Thursday, December 20, 2012
The wind howls at my back. My down jacket is full sail. The lonely northern Minnesota back country road that I have just strolled down acts as a wind tunnel on this dark, blustery, winter night. Penelope- wrapped in a full fleece suit- curls deeper into the crux of my neck. Luna, in full regal of her winter coat, shudders with the gust. A moment of apprehension grasps my thoughts. I've been out in the elements for less than a half an hour; however, the sun is long set, the batteries in my headlamp are old and dim. It's time to turn back home to stoke the stove and hunker down for another winter night along Lake Superior. Turning around now means bracing myself against the full throttle of a December gail-amplified my the tunnel-effect of our road. Continuing down the hill means turning later when it's darker, colder and in more time for the already-decreped coals in the wood stove to burn down. I turn. Luna's tail uprights itself. She is ready for the return too. We take the long way home tonight and walk the "perimeter trail". The woods creak with the wind. Three ships hunker along the shore- cautiously gauging the water for their crossing. Life along the fringes of yet another winter storm that went somewhere else: all that we got is the wind...
Saturday, December 15, 2012
The Ground We Call Home
The barren earth shuddered. The immature continental mass of North America was tearing itself at it's seams. For some unknown reason the plastic mantle-with relatively buoyant crust above it-was unsettled. Slowly the eastern and western halves of the young continental mass began to diverge through a series of earthquakes. Soon enough the tectonic events revealed voids. The voids became the plumbing of huge volcanoes. The duct work accommodates molten lava driving it's way to the surface. The earth shuddered as distance fissures spewed felsic flows and deep mafic intrusions rich with metals were emplaced along the rim of a rift that had dissected the continent for over one thousand miles. The red rhyolite of the Maple Hill exploded into existence as a massive flow hundreds of feet thick. The viscous flow oozed it's way like a river of mud forming foliations. Every once and a while exploding high into the atmosphere. This ancient volcano violently regurged the depths of earth's bowels for about 20 million years forming a line of mountains thousands of feet tall rimming the perimeter of the contemporary Lake Superior basin.
Twenty million years of volcanics left quite the heavy load on the surface of earth. The weight of the new volcanic group push down upon the depths of earth. Slowly the weight of these ancient igneous mountains warped downward and led to the subsidence of the land. On the flakes formed a basin. To the east and west resilient ridges of hard crystalline rock formed highland areas.
Millions of years passed. The elements of time and climate wore on the region. Rain and snow deluged the area through eons of cyclic time. In the meanwhile the entire continent drifted millimeter by millimeter to the north and west. The precipitation and wore grain by grain of rock and slowly eroded the substrate into rivers and streams. This sediment was soon carried away in water and flowed down into the basin. Once the slope broke energy dissipated and the sediment settled and deposited itself.
With time the global climate cooled. As ice house conditions persisted slabs of ice-glaciers-began to creep south from the northern polar reaches towards the equator. Along the way the ice carved a path of absolute destruction. A path a denudation the plucked entire mountain ridges of rock from their roots. Ice would move over, exert a vertical and shear stresses that would eventually lead to a failure of the rock along the minerals' cleavage planes. The freshly eroded material was then carried away by the passing ice and deposited as low rolling hills known as moraines when the energy dissipated (much like the sediment in rivers) as the glaciers began to melt. Sediment within the basin eroded easier than the hard resilient rock of the ridges. For another two million years ice episodically carved out the easily erodible sandstones of the basin and left the ridges of harder gabbro, basalt, anorthosite & rhyolite. These hills soon found themselves topographically above the deepened basin below.
Each time a glacier advanced over the area it receded north by melting. The melting ice of mile-thick continental glaciers left a lot of water. To compound- rather impound- the situation landforms known as moraines were deposited. These rolling hills functioned as a dam when the glaciers retreated the north and melted off huge volumes of water. In fact, at one point Lake Superior was 500' deeper than today. This shoreline level can still be found on the slopes of the North Shore. The Great Lakes continue to drain their melt water into the Atlantic Ocean. As lake levels lowered it left ancient shoreline deposits along the way. On our property there are at least three distinct shorelines. Standing atop such a undulating berm one could imagine waves lapping up on a calm morning.
The shores of this ancient sea continued to drop to their present elevation. The rock slowly eroded, was washed away and was then subject to rain, oxygen & carbon dioxide . This chemical and physical weathering of the parent material resulted in the lowest mineral soil horizons. Above that generations of successive vegetative species- all subject to the ever changing climatic conditions- grew and died leaving behind a thin veneer of organics.
Within a blink of a geologic eye humans (probably following game) found the north woods with it's numerous wild rice-rimmed fresh water lakes teeming with fish and thick forests full of fur bearing animals. In another half blink a fairer complexion of man found their way. They brought guns and traps and axes. Forests of old growth pines were cut, milled and sent off to build Chicago and Minneapolis. Iron ore was mined and sent east in ships to build railways to the west. Poplar and birch grew in the place of pine. The first homesteaders planted a potato patch on the south facing slope where our garden is today. About 80 years ago a huge wildfire decimated the landscape. Balsam fir, white spruce, poplar and a few birch took root and continue to persevere.
Then, a few years ago, a white dog and two more humans began a daily trudge up the snow-laden hill. Armed with a vision they began to carve out their niche in the wilderness...
Twenty million years of volcanics left quite the heavy load on the surface of earth. The weight of the new volcanic group push down upon the depths of earth. Slowly the weight of these ancient igneous mountains warped downward and led to the subsidence of the land. On the flakes formed a basin. To the east and west resilient ridges of hard crystalline rock formed highland areas.
Millions of years passed. The elements of time and climate wore on the region. Rain and snow deluged the area through eons of cyclic time. In the meanwhile the entire continent drifted millimeter by millimeter to the north and west. The precipitation and wore grain by grain of rock and slowly eroded the substrate into rivers and streams. This sediment was soon carried away in water and flowed down into the basin. Once the slope broke energy dissipated and the sediment settled and deposited itself.
With time the global climate cooled. As ice house conditions persisted slabs of ice-glaciers-began to creep south from the northern polar reaches towards the equator. Along the way the ice carved a path of absolute destruction. A path a denudation the plucked entire mountain ridges of rock from their roots. Ice would move over, exert a vertical and shear stresses that would eventually lead to a failure of the rock along the minerals' cleavage planes. The freshly eroded material was then carried away by the passing ice and deposited as low rolling hills known as moraines when the energy dissipated (much like the sediment in rivers) as the glaciers began to melt. Sediment within the basin eroded easier than the hard resilient rock of the ridges. For another two million years ice episodically carved out the easily erodible sandstones of the basin and left the ridges of harder gabbro, basalt, anorthosite & rhyolite. These hills soon found themselves topographically above the deepened basin below.
Each time a glacier advanced over the area it receded north by melting. The melting ice of mile-thick continental glaciers left a lot of water. To compound- rather impound- the situation landforms known as moraines were deposited. These rolling hills functioned as a dam when the glaciers retreated the north and melted off huge volumes of water. In fact, at one point Lake Superior was 500' deeper than today. This shoreline level can still be found on the slopes of the North Shore. The Great Lakes continue to drain their melt water into the Atlantic Ocean. As lake levels lowered it left ancient shoreline deposits along the way. On our property there are at least three distinct shorelines. Standing atop such a undulating berm one could imagine waves lapping up on a calm morning.
The shores of this ancient sea continued to drop to their present elevation. The rock slowly eroded, was washed away and was then subject to rain, oxygen & carbon dioxide . This chemical and physical weathering of the parent material resulted in the lowest mineral soil horizons. Above that generations of successive vegetative species- all subject to the ever changing climatic conditions- grew and died leaving behind a thin veneer of organics.
Within a blink of a geologic eye humans (probably following game) found the north woods with it's numerous wild rice-rimmed fresh water lakes teeming with fish and thick forests full of fur bearing animals. In another half blink a fairer complexion of man found their way. They brought guns and traps and axes. Forests of old growth pines were cut, milled and sent off to build Chicago and Minneapolis. Iron ore was mined and sent east in ships to build railways to the west. Poplar and birch grew in the place of pine. The first homesteaders planted a potato patch on the south facing slope where our garden is today. About 80 years ago a huge wildfire decimated the landscape. Balsam fir, white spruce, poplar and a few birch took root and continue to persevere.
Then, a few years ago, a white dog and two more humans began a daily trudge up the snow-laden hill. Armed with a vision they began to carve out their niche in the wilderness...
Warmer. Highs in the upper twenties and lows in the teens. It's raining to the south of us. We're watching the clouds hoping for some more snow.
About a half dozen deer have been spending the night bedded down around our cabin. In the morning we wake to new beds hoofed into the grass and encircling us. Every once and a while one will walk close enough to set off our motion sensor light in the middle of the night. I stir them up every time I step outside after dark- white tails at attention as they prance off into the ink black woods. I wonder if they aren't bedding down close to humans because the wolves are around? Maybe they figure they're safer closer to humans where the wolves are less likely to venture?
The late season wolf rifle/trapping season is drawing to a close. Only about 10 remain on the quota that is alloted to this region.
About a half dozen deer have been spending the night bedded down around our cabin. In the morning we wake to new beds hoofed into the grass and encircling us. Every once and a while one will walk close enough to set off our motion sensor light in the middle of the night. I stir them up every time I step outside after dark- white tails at attention as they prance off into the ink black woods. I wonder if they aren't bedding down close to humans because the wolves are around? Maybe they figure they're safer closer to humans where the wolves are less likely to venture?
The late season wolf rifle/trapping season is drawing to a close. Only about 10 remain on the quota that is alloted to this region.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Lake Effect
There is nothing on the radar. No blue, green, yellow or pink for that matter. Despite that fact lake effect snow still falls after the second major snow storm of the season. While the heavier-hit regions to the south of us have already shoveled themselves out; Lake Superior- for the third straight day- graces us with a not-so-subtle dose of lake effect. The low pressure system that brought this storm is well to the east of the upper Midwest. However, the counter-clockwise rotation of such a system is pushing relatively cold air over the warmer air of Lake Superior. This temperature difference creates instability which convects moisture into the atmosphere. The greater the difference in temperature, the more moisture goes aloft. The farther the air travels over the water (i.e. the bigger the lake), the more moisture goes up too. Once this precipitation-laden air mass confronts colder air (relative to the lake) of the landmass the precipitation falls as snow. This effect is exaggerated by the hills of the north shore. Just like a mountain range, the higher up you go the the colder the air and the more snow is freed from the air. This is known as the orographic effect. On the ground we barely have six inches. However, you never know how long these events last. It all depends on how slowly the pressure system takes to move eastward.
The last few days have been a roller coaster of a ride. First, Penelope started to crawl. Her nudging around on the floor has given way to a full-fledged army crawl. The reality that she is mobile struck us. Unfortunately within hours of her triumph something else struck us and we all came down the the stomach flu. All three of us! We have spent the last 48 hours in complete disarray and completely oblivious to the storm outside. It was the first time that we have dealt with a sick child. It has been nerve racking at times but an essential lesson in parenthood nonetheless.
Outside the snow is elegantly falling. Chickadees are going to town on our sunflower feeder. Inside I find myself typing one handed. The other is holding Penelope as she sleeps on my chest. The dog is sleeping at my feet. My fire is dying as I don't dare to disturb the resting and recovering child to add birch to the dwindling flames. Christmas tree lights illuminate the otherwise drab light of the overcast day. Jazz plays in the background. I'm sipping my first cup of coffee in days; thoughts lost in the lake effect...
The last few days have been a roller coaster of a ride. First, Penelope started to crawl. Her nudging around on the floor has given way to a full-fledged army crawl. The reality that she is mobile struck us. Unfortunately within hours of her triumph something else struck us and we all came down the the stomach flu. All three of us! We have spent the last 48 hours in complete disarray and completely oblivious to the storm outside. It was the first time that we have dealt with a sick child. It has been nerve racking at times but an essential lesson in parenthood nonetheless.
Outside the snow is elegantly falling. Chickadees are going to town on our sunflower feeder. Inside I find myself typing one handed. The other is holding Penelope as she sleeps on my chest. The dog is sleeping at my feet. My fire is dying as I don't dare to disturb the resting and recovering child to add birch to the dwindling flames. Christmas tree lights illuminate the otherwise drab light of the overcast day. Jazz plays in the background. I'm sipping my first cup of coffee in days; thoughts lost in the lake effect...
Sunday, December 2, 2012
One could feel the warm southern air off the lake. It was an unwelcome warm front. The ski season had begun with a bang and then a bust. Rain fell for most of the weekend and melted the base that we had hoped would last. I accomplished little but plowing through another Alaskan adventure novel. Now a dense fog dims the evening light. Ravens are busy cleaning up the remaining deer carcasses. Blue jays are content raiding the local birdfeeders. The woods are dark, humid and quiet...
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Trapped
A yelping, screeching cry rang through the woods under a fitfully cloudy full moon night in November.
The ski began as most typical early season forays do. The snow was thin but navigable. A decent snowfall and full moon during the last week meant that the conditions were fair for a rare moonlight ski in November. Driving home into the woods after a day in the office in town I felt good. Thin cirrus clouds dashed across the sky and over Lake Superior. I scurried to complete my chores, eat a quick snack and dress for the single digit weather.
Under the half guise of a dampened moon and headlight my friend, the dog and I slowly climbed up the hill. The conversation was rich. The trail familiar. We skied up to the old county road where we turned east. We were bound for the meadows. Our dog Luna pranced along. At one point she found the leg of a deer and brought it along for the ride. Dutifully (and to my surprise), however, she dropped and left it at my command.
The grade shallows out and we approach our destination. The trail becomes rutted from four wheeler traffic. All efforts and concentration is reduced to the few feet of the upcoming stride. Suddenly a horrendous yelping cry pierces my ear. I immediately yelled out in fear that a wolf was attacking Luna. The cry descends to a mournful yelp. Instincts kick in and I hop around. I kick as hard as I can to assist my dog in painful need. However, my mind is in front of my feet and I face plant into the snow. Thoughtless efforts bring me back to my feet and I continue my dash. The edge of my ski catches a tire rut and I eat the powder once more.
Soon enough I reach Luna. Her front right foot is caught in a toothless Alaskan wolf trap. She whimpers as we wrap our heads around the situation. At first glance it looks bad. There's blood. The dog is obviously in pain and the trap is firmly set. Thankfully and somehow logically my mind recognizes the mechanism on the trap and we are able to release the jaws and free her.
It's dark. The dog is hurt and we are almost a mile from home. Without a careful assessment of Luna's injury under light we elect to carry her home to prevent any further damage from her walking back herself. Within minutes I find myself with an 80 pound mutt on my shoulders, traversing a tough trail with ski boots on in the dark. Unfortunately this isn't the first time I've found myself carrying a traveling companion out of the woods. The best thing that I've found is to fool yourself into thinking about anything else but the situation that you are currently in. We mainly talked about canoeing as I struggled to march my way out of this mess. Along the way I accurately detect the signs that I was on a trap line. Signs that to my discredit I initially missed. With the dog wrapped around my shoulders I tramped a tenth of a mile and rested. During the rests we check to see how Luna was looking. Fortunately each time we felt that she had fared better than at first thought. After a number of rests we reach the cabin. Once home it is clear that she will be alright. Her foot is injured and sore but doesn't seem to have any major broken bones or torn ligaments.
Luna walked away from this one better than expected. Her injury is not life-threatening. However, I take the fault in this one. I misread my surroundings. The lesson in this is that living here leaves little room for complacency. I was in familiar grounds oblivious to the subtle signs around me and my companion paid the price. Thankfully the price wasn't too large...
The ski began as most typical early season forays do. The snow was thin but navigable. A decent snowfall and full moon during the last week meant that the conditions were fair for a rare moonlight ski in November. Driving home into the woods after a day in the office in town I felt good. Thin cirrus clouds dashed across the sky and over Lake Superior. I scurried to complete my chores, eat a quick snack and dress for the single digit weather.
Under the half guise of a dampened moon and headlight my friend, the dog and I slowly climbed up the hill. The conversation was rich. The trail familiar. We skied up to the old county road where we turned east. We were bound for the meadows. Our dog Luna pranced along. At one point she found the leg of a deer and brought it along for the ride. Dutifully (and to my surprise), however, she dropped and left it at my command.
The grade shallows out and we approach our destination. The trail becomes rutted from four wheeler traffic. All efforts and concentration is reduced to the few feet of the upcoming stride. Suddenly a horrendous yelping cry pierces my ear. I immediately yelled out in fear that a wolf was attacking Luna. The cry descends to a mournful yelp. Instincts kick in and I hop around. I kick as hard as I can to assist my dog in painful need. However, my mind is in front of my feet and I face plant into the snow. Thoughtless efforts bring me back to my feet and I continue my dash. The edge of my ski catches a tire rut and I eat the powder once more.
Soon enough I reach Luna. Her front right foot is caught in a toothless Alaskan wolf trap. She whimpers as we wrap our heads around the situation. At first glance it looks bad. There's blood. The dog is obviously in pain and the trap is firmly set. Thankfully and somehow logically my mind recognizes the mechanism on the trap and we are able to release the jaws and free her.
It's dark. The dog is hurt and we are almost a mile from home. Without a careful assessment of Luna's injury under light we elect to carry her home to prevent any further damage from her walking back herself. Within minutes I find myself with an 80 pound mutt on my shoulders, traversing a tough trail with ski boots on in the dark. Unfortunately this isn't the first time I've found myself carrying a traveling companion out of the woods. The best thing that I've found is to fool yourself into thinking about anything else but the situation that you are currently in. We mainly talked about canoeing as I struggled to march my way out of this mess. Along the way I accurately detect the signs that I was on a trap line. Signs that to my discredit I initially missed. With the dog wrapped around my shoulders I tramped a tenth of a mile and rested. During the rests we check to see how Luna was looking. Fortunately each time we felt that she had fared better than at first thought. After a number of rests we reach the cabin. Once home it is clear that she will be alright. Her foot is injured and sore but doesn't seem to have any major broken bones or torn ligaments.
Luna walked away from this one better than expected. Her injury is not life-threatening. However, I take the fault in this one. I misread my surroundings. The lesson in this is that living here leaves little room for complacency. I was in familiar grounds oblivious to the subtle signs around me and my companion paid the price. Thankfully the price wasn't too large...
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Ski Season Declared
With the storm clouds over the lake and past us it was time to break trail!
Penelope's first ski- 6 1/2 months old
Saturday, November 24, 2012
The season's first significant accumulation of snow has fallen. About three inches fell along the lake and about a foot being reported over the hill on the Gunflint Trail. Another inch or so is descending as I write. With the storm came a cold weather pattern that appears to be poised to persist for many days. Our highs might break twenty degrees. It's amazing how seasons happen: one day you're hiking in a short sleeve shirt sweating your way up a hill climb while the next you're waking up to a blanket of snow with driving winds wondering where your best snow shovel is at!
While there is plenty of wood to be split I am comfortable in the fact that we have much of the year's supply stacked and drying. My winter project list is drafted. I'm working on figuring out materials. For the most part I will be picking away at building more storage and some custom finish trim pieces.
The deer rifle season has closed. Our neighbor took a nice ten point buck on the south east side of the property. The final rifle and trapping wolf season is now open.
This afternoon we cut down a balsam fir and used the top for a Christmas tree that now resides in the corner of our living room. Underneath there are already a couple of presents for the little one! With the change in seasons we are patiently waiting for a solid snow base to declare the ski season and pack our trail!
While there is plenty of wood to be split I am comfortable in the fact that we have much of the year's supply stacked and drying. My winter project list is drafted. I'm working on figuring out materials. For the most part I will be picking away at building more storage and some custom finish trim pieces.
The deer rifle season has closed. Our neighbor took a nice ten point buck on the south east side of the property. The final rifle and trapping wolf season is now open.
This afternoon we cut down a balsam fir and used the top for a Christmas tree that now resides in the corner of our living room. Underneath there are already a couple of presents for the little one! With the change in seasons we are patiently waiting for a solid snow base to declare the ski season and pack our trail!
Sunday, November 18, 2012
At first glance I mistook the raily back of the loping wolf as a deer. It's four lanky effortlessly gained ground along the Gunflint Trail. His thick, full coat of fur bristled in the cold autumn air. Gray, black with a slight tinge of copper orange as the my truck crept closer. His ears funneled themselves in my direction and with one fast jump he was over the ditch and in the woods. I watched his yellow ears fixate on the passing blur of a vehicle. I couldn't help but wonder if he realized that for the first time in his life there was an open season on his life.
The rifle deer and wolf season are open. Initial reports are of a "productive" harvest of wolves. There are two seasons on the wolf in Minnesota this year. The first coinciding with the deer rifle season. The second is a rifle/trap season. A maximum of 400 wolves will be harvested in the State this year. In Minnesota a wolf hunt is inevitable. Timing, however, is everything to successful management of any resource. The hunt has left mixed feelings in the area. I for one could never kill a wolf unless it was harming my dog. However, I do understand the need for management but am conflicted whether we are truly at a population that it is warranted. Folks are quick to point out the "dwindling" deer herd. Really? My unscientific investigation concludes that I hit pert near one per year on the road, see at least one daily and wage a constant battle with them over my apples and vegetables. Furthermore, with all due respect; I don't know a single deer hunter who comes out of the season empty handed. I can't say that about anglers, moose or bear hunters. All that I can do is trust that our resources are in the hands of experts and hope for the best.
To me it all is very "manifest destiny" that the second a predators' population rebounds to get off our self determined list that we feel the need to "get them" and "keep them in check". Humans clearly are the "top dog" on the food chain. However, we have so handily asserted ourselves in the ecosystem that maybe we should let time create a buffer for any assumptions that we are falsely making with our management decisions? Myself, I couldn't pull the trigger on a wolf and I am not that big of a fan of venison so I just wish my friends and neighbors the best of luck and help them haul out their kill.
The rifle deer and wolf season are open. Initial reports are of a "productive" harvest of wolves. There are two seasons on the wolf in Minnesota this year. The first coinciding with the deer rifle season. The second is a rifle/trap season. A maximum of 400 wolves will be harvested in the State this year. In Minnesota a wolf hunt is inevitable. Timing, however, is everything to successful management of any resource. The hunt has left mixed feelings in the area. I for one could never kill a wolf unless it was harming my dog. However, I do understand the need for management but am conflicted whether we are truly at a population that it is warranted. Folks are quick to point out the "dwindling" deer herd. Really? My unscientific investigation concludes that I hit pert near one per year on the road, see at least one daily and wage a constant battle with them over my apples and vegetables. Furthermore, with all due respect; I don't know a single deer hunter who comes out of the season empty handed. I can't say that about anglers, moose or bear hunters. All that I can do is trust that our resources are in the hands of experts and hope for the best.
To me it all is very "manifest destiny" that the second a predators' population rebounds to get off our self determined list that we feel the need to "get them" and "keep them in check". Humans clearly are the "top dog" on the food chain. However, we have so handily asserted ourselves in the ecosystem that maybe we should let time create a buffer for any assumptions that we are falsely making with our management decisions? Myself, I couldn't pull the trigger on a wolf and I am not that big of a fan of venison so I just wish my friends and neighbors the best of luck and help them haul out their kill.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Frost crystallizes it's way up towards the center of the windows. Cold, stagnant air hovers over the North Shore. Ice now slowly forms on the lakes of the Quetico/Superior Border Country.
Light barely pierces the trees along the eastern horizon. The dog slumbers in front of the wood stove; warmed only by the spent coals from last night's inferno. The baby has been up for hours. At this time she is content lying between us flailing her petite arms and cooing; eager for the upcoming day. I slowly stir, roll to my back and allow my eyes to calibrate. The air is chilled. I find comfort under the down blanket that envelopes our family. There is, however, incentive to getting up and embracing the limited light. Winter is near but has not fully gripped the north woods. This leaves me the opportunity to further my firewood ambitions.
Stretching my chilled limbs I shuffle my way to the wood stove, stir the coals, place some birch bark and kindling on the smoldering embers, open the draft and wait for the warmth to waft it's way throughout the cabin.
Now finding my stride I stroll to the tea pot, fill it and put it over a high propane heat. Coffee ground and in it's filter I warm a wash clothe and stir the smiling baby. Penelope usually has a lot to say at this point in the day. Perhaps she needs to tell me about all of her colorful dreams? Today is no exception. She babbles as I wash, change and dress her.
Baby content, coffee brewed, stove churning; I step outside. The thick air stings my nostrils. The dog sniffs around. The sky is crystal clear. A warm rising sun illuminates the understory. Black capped chickadees pluck around on balsam limbs. Sap suckers chuck away at a dead birch left on the upper edge of our clearing. A crow noisily fans his way just above the tree line. In the distance a deer hunter sends a salvo.
Time to get to work...
Light barely pierces the trees along the eastern horizon. The dog slumbers in front of the wood stove; warmed only by the spent coals from last night's inferno. The baby has been up for hours. At this time she is content lying between us flailing her petite arms and cooing; eager for the upcoming day. I slowly stir, roll to my back and allow my eyes to calibrate. The air is chilled. I find comfort under the down blanket that envelopes our family. There is, however, incentive to getting up and embracing the limited light. Winter is near but has not fully gripped the north woods. This leaves me the opportunity to further my firewood ambitions.
Stretching my chilled limbs I shuffle my way to the wood stove, stir the coals, place some birch bark and kindling on the smoldering embers, open the draft and wait for the warmth to waft it's way throughout the cabin.
Now finding my stride I stroll to the tea pot, fill it and put it over a high propane heat. Coffee ground and in it's filter I warm a wash clothe and stir the smiling baby. Penelope usually has a lot to say at this point in the day. Perhaps she needs to tell me about all of her colorful dreams? Today is no exception. She babbles as I wash, change and dress her.
Baby content, coffee brewed, stove churning; I step outside. The thick air stings my nostrils. The dog sniffs around. The sky is crystal clear. A warm rising sun illuminates the understory. Black capped chickadees pluck around on balsam limbs. Sap suckers chuck away at a dead birch left on the upper edge of our clearing. A crow noisily fans his way just above the tree line. In the distance a deer hunter sends a salvo.
Time to get to work...
Monday, November 12, 2012
Cold Rain Ramble
A cold rain batters the window panes as Penelope and I stare outside at the frigid deluge thinking all the adventures and chores that aren't happening on it's account. This morning we woke to a dusting of snow which quick melted off and yielded to the freezing rain as the first decent winter-like storm pummels it's way over the Rockies, through the Great Plains and now the shore of Lake Superior.
We were entertained while brushing our teeth the other morning by a pileated woodpecker boring his way through a dead poplar outside our window. Pileated woodpeckers look like a pterodactyl- a relic of the mesozoic. One of the largest woodpeckers in the world (the largest in Minnesota and most likely in North America too as the Ivory-billed in considered extinct) they navigate the tight balsam understory with their two foot wingspans in a remarkably graceful manner; swooping from dead snag to snag to barrel their large beaks into the punky wood in order to find carpenter ants and whatever other grub there may be.
While walking down the road a falcon unsuccessfully assaulted a flock of snow buntings. It always amazes me when a flock of birds or a school of fish manuevers in such a tight formation. How are they able to make such quick turns? Is there a single leader making the turn? As it turns out, there is a lot of research out there about this. Basically, the flock acts as one due to what is known as collective animal behavior. Each individual makes an independent decision based on distance, heading and position of the others. The incentive is to stay in a group where they have safety in numbers. Therefore, if one bird needs to drastically change direction because a falcon swoops in to attack, a succession of decisions would be made by the birds around that one to do the same and the rest would follow. An observer would see the seemingly effortless collective change in course without necessarily realizing all of the individual decisions that were made by each of the individuals.
I spotted a large, gorgeous fisher on a road in the Greenwood country. On it's back it had a brown hour glass-shape patch with a more typically black coat of oily weaselly fur. Fisher are known in the north woods for their fierce personalities. Their claim to fame is that of the porcupines' predator. Think about it: hunting and killing a porcupine! Most animals steer clear of the quilled critter. The fisher, however, is quick enough to stay right in the face of a porcupine where they have no quills and claw out it's senses before going for the kill. Found in the unspoiled and dense forests of the area, they commonly roam a territory of over one hundred square miles.
A meteorite dropped through the atmosphere last night above me. It's green trail plunged right in front of me within a second of stepping outside. I imagined a rock that has been aimlessly careening through space for eons suddenly get sucked in the gravity of earth's mass and burn up in a few brilliant seconds of fame for the few souls whom happened to be looking up at that exact space and time. I'm usually not like this but the timing sent a chill through me.
Around the homestead winter preparations continue. I have been insulating pipes and continue to work on the finishing touches of the plumbing project. Beyond that my time is spent steadily progressing on splitting firewood.
The snow shoe hare are now dressed in their winter whites. Personally, there comes a time every season when I am ready for the next. This is a great thing about the upper Midwest. We get all four seasons so one particular time of the year never truly gets old because by the time it does, you're on to the next! With that said, I'm ready for winter. I'm ready to be packing ski trails, staring down holes in the ice waiting for fish to bite and a change of pace...
We were entertained while brushing our teeth the other morning by a pileated woodpecker boring his way through a dead poplar outside our window. Pileated woodpeckers look like a pterodactyl- a relic of the mesozoic. One of the largest woodpeckers in the world (the largest in Minnesota and most likely in North America too as the Ivory-billed in considered extinct) they navigate the tight balsam understory with their two foot wingspans in a remarkably graceful manner; swooping from dead snag to snag to barrel their large beaks into the punky wood in order to find carpenter ants and whatever other grub there may be.
While walking down the road a falcon unsuccessfully assaulted a flock of snow buntings. It always amazes me when a flock of birds or a school of fish manuevers in such a tight formation. How are they able to make such quick turns? Is there a single leader making the turn? As it turns out, there is a lot of research out there about this. Basically, the flock acts as one due to what is known as collective animal behavior. Each individual makes an independent decision based on distance, heading and position of the others. The incentive is to stay in a group where they have safety in numbers. Therefore, if one bird needs to drastically change direction because a falcon swoops in to attack, a succession of decisions would be made by the birds around that one to do the same and the rest would follow. An observer would see the seemingly effortless collective change in course without necessarily realizing all of the individual decisions that were made by each of the individuals.
I spotted a large, gorgeous fisher on a road in the Greenwood country. On it's back it had a brown hour glass-shape patch with a more typically black coat of oily weaselly fur. Fisher are known in the north woods for their fierce personalities. Their claim to fame is that of the porcupines' predator. Think about it: hunting and killing a porcupine! Most animals steer clear of the quilled critter. The fisher, however, is quick enough to stay right in the face of a porcupine where they have no quills and claw out it's senses before going for the kill. Found in the unspoiled and dense forests of the area, they commonly roam a territory of over one hundred square miles.
A meteorite dropped through the atmosphere last night above me. It's green trail plunged right in front of me within a second of stepping outside. I imagined a rock that has been aimlessly careening through space for eons suddenly get sucked in the gravity of earth's mass and burn up in a few brilliant seconds of fame for the few souls whom happened to be looking up at that exact space and time. I'm usually not like this but the timing sent a chill through me.
Around the homestead winter preparations continue. I have been insulating pipes and continue to work on the finishing touches of the plumbing project. Beyond that my time is spent steadily progressing on splitting firewood.
The snow shoe hare are now dressed in their winter whites. Personally, there comes a time every season when I am ready for the next. This is a great thing about the upper Midwest. We get all four seasons so one particular time of the year never truly gets old because by the time it does, you're on to the next! With that said, I'm ready for winter. I'm ready to be packing ski trails, staring down holes in the ice waiting for fish to bite and a change of pace...
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Ice has begun glazing it's way across the surface of ponds, lakes and rivers. Seasonally cool air remains perched as part of a dominating high pressure system that has pulled cold air from the interior of Canada. This is stark contrast to one of the largest low pressure systems ever recorded in the Atlantic Basin that walloped the East Coast with Hurricane Sandy. Fringe clouds from the massive storm were visible over the eastern reaches of Lake Superior. The storm was so powerful that it shifted twenty foot waves onto the western shore of Lake Michigan!
A full moon punctuates the night sky. We have been busy winterizing the homestead; splitting and stacking wood, installing insulating plastic on the windows, "buttoning down" everything that will remain outside, and moving everything else into the sheds for storage.
The ground has begun to freeze. Geometric prisms of frozen topsoil heave in the morning light. Flocks of southbound migrating birds have come and gone leaving the chickadees fluttering through the balsam and the hearty Bald Eagle in their perches overlooking the river gorges. Snow shoe hare have begun to turn white starting with their spring-like hind legs. Deer cautiously scour the remaining understory for food- anxious for the rifle season that begins in less than a week.
There's no doubt now that winter is making it's way south...
A full moon punctuates the night sky. We have been busy winterizing the homestead; splitting and stacking wood, installing insulating plastic on the windows, "buttoning down" everything that will remain outside, and moving everything else into the sheds for storage.
The ground has begun to freeze. Geometric prisms of frozen topsoil heave in the morning light. Flocks of southbound migrating birds have come and gone leaving the chickadees fluttering through the balsam and the hearty Bald Eagle in their perches overlooking the river gorges. Snow shoe hare have begun to turn white starting with their spring-like hind legs. Deer cautiously scour the remaining understory for food- anxious for the rifle season that begins in less than a week.
There's no doubt now that winter is making it's way south...
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Old Faithful
Penelope giggles in the next room as her mom dresses her for the day. The wood stoves crackles with poplar and birch warming the chilled air. The low temperatures in recent nights have hovered right around 20 degrees. With a fresh brew of coffee in the mug I'm lying on the couch wrapped in a wool blanket reading a Canadian wilderness adventure and enjoying the first real rest I've taken in a long while. Just beyond the horizon is winter. In the North, this is a time to recoup, rest up, and plan the upcoming work season.
Winter, however, is not quite upon us. Before I can rest too much I have firewood to process. We've added a new tool to our arsenal. This week our "new to us" wood splitter arrived. I fired her up right away eager to start working at our pile of bucked birch. Being a used machine, I knew that I wanted to start our with fresh hydraulic fluid. This, however, is my introduction to hydraulics. I followed all the sage wisdom that I've absorbed talking with folks trying to limit the amount of air that I let into the line. Slowly the gurgles decreased as I filled the cylinder with fluid. Then, seemingly as random as a geyser, fluid shot straight up five feet into the air. I was left with a pink goo mess that I buried in saw chips to absorb the petro-based mess. The geyser lasted for barely five seconds but left me with a sheepish smile on my face. Our splitter had a new name: "Old Faithful"!
She started right up and has effortlessly split every piece I've placed in her jowls. So as gentle snow flakes fall and bald eagles soar the shoreline of Lake Superior below me "Old Faithful" purrs as we eat through chord after chord of firewood...
Winter, however, is not quite upon us. Before I can rest too much I have firewood to process. We've added a new tool to our arsenal. This week our "new to us" wood splitter arrived. I fired her up right away eager to start working at our pile of bucked birch. Being a used machine, I knew that I wanted to start our with fresh hydraulic fluid. This, however, is my introduction to hydraulics. I followed all the sage wisdom that I've absorbed talking with folks trying to limit the amount of air that I let into the line. Slowly the gurgles decreased as I filled the cylinder with fluid. Then, seemingly as random as a geyser, fluid shot straight up five feet into the air. I was left with a pink goo mess that I buried in saw chips to absorb the petro-based mess. The geyser lasted for barely five seconds but left me with a sheepish smile on my face. Our splitter had a new name: "Old Faithful"!
She started right up and has effortlessly split every piece I've placed in her jowls. So as gentle snow flakes fall and bald eagles soar the shoreline of Lake Superior below me "Old Faithful" purrs as we eat through chord after chord of firewood...
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Running Water
It wasn't quite a "light switch moment" but was close. The feeling of warm water is pretty breathtaking after months of work. While there was no "ah ha!" reaction to the tepid water as it flowed from the faucet there was again was the feeling of satisfaction and gratitude to all the efforts that we have been working on as well as the help from so many to complete this plumbing project.
I take from this plumbing experience a similar lesson to wiring: I enjoy the planning and rough plumbing but could take or leave the nitty gritty aspect of plumbing fixtures and appliances. It sounds crazy but I don't mind drilling holes in the attic with my head jammed up against a rafter in hundred degree heat and my jaw rattling to the vibration of a drill hammer plowing through a top plate of the wall no more than inches from me but torquing a wrench around the outlet of a pressure tank or water heater drives me bonkers!
Apart from the warm bath at the end of the day, my favorite aspect of plumbing is the simple science of it all. Plumbing, more than many trades, reminds you constantly that the laws of physics apply. This reality is not very subtle either: gravity prevails and the water runs down slope, hot air rises, masses move from high to low pressure.
Running water is something that many people take for granted. Most folks move into a house that is hooked up to city water and sewer and never put a second thought to what kind of infrastructure is necessary for them to turn on the faucet and wash the dishes or brush their teeth. This is part of the detachment that many humans in first world countries have with the natural world. They don't know what it takes to get the conveniences that many take for granted.
This is something that I want to take out of this experience. Just as it is easy to look at a gorgeous mountain scape, ocean, or lake everyday and get so used to it that you don't relish in it's grandeur; humans need to stop and think for a few minutes everyday about the amenities they do have and the work that is required to have them. I never want to take running water, electricity, warmth, a roof over my head or food on my plate for granted. The truth is that before I started hiking up the hill to clear this land I went through the motions without any thought.
Humans seem to be losing the knowledge of what it takes to live the way we do. Maybe everybody should have a start with a raw chunk of dirt and figure it out? It teaches you what hard work is. It instills an appreciation for how good we have it. In turn this appreciation makes you think twice of leaving that light on and wasting electricity or letting the faucet run.
While there is plenty of finish work to be done before the project can be officially proclaimed "complete" I am proud to say that we have officially achieved the modern convenience of running water!
I take from this plumbing experience a similar lesson to wiring: I enjoy the planning and rough plumbing but could take or leave the nitty gritty aspect of plumbing fixtures and appliances. It sounds crazy but I don't mind drilling holes in the attic with my head jammed up against a rafter in hundred degree heat and my jaw rattling to the vibration of a drill hammer plowing through a top plate of the wall no more than inches from me but torquing a wrench around the outlet of a pressure tank or water heater drives me bonkers!
Cutting Concrete
The most difficult part of the project was the drain lines. Here our friend Ben is grinding away at the footing of our concrete slab to obtain the space needed to get the drain line out.
Trimming out the Tub
Tub, faucets and surround all installed the only thing left to do is trim it all out!
This is something that I want to take out of this experience. Just as it is easy to look at a gorgeous mountain scape, ocean, or lake everyday and get so used to it that you don't relish in it's grandeur; humans need to stop and think for a few minutes everyday about the amenities they do have and the work that is required to have them. I never want to take running water, electricity, warmth, a roof over my head or food on my plate for granted. The truth is that before I started hiking up the hill to clear this land I went through the motions without any thought.
Humans seem to be losing the knowledge of what it takes to live the way we do. Maybe everybody should have a start with a raw chunk of dirt and figure it out? It teaches you what hard work is. It instills an appreciation for how good we have it. In turn this appreciation makes you think twice of leaving that light on and wasting electricity or letting the faucet run.
While there is plenty of finish work to be done before the project can be officially proclaimed "complete" I am proud to say that we have officially achieved the modern convenience of running water!
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Cold rain falls on the North Shore. Light snow has occasionally been in the air for about a week now. Minor accumulations were reported in the highland areas of the Superior National Forest. Thousands of birds flock south to warmer winter habitat along the Sawtooth Mountains. Tamarack (American Larch), the only deciduous conifer in Minnesota, has turned yellow. During the growing season tamarack appears much like any medium-sized conifer in the bogs and wetlands they prefer to inhabit. Come late fall, however, they shed their short, thin needley leaves. The range of the tamarack extends into the far reaches of the north and are commonly found just shy of the Arctic Circle. Around here they provide a last gleam of color after the brilliance of the fall colors have all been blown away! Grouse season continues. A couple of immense bull moose have been harvested in the County. In a couple of weeks the rifle deer season as well as a highly-contested wolf hunt opens.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Monday, October 1, 2012
Sunny, brisk autumn days. Highs in the low sixties with lows in the thirties. Strangely, black flies have peskily hatched again. A full moon graces the clear and cool sky. The deciduous trees of the North Shore peaked in fall colors last week. Their brilliance proved to be short-lived as a swift wind brought in a cold front and floated the yellow poplar & birch and red maple leaves away down the hills and onto the valley floors.
Wolf Lake Maples
Wolf Ridge Environmental Learning Center
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Wood Shed
Wood sheds are crucial to successful fire wood production. Under the roof of a shed and not exposed to elements split wood will cure. Cured wood burns hotter and cleaner than green wood leaving you warmer and the stove pipe cleaner and free of creosote.
I tested out a new construction technique for this structure. It is the first time I've built a post & beam with local spruce posts.The frame was bolted together with lag bots. The posts are peeled spruce all harvested within a few hundred yards from the site.
Once the main frame is bolted together I fastened the rafter ties.
The inspection process was grueling!
The roof rafters go on. This really "pulls" the structure together. Notice the "boss" inspecting my work!
I then roofed it with 1/2" OSB and rolled asphalt. The two opposite corners are sided with one inch thick boards spaced one inch apart to allow ample air flow to dry the fire wood.
I laugh because it took me three months to build this relatively simple structure. Excuses aside, Penelope was born the week I started the project so I was a little preoccupied! Now I have a dry place to make my cuts and dry our wood for the winter...
Monday, September 24, 2012
Crisp and blustery. Huge rolling waves are crashing over the Grand Marais breakwater. Light rain throughout the weekend left a relatively lush and colorful forest. The under story is ablaze with the vibrant reds of moose maple and golden ferns. Poplar and birch began the season deathly brown from the drought but have regained their autumn glory! Most nights the temperatures hover right around freezing.
A broad-wing hawk literally flew into our living room window. He survived the impact and perched himself atop a snag at the edge of the clearing to clear his lenses. A grouse spooked Amy under the bird feeder. We even found some very rare moose tracks down at the intersection of the County Road!
We harvested carrots, the rest of the tomatoes, onions and both of our apple trees before the blue jays could get all the fruit. The apples taste great! We are already planning to expand our orchard next spring...
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Our first freeze of the year left the air chilled and the apples about ready for picking. Although the white spruce are stressed with browning boughs due to the lack of rain, the poplar trees are all brilliant yellow. A much needed gentle cold rain washed over the shore yesterday. Grouse season is open.
We have officially begun our plumbing project. I have left the County twice in the last week for the first time in years on material runs to Duluth. Late night drives back up the North Shore is like running the deer gauntlet! Last night I hit one on the highway just meters from where I spotted a wolf the other night before.
We have officially begun our plumbing project. I have left the County twice in the last week for the first time in years on material runs to Duluth. Late night drives back up the North Shore is like running the deer gauntlet! Last night I hit one on the highway just meters from where I spotted a wolf the other night before.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Cool crisp nights and sunny windy days. With the wind, low humidity, and lack of recent precipitation the fire danger is very high for much of the state and the North Shore. The temperature has been dropping into the forties at night leaving the poplar leaves with a tinge of yellow and maples red.
The black bear hunting season has started. The word around the town is that five bears have been taken from our area! Grouse stir in the poplar stands during our evening hike. It seems like there are plenty of birds in the woods this year for the season.
We have had a fire in the stove most nights this week to bump up the house temperature. Our birch woodpile is all bucked. One of the three poplar piles is cut. Preparations for winter have begun...
The black bear hunting season has started. The word around the town is that five bears have been taken from our area! Grouse stir in the poplar stands during our evening hike. It seems like there are plenty of birds in the woods this year for the season.
We have had a fire in the stove most nights this week to bump up the house temperature. Our birch woodpile is all bucked. One of the three poplar piles is cut. Preparations for winter have begun...
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Warm, sunny days. A small forest fire burns northwest of Ely. Lake Trout have been caught in shallow as thirty feet of water around Five Mile Rock. A few of the maple trees have begun to turn red. Aster is blooming.
The fall bird migration along the North Shore has begun. Each year hundreds of thousands of southbound birds are funneled along the prominant ridges of the Sawtooth Mountains to follow the shore of Lake Superior on their way to warmer winter grounds. As the birds fly south they encounter the huge expanse of Lake Superior. Instead of flying over it's hostile waters where there is no emergency landing or food the aviary wisely elect to fly along the shore. As a result, the woods within a mile or so of the lake explode as a microcasm of a boosted food chain. Fierce competition erupts around the ussually mundane pecking order of a roadkill feast!
Every day an unfamiliar bird call pierces the woods. Huge Golden Eagle and Osprey to tiny warblers and sparrows pepper the sky. Sometimes flocks of hundreds fly over at a time. More often than not, however, a single kestral or Sharp-shinned hawk swoops through the meadows in search of one of our local rodents to sustain their journey.
This time of the year life on the homestead is filled with harvesting the garden, processing firewood, and preparing for the winter. Onions and garlic are drying on the racks. Carrots and parsnip remain in the ground. Apples continue to ripen on the trees. Bucked firewood is piled and awaiting the splitter.
The fall bird migration along the North Shore has begun. Each year hundreds of thousands of southbound birds are funneled along the prominant ridges of the Sawtooth Mountains to follow the shore of Lake Superior on their way to warmer winter grounds. As the birds fly south they encounter the huge expanse of Lake Superior. Instead of flying over it's hostile waters where there is no emergency landing or food the aviary wisely elect to fly along the shore. As a result, the woods within a mile or so of the lake explode as a microcasm of a boosted food chain. Fierce competition erupts around the ussually mundane pecking order of a roadkill feast!
Every day an unfamiliar bird call pierces the woods. Huge Golden Eagle and Osprey to tiny warblers and sparrows pepper the sky. Sometimes flocks of hundreds fly over at a time. More often than not, however, a single kestral or Sharp-shinned hawk swoops through the meadows in search of one of our local rodents to sustain their journey.
This time of the year life on the homestead is filled with harvesting the garden, processing firewood, and preparing for the winter. Onions and garlic are drying on the racks. Carrots and parsnip remain in the ground. Apples continue to ripen on the trees. Bucked firewood is piled and awaiting the splitter.
Weather Pending
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Watching the Water Swirl
A warm, dry August wind swirls the otherwise stagnate air. Just enough rain has passed through with the typical late summer cloud bursts to keep the garden happy. Fungi of all color dot the forest floor. Each cool autumnal evening brings with it more color to the hills.
We have been busy with our new life as parents and trying to find a balance between raising Penelope, work, the homestead and our recreational pursuits. Last week we took a short hike along the Superior Hiking off the Arrowhead Trail. A couple of weeks ago we got back on the Caribou Rock Trail along the Gunflint. This last weekend Penelope made her second voyage into the Boundary Waters with her grandma, grandpa and auntie.
It's been a late start to the firewood season. With the woodshed nearly complete, I have been stacking wood and sharpening the chainsaw for bucking the 5 cords that I hope to process this winter. Up until recently it's been too warm for chain saw work. But now it's time to finish sharpening the chain and have at it!
The other day I was lucky enough to find a wasp nest while stacking poplar. I say lucky because I only got stung once. It hurt. My arm remained swollen for days. Pest are a constant nag this time of year. Everything is scrambling in attempt to find the best accommodations for the winter. The "mouse wars" continue. One died in the car's heater fan. I also had the pleasure of taking apart the glove box and fan assemblage in order to find it. There's nothing like a decaying mouse in 80 degree heat to liven up your day!
Other than that we are busy planning our plumbing project, harvesting potatoes, onion, garlic, zucchini, tomatoes. Our apples are about ready for picking.
We have been busy with our new life as parents and trying to find a balance between raising Penelope, work, the homestead and our recreational pursuits. Last week we took a short hike along the Superior Hiking off the Arrowhead Trail. A couple of weeks ago we got back on the Caribou Rock Trail along the Gunflint. This last weekend Penelope made her second voyage into the Boundary Waters with her grandma, grandpa and auntie.
Watching the water swirl...
The other day I was lucky enough to find a wasp nest while stacking poplar. I say lucky because I only got stung once. It hurt. My arm remained swollen for days. Pest are a constant nag this time of year. Everything is scrambling in attempt to find the best accommodations for the winter. The "mouse wars" continue. One died in the car's heater fan. I also had the pleasure of taking apart the glove box and fan assemblage in order to find it. There's nothing like a decaying mouse in 80 degree heat to liven up your day!
Other than that we are busy planning our plumbing project, harvesting potatoes, onion, garlic, zucchini, tomatoes. Our apples are about ready for picking.
Finally, Penelope would like to remind you all to eat your vegetables!
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
The "locals" are keeping us busy!
The "locals" are keeping us busy! Our compost design was successfully tested as a bear attempted to no avail to break into it. Every night I bring the bird feeder inside. Seemingly every morning new evidence of marauding critters greets me as I bring it back out.
Just passing by. Wolf and bear headed in opposite directions. To put this into perspective, our 80lb dog's prints are just above the bear's on the upper right corner of the picture. Compare that to the wolve's.
While temperatures at night have been cold enough to antagonize some yellow out of the brush and even some red out of the maple; August is the beginning of the harvest. Berries are in the freezer. The walleye fishing is picking back up. Lake Trout have been hitting all summer. The apple trees are beginning to bow to the stresses of burgeoning fruit. Chard and spinach continue to florish. Garlic, onion, parsnip and carrot are slowly cresting to the surface. The peas and beans are delicious. Our tomatos are beginning to blush.
Bear tracks decorating our property. Notice how they are raised in relief relative to the ground. The bear walked over moist ground and compacted the sand grains together. The uncompacted sediment around the tracks were less resiliant to the coming rains and eroded more quickly than the now silicously-cemented tracks.
Just passing by. Wolf and bear headed in opposite directions. To put this into perspective, our 80lb dog's prints are just above the bear's on the upper right corner of the picture. Compare that to the wolve's.
While temperatures at night have been cold enough to antagonize some yellow out of the brush and even some red out of the maple; August is the beginning of the harvest. Berries are in the freezer. The walleye fishing is picking back up. Lake Trout have been hitting all summer. The apple trees are beginning to bow to the stresses of burgeoning fruit. Chard and spinach continue to florish. Garlic, onion, parsnip and carrot are slowly cresting to the surface. The peas and beans are delicious. Our tomatos are beginning to blush.
The first harvest. Red and Russet potatoes with a lone "test" garlic on the left and the start of our outdoor tomato and bean harvest on the right.
Penelope at 12 weeks!
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Round-Snipe-Ham Lakes Loop
The realization that we are officially day-tripping weekend warriors has come and gone. Our days of month-long forays into the bush departed with our jobs and limited vacation. We embraced that reality by splitting our normal trips into shorter, long-weekend travels. We've made due. The truth is our life is lived in the woods. Everyday our routine revolves around the wilderness life we always dreamt of.
Now it is Penelope's life. Through our daily hikes into the forest, our leisurely afternoons swimming and hanging out around the fire on the beach, nights falling asleep to the low soulful howl of timber wolves, mornings awaking to finches at the bird feeder, and canoe tripping; Penelope is already living a unique experience growing up in the north woods.
A couple of nights ago we decided that it was time for her to sleep her first night in a tent. We made camp. Granted the tent was pitched on our property no more than shouting distance from her cradle it was a new experience nonetheless. She went to sleep under a clear crisp diamond studded starry night and woke up to trembling aspen glittering in the soft morning breeze. It was a great start to our weekend adventure.
Heading up the Gunflint Trail with the canoe atop the truck and gear in the bed is a great freeing feeling. Just knowing that solitude and new sights in only a couple paddles and a portage away reinvigorates me. Penelope contently watched the forest and lakes cruise by her window. At the landing she quietly laid down on the blanket in front of her mother as we launched her on her first wilderness canoe trip. A loon greeted us within a paddles length of the starboard bow and a bald eagle surveyed Round Lake as we crossed. Penelope just stared up at shining sky.
After paddling the small scenic lake we carried another 180 rod portage over rock ledges and through black spruce bogs carpeted with sphagnum moss into the gorgeous Snipe Lake. Keeling and prying our way around sheer rock faces we soon found ourselves over the short, cobbled portage and launching into narrow Cross Lake. Powering over beaver dams we realized that we had found the rhythm that we had hoped for! A rhythm when time is determined by j-strokes, wind speed, waves and the weight on our backs. All the while Penelope shared in our adventure.
At Cross Lake we found pitcher plants. These colorful carnivorous plants are found in bogs where the methane rich waters and acidic soils make conditions difficult for much else to survive. These amazing plants attract unsuspecting insects with their color. Their leaves that are cupped and when the insects land on them their slimy leaves trap them. Slipping into the main body of the plant the prey is then dissolved by bacteria.
Now it is Penelope's life. Through our daily hikes into the forest, our leisurely afternoons swimming and hanging out around the fire on the beach, nights falling asleep to the low soulful howl of timber wolves, mornings awaking to finches at the bird feeder, and canoe tripping; Penelope is already living a unique experience growing up in the north woods.
A couple of nights ago we decided that it was time for her to sleep her first night in a tent. We made camp. Granted the tent was pitched on our property no more than shouting distance from her cradle it was a new experience nonetheless. She went to sleep under a clear crisp diamond studded starry night and woke up to trembling aspen glittering in the soft morning breeze. It was a great start to our weekend adventure.
Penelope's first camp: our backyard!
Happy baby in the morning!
Penelope, clearly enthusiastic, crossing into the wilderness for the first time.
Our first portage of a 140 rods (one rod is sixteen and a half feet long, 320 rods equals one mile) followed a small stream, crossed a couple of springs flowing out of a bedrock contact, around a small moose pond and to Missing Link Lake. Penelope rode in the front pack like it was a stroll in the park at home. After paddling the small scenic lake we carried another 180 rod portage over rock ledges and through black spruce bogs carpeted with sphagnum moss into the gorgeous Snipe Lake. Keeling and prying our way around sheer rock faces we soon found ourselves over the short, cobbled portage and launching into narrow Cross Lake. Powering over beaver dams we realized that we had found the rhythm that we had hoped for! A rhythm when time is determined by j-strokes, wind speed, waves and the weight on our backs. All the while Penelope shared in our adventure.
The "porpoises" of the North's sphagnum-rimmed muskegs; river otter playfully followed our canoe.
Hundreds of pitcher plants lined this lake. All awaiting insects to be lured to their ill fate.
Now paddling north we shared the route with three river otter and a huge snapping turtle. A tail wind aided the travels. Before we knew it we were crossing Ham Lake. The day almost complete we took advantage of a stiff breeze and easy landing to watch a Bald Eagle soar the thermals above us. 
Prehistoric relics of the Jurassic; this snapping turtle was content enough on his warm rock to let us get to within a paddle's length away!
We ended the paddle with a couple of simple carries over the iron orange weathered slate of the Rove Formation. The portages snaked through old growth white and red pines that were spared by the Ham Lake fire that started nearby. The final portages around mild rapids on Cross River led to a leasurily paddle to the landing which completed the adventure. Penelope's first canoe trip was a success!
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Blueberry Barrens
Warm. Prior to today's dousing of rain just a quarter inch of rain has fell in the last couple of weeks. I've been watering the garden every morning. A thin scent of smoke periodically drifts through the breeze from fires in Ontario. Black-eyed Susans bloom along the driveway.
This weekend we made our annual pilgramige to the Ham Lake Fire burn in the Seagull Lake area to pick blueberries. Blueberries are hardy perrenials found around the world. In fact, among berries, its consumption is second only to strawberries.
Beyond the Gunflint Fault, after the North Shore Volcanics has given way to the Duluth Complex, the diabase sills and Rove Slates, is a wild "interior" country. It's a place were white polished and striated rock meets clear cold glacial water. Apart from portages and a couple of rough hiking trails it's a place where the bush is too thick to traverse large distances by foot. Traveling by water is the only means for wilderness travelers to make serious mileage. Large, rolling rocky hills invite sweeping views. Pure slabs of rock remind you of Utah and the Colorado Plateau.
A huge wildfire swept through the area a fews years ago. Now this country can also be accuretly described as the "blueberry barrens". All competition has been burned and blueberries now dominate the shrub layer of a forest. At times you feel like you are walking on a carpet of berries. The fruit is delicous and healthy. In fact, some studies have found that phytochemicals in blueberries help reduce inflammation, lower chlolestoral and possibly reduce symptons of heart disease. We would harvest them no matter what they may do for our health. In the end we freeze most of our crop and for use in scones, pancakes, smoothies and sundaes.
A huge wildfire swept through the area a fews years ago. Now this country can also be accuretly described as the "blueberry barrens". All competition has been burned and blueberries now dominate the shrub layer of a forest. At times you feel like you are walking on a carpet of berries. The fruit is delicous and healthy. In fact, some studies have found that phytochemicals in blueberries help reduce inflammation, lower chlolestoral and possibly reduce symptons of heart disease. We would harvest them no matter what they may do for our health. In the end we freeze most of our crop and for use in scones, pancakes, smoothies and sundaes.
Lowbush or "wild" blueberries are native to North America. The plants cling to the granites of Canadian Shield along the upper Gunflint Trail.
Penelope relaxing, Amy harvesting, and Luna roaming the Ham Lake Fire area
Taking in the rugged terrain
The Harvest
One of the reasons I'm so drawn to this country is the geology. Here large euhedral phenocrysts of potassium feldspar catch the afternoon light and my eye during the hike back to the truck.
Ending the day relaxing after a refreshing swim in Seagull Lake
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Chores Aren't Always Boring
Ever wondered why they use so many damn packing peanuts?
My mind was going there this evening as I was getting the trash packed into our canister for pick up in the morning when I heard the jingle of metal fencing. My first instinct was that the bear had come back for the compost or Amy was out looking at the garden. Then I remembered that Amy was inside and saw that there was no black critter digging around the compost. It continued. As I walked up the hill I saw a spotted fawn floundering on the upslope side of our garden fence. He struggled for a bit. By the time my mind wrapped itself around the situation and I started to make my way up there to scare it off, he freed himself and strangely made his way towards me. His body was shaking as he fearlessly approached me to within twenty or so feet. At that point, Amy opened the door. At first she didn't realize what the deer was and even asked "What's that?"; confused as to why any deer would dare to venture so close to a human. Luna knew what it was and barked. The fawn scurried off through the orchard back into forest.
My first thought was "great, now I have a desperate orphaned fawn to worry about eating my freshly-blushed apples and crash through our fence line into our garden." I did damage control. I walked up to the section of fence that the deer had blindingly attempted to crash in order to assess the damage. I wasn't there a minute when I heard more commotion in the woods up the hill. Was it the fawn again? Maybe his mother? Whatever it was it was cruising through the bush at an alarming rate. It drew closer. By the time the sound was just beyond our clearing I realized that this was no small deer. My throat dried and goose bumps rippled my skin. The crashing ended but I could still follow moving shrubs. Suddenly no farther than twenty feet from me, a huge black wolf pounced out of the woods into the clearing! It was the same black wolf that stood at the base of the driveway a couple of winters ago and howled. This time, however, I was close enough to see his yellow eyes, follow the grey fur that lined the perimeter of his massive pointed ears, and gaze at his aged white scruff of a beard under neck and between his front quarter of his otherwise black fur coat. Every hair on my body sprang to attention. It didn't take him long to recognize that the human in front of him was no prey. Without effort he glided back into the woods and watched me. I couldn't believe my eyes! This was by far the closest that I had ever been to a wolf. I had my phone on me and wanted to give Amy a chance to see this amazing creature so I called her. Unfortunately it didn't take him long to bolt once he heard the door open. All the while I could hear more crashing a couple hundred feet away around Spruce Knob.
Unfortunate fate for the fawn; this wolf was hot on it's trail! Given that wolf's size and speed and the fact that he probably has a couple of buddies covering the flank, I most likely won't have to worry about the little guy wrecking my apple crop...
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Darkness and Sleep is Brief
Hot. Highs in the middle eighties (90's over the hill). Recent abundant rain has brought us out of a drought and yet spared us of the catastrophic flooding that occured closer to Duluth.
Blueberries are ripe for picking on the Gunflint Trail. This is early as most years the berries aren't ready until the last week of July. Strawberries, however, were late this year. Most years we can go to an excellent "pick your own" strawberry farm in southern Ontario for Amy's birthday in the end of June. This year they weren't ready until the end of the first week of July.
A pair of wolves have taken up residence of the neighborhood with their pups. I haven't seen them yet but their signs are all around and we hear them most nights. Some nights they sound like dogs playing. Other times they howl at the moon rising over Lake Superior. Either way, it's actually a comforting thought to know that we aren't the only parents raising young in these woods!
While our garden has been spared the worst of the recent cut worm invasion, slugs have found their way into our potato patch. Despite the heavy rains of June and these slugs our garden continues to thrive. On top of that our young apple orchard is surpassing my expectations. The sweet sixteen apples are slightly larger than a golf ball in size. We also transplanted perenials from my mother's garden and planted a new bed in front of the cabin. The holly hawks are from my grandparent's farm in western Minnesota.
A couple weeks ago I was fortunate to catch a boat ride out of Grand Portage to Isle Royale to help a friend work on his cabin on the island. His family is one of the last of the original commercial fishing family's twhose summer cabins remain on the island. The trip was short but needed as the temperatures out there were almost twenty degrees cooler than the mainland. A loon with a chick on her back greeted as we entered the fjord-like waters of the archipelego's southern islands.
So while I water and weed the garden, mound the potatos, and work on building a wood shed, Penelope and the local wolf pups watch the midsummer moons wax and wane for the first time. Golden finch and black capped chickadee feed on sunflower seeds from our window side feeder. The sharp shinned hawk continues to patrol the poplar tops for rabbit and mice. The local black bear luggs through the woods feeding on berries and not garbage. This time of year the days are busy while darkness and sleep is brief. I busily scurry around learning what it takes to build our homestead and raise Penelope...
Blueberries are ripe for picking on the Gunflint Trail. This is early as most years the berries aren't ready until the last week of July. Strawberries, however, were late this year. Most years we can go to an excellent "pick your own" strawberry farm in southern Ontario for Amy's birthday in the end of June. This year they weren't ready until the end of the first week of July.
A pair of wolves have taken up residence of the neighborhood with their pups. I haven't seen them yet but their signs are all around and we hear them most nights. Some nights they sound like dogs playing. Other times they howl at the moon rising over Lake Superior. Either way, it's actually a comforting thought to know that we aren't the only parents raising young in these woods!
While our garden has been spared the worst of the recent cut worm invasion, slugs have found their way into our potato patch. Despite the heavy rains of June and these slugs our garden continues to thrive. On top of that our young apple orchard is surpassing my expectations. The sweet sixteen apples are slightly larger than a golf ball in size. We also transplanted perenials from my mother's garden and planted a new bed in front of the cabin. The holly hawks are from my grandparent's farm in western Minnesota.
A couple weeks ago I was fortunate to catch a boat ride out of Grand Portage to Isle Royale to help a friend work on his cabin on the island. His family is one of the last of the original commercial fishing family's twhose summer cabins remain on the island. The trip was short but needed as the temperatures out there were almost twenty degrees cooler than the mainland. A loon with a chick on her back greeted as we entered the fjord-like waters of the archipelego's southern islands.
So while I water and weed the garden, mound the potatos, and work on building a wood shed, Penelope and the local wolf pups watch the midsummer moons wax and wane for the first time. Golden finch and black capped chickadee feed on sunflower seeds from our window side feeder. The sharp shinned hawk continues to patrol the poplar tops for rabbit and mice. The local black bear luggs through the woods feeding on berries and not garbage. This time of year the days are busy while darkness and sleep is brief. I busily scurry around learning what it takes to build our homestead and raise Penelope...
Thursday, June 28, 2012
All We Need
At first I thought that it was a child screaming. Then I remembered that I was two miles from anyone. Suddenly a fleeting shadow, soaring towards the tallest old growth white pine, drifted over the ridge top forest . The screaching became more frantic. Finally my eyes caught a scene that struck me. A perfect image of a Bald Eagle; bleach white head, ink black body of feathers on wings as wide as I am tall, a yellow hooked beak. In it's dagger talons was a fish. The frantic screaching halted. Before I knew it another formally unseen adult Eagle appeared and the three birds feasted. The feast took barely a minute to complete. Suddenly both of the adults departed and soared over the to the distant lake leaving the egglet quiet; never to divulge it's location until the next meal appears soaring over the horizon.
I've seen a lot of Bald Eagles. Afterall, Minnesota boasts the largest breeding population outside of Alaska. I've seen an eagle dived in front of my canoe and pluck a trout out of the water. Never, however, have I witnessed an eagle tend it's nest with food. For some reason this scene struck me. I hung out in the shade for a while longer to see if the adults would return. I watched the younger tinker around in it's nest. It was perfectly content to sit there and gaze off at the surrounding lakes of the border country.
The adults didn't return in the time that I was able to remain waiting. The experiance made me think about my new role as the caretaker and provider. It's funny; humans are real good at attempting to disconnect ourselves from the animate roles that ultimately and very simply play. We try real hard to prompt up our role in the order with our SUVS, dish networks, computer, running water and beauracracy. The older I get the more convinced that we are only fooling ourselves. Humans are animals. When it comes down to it all we need are the basics of life.
I've seen a lot of Bald Eagles. Afterall, Minnesota boasts the largest breeding population outside of Alaska. I've seen an eagle dived in front of my canoe and pluck a trout out of the water. Never, however, have I witnessed an eagle tend it's nest with food. For some reason this scene struck me. I hung out in the shade for a while longer to see if the adults would return. I watched the younger tinker around in it's nest. It was perfectly content to sit there and gaze off at the surrounding lakes of the border country.
The adults didn't return in the time that I was able to remain waiting. The experiance made me think about my new role as the caretaker and provider. It's funny; humans are real good at attempting to disconnect ourselves from the animate roles that ultimately and very simply play. We try real hard to prompt up our role in the order with our SUVS, dish networks, computer, running water and beauracracy. The older I get the more convinced that we are only fooling ourselves. Humans are animals. When it comes down to it all we need are the basics of life.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
4.3 inches of rain
With mud boots next to the door, a shovel on the other side of the wall, and drying rain gear hanging in the bathroom I'm beginning to feel seasoned in weathering flash floods. Three flash flood events have inundated the area in two years. This storm, however, was the largest in terms of the amount of rain.
Record rains have fallen for the past 24 hours. In the end, 4.3 inches of rain settled in our rain gauge. More than eight inches fell in the Duluth area. The St. Louis River, one of the largest rivers in Northern Minnesota, is now at a record flood level. The interstate was shut down with three feet of water drowning it's lanes. Highway 61 was closed along the shore. Fiber optics and communication lines were severed when the raging waters toppled a bridge over the Knife River. Phones and internet were down all day.
Around Cook County the already-saturated soils accepted little before it began to flow in sheets over the land. Small tributaries swelled within minutes and cut into any banks that were in their way. Unconsolidated ground swelled, became a viscous plastic fluid and gave way to the forces of gravity. Immense masses of earth wasted down the slopes of the North Shore. Root beer brown colored water derived from the clay-rich run off sheens the surface of the lake along entire shore.
Relative to our neighbors down the shore, our property was spared the worst of damage. The toe slope of the recently installed septic tank was eroded. Beyond that everything held up. So for now we will count our blessings and think about flood insurance...
Record rains have fallen for the past 24 hours. In the end, 4.3 inches of rain settled in our rain gauge. More than eight inches fell in the Duluth area. The St. Louis River, one of the largest rivers in Northern Minnesota, is now at a record flood level. The interstate was shut down with three feet of water drowning it's lanes. Highway 61 was closed along the shore. Fiber optics and communication lines were severed when the raging waters toppled a bridge over the Knife River. Phones and internet were down all day.
Around Cook County the already-saturated soils accepted little before it began to flow in sheets over the land. Small tributaries swelled within minutes and cut into any banks that were in their way. Unconsolidated ground swelled, became a viscous plastic fluid and gave way to the forces of gravity. Immense masses of earth wasted down the slopes of the North Shore. Root beer brown colored water derived from the clay-rich run off sheens the surface of the lake along entire shore.
Relative to our neighbors down the shore, our property was spared the worst of damage. The toe slope of the recently installed septic tank was eroded. Beyond that everything held up. So for now we will count our blessings and think about flood insurance...
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Warm and humid. Highs in the low eighties with lows in the mid fifties. Gentle afternoon rain showers sporadically brush the Shore after storming down the hills of the Gunflint. In the evening and morning hours fog creeps up the hill from the lake as the dew point and temperature embrace each other. Woodland lily, Wild Rose, Lilac, Columbine, hawk weed and Lupine are in bloom.
A young fisher has been hanging around the neighborhood. Hopefully he's busy hunting the thriving mouse population. What rodents he doesn't capture the circling sharp shinned hawk in the sky above will. I've spotted a couple of Moose grazing in the ponds of the upper Brule valley.
I've been busy stacking poplar and piling up the tops to burn. Slowly we've been accumulated materials to begin building the wood shed. This evening; after planting the tomatoes, brussel sprouts and cucumbers, the garden will be completely planted. The rain that fell a couple of weeks ago washed out most of the parsnips, rutabagas, spinach, kale and parts of the peas and beans, but we got everything sorted out and replanted. Our evening meals are supplemented by the first harvest of lettuce from the garden.
We've also been spending quite a bit of time hiking around our neighborhood. It's been a great experience watching Penelope soaking in the world around her as we show her some of our favorite places and explore new ones.
Woodland Lily
I've been busy stacking poplar and piling up the tops to burn. Slowly we've been accumulated materials to begin building the wood shed. This evening; after planting the tomatoes, brussel sprouts and cucumbers, the garden will be completely planted. The rain that fell a couple of weeks ago washed out most of the parsnips, rutabagas, spinach, kale and parts of the peas and beans, but we got everything sorted out and replanted. Our evening meals are supplemented by the first harvest of lettuce from the garden.
One of our favorite picnic spots
Hiking the Superior Hiking Trail
Overlooking Lake Superior from the aptly-named Wildflower Hill
Descending Woods Creek
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Luna moth
This Luna moth was attracted to our window. With wingspans of up to 4.5 inches they are among the largest moths in North America.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
The Last Light of Day
A quarter moon has risen over the eastern sky on the last day of May. This moon has brought us so much! I may practice but cannot truly summon the words to describe what I feel under this moonlight.
In the meanwhile I stroll and whisper softly to our sleepy baby as the last glimmering speck of light fades in the west outside the nursery window. A rabbit grazes the grass at the edge of the driveway. A white tail doe nestles in the spruce glen just below the birch smoke that floats down the hill in the gentle lake breezes. Grouse hunker deep into the slash pile that now is home. There's no doubt that black bears are roaming the forest looking for an unkept trash can or bird feeder. Somewhere along the Brule River moose are bedding into a plump bed of sphagnum moss. Whippoorwills chant. Bats feast on the freshly-hatched insects. Owls stealthily assault unsuspecting rodents. Wolves are surely hunting their way up and down the drainages of the North Shore under the first moon light in a week or so.
The overcast conditions of the recent week have now faded into a weak high pressure system from the north. It will most likely freeze tonight.
So the fire burns. The acoustic music plays. Penelope gives a few whimpers and fades away into another moment of rest. Maybe the quaking poplar leaves passing by along the trail from the day's hike to the meadows accentuate her dreams? Either way the last light of day gives way to darkness. Time to rest...
In the meanwhile I stroll and whisper softly to our sleepy baby as the last glimmering speck of light fades in the west outside the nursery window. A rabbit grazes the grass at the edge of the driveway. A white tail doe nestles in the spruce glen just below the birch smoke that floats down the hill in the gentle lake breezes. Grouse hunker deep into the slash pile that now is home. There's no doubt that black bears are roaming the forest looking for an unkept trash can or bird feeder. Somewhere along the Brule River moose are bedding into a plump bed of sphagnum moss. Whippoorwills chant. Bats feast on the freshly-hatched insects. Owls stealthily assault unsuspecting rodents. Wolves are surely hunting their way up and down the drainages of the North Shore under the first moon light in a week or so.
The overcast conditions of the recent week have now faded into a weak high pressure system from the north. It will most likely freeze tonight.
So the fire burns. The acoustic music plays. Penelope gives a few whimpers and fades away into another moment of rest. Maybe the quaking poplar leaves passing by along the trail from the day's hike to the meadows accentuate her dreams? Either way the last light of day gives way to darkness. Time to rest...
It's Convenient
The North Shore's aromatic smell of spruce-fir-pine and water is particularly sweet this morning. It's been raining for a couple of days now. The small local streams are flowing. Some of the larger rivers are near flood stage. A root beer plume of sediment clouds Lake Superior. The turbulent waters of the rain-engorged rivers hasten the transportation of denuded bedrock and soil to the basin below.
I must admit that I have been fairly sloth this week. At this point I'd rather lie around holding a snoozing baby in front of the wood stove while a strong coffee brews and the pages of John McPhee paddle on by than to get up and accomplish another check off the ol' list. To my defense, once and a while I'll get up to go outside and split some fresh faces of birch for the fire. The sad thing is that all the while I'm still sporting the same long underwear bottoms and slippers that went on at the wee hours of the morning. It's got to be a sight to see: a skinny white boy in the middle of the woods swinging an eight pound maul doting a stocking hat, tee shirt, wool vest, long underwear pants and slippers. But heck, that's why I live in the woods. Nobody is there to see "the sight". Besides, there's no shame in splitting wood in my underwear. I'm not the first person to chop wood in my skimpies. It's convenient.
We just turned a major page in our story. Now, if any, is the time to be sloth, rest, and do the bare minimum of routine chores in order to enjoy the finer points of life.
12 hours later...
We just turned a major page in our story. Now, if any, is the time to be sloth, rest, and do the bare minimum of routine chores in order to enjoy the finer points of life.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Return of the Bear
The sun is setting on another spring day along the North Shore. A double rainbow arches the eastern sky at sunset. In the past couple of weeks the weather has gone from bone-dry fire warning warmth to saturated, Pacific Northwest mist-filled dreariness. Over 3 inches of rain fell today; challenging our culverts for the second time in as many years. With a cold rain falling during the waning hours of the day we have spent plenty of time huddled around the wood stove. The poplar cracking away, however, has not been as mesmerizing to watch as the little one in our arms (proof that new born babies are more fun to watch than a camp fire). Whippoorwills cry at dusk and dawn. Robins, finches and chickadees crowd our sunflower seed bird feeder in front of the window.
A few days ago an old nemesis of mine paid us a visit. The sun had already set on this particular evening. I was holding Penelope on the couch when Amy suddenly screamed. Looking out into the recently-blurred darkness of the night a large figure stood in our window! At first glance it looked like a human. With a second look we realized that a young black bear was propped up against the window and going to town on the bird feeder. I put Penelope down on the couch and ran to the window. Slamming my hands I shouted at the bear who in turn tore the feeder down and strutted with ease a few feet away where he proceeded to snack on the measly seed morsels. Livid at this visitor I followed him outside and screamed while hurling rocks like a two seam fastball at his skull. Unfortunately my aim is not as sharp as it once was (I only landed one shot on the Bear's plump rump). Eventually, however, my threats and minor violence convinced the bear that it wasn't worth a couple of cups of sunflower seed and he took off, crashing through the woods. There he harassed the neighbor's dog and threatened the welfare of their garbage. Eventually it took a shotgun blast over his head to get the point across that he was no longer welcome in the neighborhood. With that our annual visit from this dumb young male black bear came to a close.
Beyond the bear there have been plenty of other happenings around the homestead. Sarsaparilla has turned brown. Aster have sprouted. Columbine, Marsh Marigolds and Iris have begun to flower. Monarch butterflies and scores of various moths fight the winds and colonize the side of the cabin below the porch light at night. Our honeycrisp and sweet sixteen apple trees have flowered. Most of the garden has been planted. With the latest rain, however, we fear that many of the shallow small seeds may have been flooded out!
Like the Black Bear darting through the thick underbrush dodging my projectiles or the streams crashing down during a downpour; life on the homestead keeps moving along with the hastened pace of spring.
A few days ago an old nemesis of mine paid us a visit. The sun had already set on this particular evening. I was holding Penelope on the couch when Amy suddenly screamed. Looking out into the recently-blurred darkness of the night a large figure stood in our window! At first glance it looked like a human. With a second look we realized that a young black bear was propped up against the window and going to town on the bird feeder. I put Penelope down on the couch and ran to the window. Slamming my hands I shouted at the bear who in turn tore the feeder down and strutted with ease a few feet away where he proceeded to snack on the measly seed morsels. Livid at this visitor I followed him outside and screamed while hurling rocks like a two seam fastball at his skull. Unfortunately my aim is not as sharp as it once was (I only landed one shot on the Bear's plump rump). Eventually, however, my threats and minor violence convinced the bear that it wasn't worth a couple of cups of sunflower seed and he took off, crashing through the woods. There he harassed the neighbor's dog and threatened the welfare of their garbage. Eventually it took a shotgun blast over his head to get the point across that he was no longer welcome in the neighborhood. With that our annual visit from this dumb young male black bear came to a close.
Beyond the bear there have been plenty of other happenings around the homestead. Sarsaparilla has turned brown. Aster have sprouted. Columbine, Marsh Marigolds and Iris have begun to flower. Monarch butterflies and scores of various moths fight the winds and colonize the side of the cabin below the porch light at night. Our honeycrisp and sweet sixteen apple trees have flowered. Most of the garden has been planted. With the latest rain, however, we fear that many of the shallow small seeds may have been flooded out!
Like the Black Bear darting through the thick underbrush dodging my projectiles or the streams crashing down during a downpour; life on the homestead keeps moving along with the hastened pace of spring.
Garden planted and fenced
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