, Cameron, and me, Africa has been a recurring chapter in our family story the past few years—different countries, different camps, different eras of wide-eyed wonder. But December in Tanzania and Kenya was something entirely new: it was my sister’s first safari, marking her initial encounter with Africa, and my brothers-in-law’s first in nearly 50 years, making it a rare reunion with the wild continent. It was our first time in the Serengeti and the Masai Mara, two places so storied they almost risk being over-mythologized.
Almost.
This safari still managed to knock the wind out of us.
We eased into Africa properly, spending our first night at Legendary Lodge, a colonial coffee plantation outside Arusha. It was the perfect decompression chamber: bird calls instead of alarms, lazy views of the mountains, rich Tanzanian coffee, and the quiet mental shift that happens when you realize schedules no longer matter.
The next morning, we prepared for the adventure ahead, stepping into the small planes that would carry us closer to the wild.
There is something eternally thrilling about lifting off in a light aircraft and landing on a dirt airstrip carved into open savannah, the bush stretching out in all directions as if to say, Right then—let’s begin.
&Beyond Serengeti Under Canvas is the sort of place that resets your understanding of “luxury.” Canvas walls. Chandeliers. Crisp sheets. Polished silver. And yes—a hot shower bucket, filled by your butler by hand, on request, as steam rises into the African night.
It is indulgent. But when you’re standing under that shower in the dark, looking up at the starry southern sky, listening to hyenas vocalize in the distance, it feels like the only correct way to experience the Serengeti. The sounds carry differently at night—closer, more personal, impossible to ignore.
Then we tucked under a duvet, while animals staged arguments just beyond our tent.
Sleep comes… eventually. Then the sunrise pops through the screen to start the day and our first game drives.
We arrived in &Beyond Grumeti knowing the odds. The Great Migration was supposed to have moved on. The calendars said so. The guides warned us gently not to expect miracles.
Africa, apparently, hadn’t checked the schedule.
Instead, we found ourselves in the midst of hundreds of thousands of wildebeest, massed across the plains in numbers so large they distort your sense of scale. The ground in the distance seemed to ripple. The air buzzed. It felt less like watching wildlife and more like witnessing a force of nature briefly pause for dramatic effect.
It was one of those safari moments you don’t announce loudly—you just sit with it, absorbing the luck of being in precisely the right place at exactly the right time.
Yes, we’ve seen lions before. But man, it never gets old.
Africa has a way of reminding you that repetition doesn’t dull wonder—it sharpens it.
We saw lions everywhere, often with kills, sprawled in that unmistakably satisfied way that says the hunt went well. Leopards appeared where leopards always do—half-hidden, perfectly placed, effortlessly theatrical.
At one point, a leopard kill inspired a family re-enactment that will never win awards for accuracy but will live forever in memory. Safari has a way of oscillating between reverence and ridiculousness, often within the same hour.
Crossing into Kenya and landing in the Masai Mara felt like stepping into a sepia-toned photograph—wide skies, acacia silhouettes, and a landscape that seemed to be waiting for you.
&Beyond Bateleur Camp is unapologetically romantic. Fireside evenings. A sense that time has politely slowed down. And just over the next hill? The filming location for Out of Africa, which somehow makes the entire setting feel even more cinematic.
One morning, we traded tires for a wicker basket and took to the sky in a hot-air balloon over the Masai Mara. Drifting silently above the plains at first light, we watched herds stitch patterns across the savannah while the world woke up below us. No engine noise, no commentary—just altitude, perspective, and the quiet realization that Africa is even more impressive when she knows you’re not in a rush.
But there were moments of adrenaline, too.
This was where we tracked a lion hunt at night, the Mara revealing a darker, more electric version of itself. Spotlights cut through the blackness, the air taut with anticipation. Zeebras yelping warnings in the background. It was raw, intense, and unforgettable—the kind of sighting that reminds you this is not a theme park.
One of the quiet joys of this journey was watching firsts happen again—not our first safaris, but first experiences in these legendary places. The Serengeti. The Masai Mara. The migration in full, thunderous scale.
Even when you kn aow Africa, she finds new ways to introduce herself.
And perhaps the most special thread running through the trip was my sister’s first safari. Watching someone experience Africa for the first time—that stunned silence when a lion appears too close for comfort—is a reminder of why this continent gets under your skin.
Afternoons often ended with a sundowner in the bush, appearing unexpectedly at precisely the right time. Those pauses—drink in hand, sun sinking, dust glowing—are where the day finally settles into you.
This safari reminded us that experience doesn’t dull magic—it refines it. Tanzania and Kenya didn’t try to outdo our previous safaris; they stood confidently in their own greatness and let us come to them.
From bucket showers under canvas to airborne crossings over the savannah, from migration miracles to lions arguing in the dark, this journey didn’t just meet expectations—it quietly, decisively exceeded them.
Africa always does.
Beyond the other trips, summer and fall were busy. We made it to London a couple of times to see Lilly and catch a Vikings victory, and had visits from both friends and family. We had an amazing Thanksgiving, and were just exploring.
Some very sad days, but some amazing bonding and celebration. Our trip to Minnesota to celebrate my Dad and Mom was a very bitter-sweet trip.
I want to share a little bit about my dad and what it meant to grow up with a man who saw life itself as one big adventure.
For my dad, “adventure” didn’t mean being reckless or chasing adrenaline.
It meant saying yes.
It meant being open to the unexpected.
It meant being curious enough to explore—and prepared enough to enjoy the journey when you got there.
And he sure did try to come prepared.
When we invited him to join us on a spontaneous trip to Barcelona at 85 years old, his answer was immediate:
“I’d be stupid not to say yes.”
Then he showed up to a requested planning meeting with backup soap, ear plugs, compression socks, and a full notebook of questions.
That was my dad: meticulous, thoughtful, and completely game.
Once we were there, he dove in—
Museum tours, rooftop cava, tapas bars…
Even a visit to the Dali Museum in Figueres.
I assumed he wouldn’t like it—mostly because he had told me, flat-out,
“I don’t like Dali.”
But somewhere between the melting clocks and bejeweled swizzle sticks, something shifted.
He was captivated.
He told me about an art contest he’d won in high school—something I’d never heard before—and just like that, even at 85,
he was still revealing new layers of himself.
Still learning, still exploring.
Still surprising me.
And that’s the part I keep coming back to.
He didn’t just live with a sense of adventure—he shared it.
He built it into the rhythm of our lives.
I saw it as a kid, riding through Europe in the back of a Peugeot with my sisters.
I saw it again when he took me whitewater rafting down the Grand Canyon for my high school graduation—
one of the best memories we had together.
Sleeping under the stars, listening to the river,
learning more about each other with every rapid or turn.
That was his gift: not just going places, but helping to craft experiences you could carry with you forever.
Even through his work, he sought out adventure.
Moving our family to Belgium was a big one—but there were so many more.
He was one of the first Americans to do business in places like China and India—
leading international sales and marketing teams before “globalization” was even a buzzword.
He spent time working in the Middle East and Africa.
These trips didn’t just shape his career—they gave usbecame legendary stories.
Stories about culture, business, missteps, problem-solving,
and all the unexpected things that come from beingworking far from home.
And every now and then… they made you the coolest kid in the neighborhood.
Like the time he brought me back a Sony Walkman from a trip to Japan—almost a year before anyone in the states had heard about them.I knew had one.
I feltwas so cool.
(Great-grandkids—you can ask your parents what a Walkmanthat is.)
My familyWe heard a story recently from someone he worked with—someone who considered my dad a mentor.
They were in some foreign land, on their way to an important meeting.
One thing had gone wrong after another, and there was no way they were going to make it to the meetingit on time.
My dad’s colleague was getting stressed, panicking a bit.
And that’s when my dad looked at him calmly and simply said,
“What’s the worst that can happen? Are they going to cook and eat us?”
And just like that—perspective.
He had this way of rolling with the punches, of diffusing tension with a little dry humor and a steady sense of confidence.
That moment stuck with this person for decades—not just because it was funny, but because it was real.
My dad knew how to stay grounded in unfamiliar situations.
That’s part of what made him such a good traveler.
Such a good leader.
Such a greatgood dad.
He gave that same spirit to my kids, too—
who grew up with him nearby in North Carolina, listening to his stories, asking questions,
soaking in that quiet encouragement to go out and see the world.
Not just visit it—but engage with it.
Because to my dad, adventure wasn’t always about distance.
It was about discovery.
About being curious. Asking questions.
Finding something interesting in the ordinary.
Even during his illness, he would call it
“another adventure.”
He didn’t pretend it was easy—
but he still approached it with that same desire to learn from it,
to make the most of it,
and to help the rest of us do the same.
His home reflected that spirit—
photos, awards, and artwork from all over the world, lovingly curated by my mom.
They were the perfect pair.
She would say, “Let’s just try it.”
He would say, “Let’s make a plan.”
And somehow, together, they always made it work.
So today, I just want to say thank you, Dad—
for making our lives bigger, richer, more curious.
For the talks, the trips, the quiet wisdom, and the courage to embrace the unknown.
You showed us that adventure isn’t something we wait for—
it’s something we choose.
And now, as you always said—with a smile and a spark—on to another adventure.
We’ll carry your spirit with us, always, Dad.
Louis Petsolt lived his life with purpose, generosity, and an enduring sense of adventure for ninety years. Born in Minneapolis, MN, in 1934, his journey took him across the world, shaping a career, a family, and a legacy defined by kindness, curiosity, and an unwavering commitment to those he loved.
From a young age, Lou took on the role of caregiver, helping support his family and learning early on the value of responsibility and compassion. That deep sense of devotion stayed with him throughout his life, shaping the way he cared for those around him. He met his childhood sweetheart, Adelle (Holmquist) Petsolt, in middle school, and together they built a life rooted in love, faith, and a shared spirit of exploration. She was spontaneous; he was a planner. They complemented each other in every way. After her passing in 2012, he carried her memory forward while still embracing life’s next chapter, sharing companionship and meaningful years with Carolyn Buchanan, whose presence brought him comfort and joy.
Lou was the foundation of his family—its steady center, its quiet strength. His greatest pride was in the people he raised, guided, and loved. He instilled in his children the values that defined him: compassion, education, hard work, and the courage to embrace adventure. But above all, he taught by example that learning never stops. Whether through books, travel, or conversation, he was always seeking knowledge and encouraging those around him to do the same. He believed that curiosity was a lifelong gift—one he passed down to his children and grandchildren, urging them to ask questions, explore the world, and never be afraid to try something new. Whether gathered at the family cabin, playing cribbage, or simply sharing stories, his presence was a constant, shaping the lives of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. The sight of him at the helm of the pontoon boat, a grandchild on his lap, was a fixture of summer—one of the many ways he ensured his family would always have a place to come together.
His career took him across the world, leading sales and marketing teams in China and India at a time when few Americans had worked in those regions. He won numerous awards, but what mattered most to him was the impact he had on others—the advice he shared, the mentorship he offered, the opportunities he helped create.
Adventure wasn’t just something Lou pursued—it was something he encouraged in everyone around him. He saw the world not as a place to settle but as something to experience fully. Christmases were spent as Santa, ensuring magic for every child. Conversations were meaningful with a well-placed bit of wisdom and humor. Faith and friendship were constants, and his lifelong friends, including the best man and maid of honor from his wedding, remained by his side.
Even in his final years, through illness, he spoke not of endings but of falling forward—a reminder that life is always moving, always worth embracing. Though his absence leaves an undeniable void, he has done what he always intended: set his family up for success. He leaves behind not just memories but a legacy—one of love, adventure, and an unshakable foundation for the generations to come.
Lou is reunited with Adelle and leaves behind a family who will continue his legacy: daughters Vicki Jefferis (Jim), Kathy Berglund (John), Susan Baldelli, and Jan Petsolt, son David Petsolt (Kate), seventeen grandchildren, an ever-expanding crew of great-grandchildren, and all those who were fortunate enough to know him.
A celebration of his life will be held at Shepherd of the Valley Church in Afton, MN, on Thursday, the 27th, at 10 AM (14107 Hudson Rd S, Afton, MN 55001). In lieu of flowers, the family encourages those who knew Lou to honor his memory by mentoring someone, as he did throughout his life—offering guidance, wisdom, and support to those who need it most. Most of all, they ask that you honor him by seeking out something new—an experience, a story, a challenge—and meeting it with the same curiosity and courage that defined his life.
Christmas road trip to Annecy and Chamonix. A snowy, gorgeous time skiing and snowboarding, and spending coveted family time on excursions to glaciers, Mont Blanc vistas, and a really memorable Christmas Day.
What a great time with family in Barcelona! First-time visitors, repeat visitors, and long-term visitors! Absolutely amazing. We were so excited to have Anna and her family become locals along with us for a while, and hopefully, just the start of their time here. Thanksgiving and Christmas lights in BCN, and a quick trip to see friends in Porto. Just the best.
New friends, old friends, family, America’s Cup, Costa Brava, and settling into our new home made for an unforgettable summer.
What happens when you turn 16? You get on a solo international flight the next day (because you can!) and visit your family in Minnesota and California!
We got to show Kate’s Dad his first safari with a celebration of his 80th! I’ve never heard Happy Birthday more — people so happy to celebrate Denny’s visit. A quick stop in Doha, then starting on the Zambezi River in Zambia (and a sneak across the river to Zimbabwe), then on to South Africa for some amazing game drives and great evenings under the stars.
Enjoying Thanksgiving with friends from the state and friends from Barcelona.
