Category Archives: Life Up North

Music in the Park

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We’d seen the signs all week long.  Music in the Park on Sunday evening.  It was an alluring invitation – right in the development, a warm summery evening, and only a bike ride away.  With Dad feeling tired and interested in going to bed early, we decided to treat ourselves to a night out.

Approaching the park, we were amazed to see the line-up of cars.  And even more surprised by the golf cart that passed us, with a glass of wine in the hand of the passenger!  Realizing that the event was in a private venue, it suddenly dawned on us that anything was fair game.   Indeed, all around us were gourmet picnic spreads, bottles of wine, and even tables with balloons.  We arrived with two cans of pop and the remnants of a bag of pretzels in hand.

Without lawn chairs, we settled Concertourselves on an open patch of grass and flipped open our pop.  Clearly we were a pitiable site, as we soon had offers of a blanket, food and wine from the friendly people around us.  Being good Minnesotans, we politely declined several times.  But we could hold out only so long, and ultimately succumbed to glasses of very nice red wine.

The music turned out to be lively and fun.  While enjoying the doo wop rock, blues and classic country music of the 50s and early 60s, the concert was suddenly interrupted by sirens.  The Blues Brothers arrived via an old police car with a classic Bellaire sheriff’s vehicle in pursuit!  They joined the musicians and doubled the entertainment.  Between the music and the warm evening, it was a great time.

Blues Brothers and MollyWe decided it was best to leave before dark, which just happened to be when the Blues Brothers made their exit.  Naturally, they clamored for a picture with me, so I graciously obliged!

In the words of the musicians, “Oh what a night…”

 

Escape from Everlasting Winter

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In a winter already renowned for it’s below zero temperatures and lasting deep snow on the ground, we faced yet another winter storm warning just as April approached. We were plenty accustomed to bracing for storms, but this one held another threat for us. The impending nasty weather perfectly coincided with our scheduled departure for Florida. Our escape was in jeopardy.

But the preparations went on. It was hard enough to make sense of the t-shirts, shorts and sandals piled on the bed to be packed. Envisioning wearing them was even more of a challenge. It must have had a lot to do with the piles of snow staring at us through the windows.

Fortunately, weather forecasts are imperfect at best, and this storm failed to materialize as early as predicted. We breezed up to the Duluth airport and our flight departed right on time. Whew! Let the storm rage, now that we were safely out of its reach.

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Canal Park by Air – taken by Rich Hoeg

Our flight path took us right over Canal Park where Rich took a dramatic photo out the window. Lake Superior’s icy surface was ubiquitous. The open channel through the Aerial Bridge showed up in stark contrast, and quickly dissolved into tightly clustered ice chunks which gave way to solid ice. Clearly the hard work of the Coast Guard ice cutters was short lived. It was easy to see why the nascent shipping season had come to a rapid halt.

Florida feels like another world. It’s green everywhere, flowers are in bloom, and the sun sheds a genuine warmth. In fact, sitting in the sun reading my book I get hot. But I’m not complaining. Running early in the morning is refreshingly cool, and my natural impulse is to avoid the wet spots from the automatic sprinklers. But the ice I expect is far from reality. What pure joy!

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To double our pleasure, we check the webcam back home. Ooh boy, does it look ugly looking down our front steps. Icy rain splatters the windows and it just plain looks cold. My weather app reports dangerous high winds, and friends confirm the terrible driving conditions. It’s a winter storm all right, not an April Fool’s joke. Or is it?

No matter.  We have escaped for now.  We will worry about the everlasting part when we return.

One Day of Birds

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What do you get when you cross a passion for photography with a life-long love of birds?  365 Days of Birds – my husband Rich’s latest project.  It’s a year long challenge he created for himself, dedicated to photographing a bird a day. As a fairly new amateur photographer, his intent was to use the assignment to improve his photography skills.

Now we are 61 days into the project.  Yes, we.  For although it’s Rich’s project, it has a habit of spilling over into my life as well.  All the way out to Colorado and back, he scanned the skies.  After all, he had to get his bird for the day.  Then there are the pre-dawn ventures, hoping to get that golden hour light on his birds.  Or the spontaneous photo opps on our way home from church.  I never realized this project would be so all-consuming.  But I will also grant that he has gotten some amazing photos.

Although Rich has frequently invited me to accompany him on his bird hunts or other photo shoots, I don’t often go along.  I’ve learned that I just don’t have the dedication, patience and persistence that it takes to get the perfect photo.  Nor do I have much staying power in the bitter cold – a staple for photographers in northern Minnesota.  So I accept my limitations and pursue my own passions.  Writing in the warmth of our lovely home, with a big mug of steaming coffee nearby suits me quite well.

This evening I must have let my guard down, as I agreed to accompany Rich out to see a Great Horned Owl and her owlets in a nearby park.  Armed with my own camera and tripod, I set up shop next to Rich and promptly photographed the dead stub of a branch on the tree.  A nearby photographer with a foot-long lens on his camera kindly set me straight, and it became clear just how well camouflaged Mrs. Owl was.  And peering at the display on the back of my camera, I could just make out the owlet.  To the naked eye, both were nearly invisible.

Somewhere overhead, father owl perched invisibly in a tree.  I couldn’t see him at all until he swooped down and flew overhead to a distant grove of trees.  From there, he traded hoots with Mrs. Owl and baby owlet turned to the sound of his voice.  That was really cool.  Unfortunately, so was I.  As the cold seeped through my jacket and my fingers turned to useless stiff appendages, my interest waned.  Still, I was glad I’d seen them and hoped I’d gotten at least one decent photo.

So now I ask, what do you get when you cross a fair weather wanna-be photographer with a natural reverence for majestic creatures?  One Day of Birds.

Mrs. Owl and her owlet

Mrs. Owl and her owlet

 

 

 

 

Yet another ice attraction?

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IMG_3702The sea caves are not the only attraction available this winter due to the ice on Lake Superior.  I recently learned that one could also walk out to see “Uncle Harvey’s Mausoleum” – the listing cement monstrosity that sits in the water just off the Lakewalk at Canal Park. There is nothing attractive about this structure which was built by Harvey Whitney in 1919 as a sand and gravel hopper.  He was hoping to provide the materials for an outer harbor breakwater.  Alas, no such plans materialized and it was abandoned in 1922.  And still it sits, impervious to Lake Superior’s wind and waves.

In summer time the cement edifice does provide a certain tourist attraction.  It has great allure for teenagers wishing to show off their cold-water swimming, climbing and diving prowess.  The result is quite a spectacle for those of us who prefer to remain safely rooted to the shore.  Lithe young bodies seem to show up in all available openings, and manage to clamber up to the tops of the walls, which are open to the sky.  From there they fling themselves into the frigid waters below.

I can’t really claim any urgent need to see inside the building except the fact that it was now possible to do so.  Why not wander out and have a look?  So I did.  Even though the ice was thick, the slush on top made me a tad queasy, and I am certain I looked every bit the old lady as a carefully picked my way across the slippery ice.

The inside turned out to be every bit as ugly as the outside.  Even the ice formations on the foundations did little to enhance its visual appeal.  I could hear children crawling through the cavities of the building, squealing with delight, and envied their greater sense of adventure.  And I still couldn’t figure out how those teenagers scale up to the top.  Some things will remain a mystery.

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For me the more intriguing aspects were the views I could get through the windows.  From outside, I was able to see across the interior and back out again to the lighthouses at the end of the canal piers.  Lowering myself into the large internal cavity, I could see through the window on the opposite side to the city hillside beyond.  I decided that the building’s best vantage point was as a frame for the more scenic views around it.

IMG_3697 IMG_3699It certainly didn’t compare to the amazing sea caves.  But I’ll admit to being drawn to see the attraction.  And I’ve satisfied my curiosity.  Okay, it was a fun little adventure.  Even if it wasn’t attractive.

Sudden Change in Plans

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It's not what we had planned at all. But life has a way of throwing us challenges and curve balls when we least suspect it. And our job is to do the right thing and make the best of it.

For me, our stay at Snow Mountain Ranch got off to a rocky start (pun intended!) when I brought along the flu and shingles bugs I'd been harboring for two weeks already. Energy zapped and battling the symptoms, I've had to scale back my normal instincts to hit the trails and spend as much time skiing as possible. It's not easy when surrounded by mountains and opportunities to ski and snowshoe. But my body tells me otherwise.

Then came the phone call. Rich's dad was in the hospital, and needed a family member to come be with him and see him through surgery and recuperation. Less than 24 hours later, Rich boarded a plane for Florida without booking a return flight. He's where he needs to be, and the YMCA was more than understanding about his sudden resignation and departure.

It feels strange to be here without Rich. Life goes on, and perhaps fortunately my work schedule has me busy for the next 4 straight days. I am surrounded by caring fellow volunteers who have quickly become our friends, and they are all looking out for me.

Just at the time we long to be connected and be able to talk, Rich and I are technology challenged. My phone has no service here, and Rich doesn't have internet at his Dad's house. Text messages are the best we can do, and arrange to talk via Skype when we can work it out. Between work schedule, hospital hours and the time difference, that's not always easy. In an age of instant communication, we feel the gap acutely.

The plan is to be reunited some time late next week – just in time for our return to Minnesota. It's doubtful we will linger on our trip home as originally planned. I expect instead we will be anxious to return to some semblance of normalcy.

Our memories of Snow Mountain Ranch may be a bit tarnished. But in no way is it the fault of the program. It lived up to all we expected and more, and there are many highlights we will remember fondly. And it's likely we will return. Hopefully next time things will go more according to plan.

 

My escape to the land of ice

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Inactivity is not my strong suit.  For someone whose whole being is finely tuned to making the most of each moment, and squeezing in as much physical activity into each day as possible, being housebound for a week is rough.  However, the flu knocked out any false ambitions I might have harbored, and left me too wiped out to even consider moving any distance away from my perch on the window seat.

When recovery at last seemed an option, and I began to perk up a bit, my first foray back into the outdoor world was a trip down to Lake Superior.  Camera in hand, this was to be a mild walk along the shore, not a physically taxing operation.  Honestly, it was all I could handle.  But so worthwhile.

With reports of Lake Superior being over 90% ice covered by then, I was greatly surprised to see that the recent winds had opened up a large expanse of deep blue turbulent water along the shore.  It felt as though Duluth must have laid claim to a large portion of the only open water, by virtue of the shifting winds which can add or remove ice from the watery landscape in an instant.Photo Feb 07, 4 06 41 PM

Evidence of the wind’s handiwork lay on the shore below the A-frame information booth at the edge of town.  There I found thick shards of ice tumbled on shore, piled up in haphazard form as the wind’s inexorable force moved them off the water.  It was like an artist’s rendering of some modern art form, which took Photo Feb 07, 4 14 59 PMon blue hues as the sun shone through it with the water as a backdrop.

Walking was hazardous, with a thin layer of snow masking the icy footing underneath and a frigid wind blew off the lake, straight through me.  My desire for stretching my photography skills and capturing artistic imagesPhoto Feb 07, 4 16 20 PM quickly faded to a lesser goal of at least catching some representation of the beauty around me.  The myriad    Photo Feb 07, 4 18 10 PMsettings and nuances of focus would have to wait for a warmer day.  But it didn’t stop me from enjoying the scene.

The most mysterious piece of all was the swirly cone out on the tip of an icy peninsula.  What created the base of the form?  And how did this opaque statue rise up above the icy chunks?  It bore no resemblance to the flat rocky landscape I knew that underlay this setting.

It wasn’t long before my numbing fingers and chilling body drove my reluctant retreat from the scene.  With a final look back to admire the ice, I carefully returned to the car.  I’d had my big adventure for the day.  My spirits rejuvenated by the lake and its ice.  Yes, it was a great escape.

 

Rx for my To-Do list

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The list never ends.  I’m sure I’m not alone in hoarding tasks that I know I need to get done, but never seem to get around to doing.  They aren’t urgent, but they really should be completed.  Some day.

In steps the flu.  Nasty cough, fluidy lungs and generally feeling yucky. I spent a day denying it, hoping it would go away.  Day two I gave in and curled up on the window seat.  I can’t remember the last time I just threw in the towel and vegged from morning ’til night.  I had a library book I needed to finish before it was due, so out it came.

After months of reading on my Kindle, and loving it for its lightweight convenience on our cycling trip, I’d forgotten the joys of reading a real book.  The tactile experience of turning pages and devouring its contents was so very satisfying.  It was the perfect book for a marathon reading session – Khaled Hosseini’s And the Mountains Echoed drew me in from the very first page.  I am in awe of this author, whose prose is so beautifully crafted and whose tales are so compelling without being suspenseful.  The day flew by with the pages, and I was sad to finish the book.  But I was able to check it off my list.  And avoid a fine.

Day three I had to cancel my coffee date with friends.  That’s serious.  I love my coffee time, and especially spending it with others.  But it wasn’t fair to share my germs with them.  Feeling more chipper, I sat down at my PC, checked email and and tackled the usual tasks.  It felt good to actually do something, so I eyed that To-Do list in the corner.  With a long day of nothing stretching out before me, it was an undeniable opportunity to accomplish a few items.  After knocking off a few easy ones, I began to gain steam.  Working my way down the list selectively, I eventually narrowed it down to some of the more onerous tasks.  It was with a satisfying sense of achievement that I even managed to cross many of those off as well.

I’m really hoping to be back on my feet by day four.  I’m just about out of things to do.  It’s time to get back to real life, and let that To-Do list build back up again.

 

 

 

 

Following the dogs

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Now that we are Duluthians, it seemed only right that we take in the John Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon.  With family in town, it was a natural to head over to the IMG_3276starting area ahead of time for Meet the Mushers.  In a parking lot filled with dog kennels, sleds, equipment and people, it took on the aura of a festival.  Dogs and mushers were easily accessible, and more than willing to be petted and talk about the race and their experiences.  We could feel the excitement build as we perused the starting chute, and it was hard to tear our granddaughter away from meeting the “puppies.”

Once the race was in progress, Rich and I headed out to more remote spots to try our hand at photographing the action.  Our first stop was at the top of Seven IMG_3285 croppedBridges Road.  While only the half-marathon teams took that route, we had great fun watching them navigate the downhill that ended in a hairpin curve.  Not all dogs understood that they needed to turn, which was comedic.  And I quite enjoyed this team’s lead dog, who seemed more intent on checking me out than leading the team!

Still early in the race, the mushers eagerly wavedIMG_3324 trimmed and appreciated our cheers as they passed by.  One in particular seemed to be having a great time – and it was a woman to boot!  What spirit she showed.

When the action slowed there, we moved to a post further out of town, which proved to be a beautiful viewing point.  Without warning, mushers came around the bend and traveled down a gently undulating and curving path heavily lined with thick and snowy pine trees.  There we had ample opportunity to let our cameras shoot continuously, catching them all the way down the trail.

IMG_3382 trimmedIt was there that we saw our first full-marathon teams, with up to 14 dogs pulling the sleds as opposed to only 8 for the shorter distance racers.  The teams seemed to stretch forever, and were amazing in their ability to coordinate their movements in a compressed space without getting hopelessly tangled.  And they proved to be a challenge to fit into the viewfinder of the camera!  We particularly enjoyed those with brilliantly colored booties – a necessity for the dogs’ feet out on the icy trail.

We quickly learned that photographing the race required more waiting than it did clicking the shutter.  We never knew how long it would be between teams, and keeping warm was a high priority.  Fortunately, we were decked out in our warmest gear, and found that talking to other spectators was entertaining and helped pass the time.  Once a lead dog appeared, then it was a scramble for the camera, getting it lined up properly and shooting either with clumsy mittens or frigid exposed fingers.  When using continuous mode, I felt like I was shooting blind, and came out with some headless mushers in the process.  And while the photos taken from far away were not great, I enjoyed replaying them later in rapid order, seeing the dogs advance down the trail in stilted stop-action form.

We were relieved to return to the car at the end of each stop, to feel its warmth and let the seat warmers work their magic on our chilled bodies.  The mushers weren’t nearly so lucky.  It was hard to imagine them continuing on mile after cold and windy mile, and on into the night through the dark.  They are heartier souls than we, still out there, following their dogs.

 

 

 

Six black muffins

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I now know I can trust my instincts.  On our annual XC ski weekend, I like to go out before breakfast to either ski, snowshoe or take photographs.  This year was no exception.  Before leaving the cabin for an early morning walk, I popped a few muffins in the oven along with some pears to bake, leaving Susan in charge of them while she pursued her own morning passion – painting.

IMG_3221The morning was gray and uninspiring, but it was pleasant wandering through the fresh snow that had fallen during the night on the small roadway right next to Lake Superior’s shore.  Mine were the only tracks in the snow, and the rest of the world seemed asleep.  The area was an eclectic collection of tiny cottages, large homes with sweeping views and tumble down sheds.  I wasn’t adventurous enough to trudge through the deep snow to get to the water’s edge, so I had to confine my photography to what I could see from the road.

As I walked, my thoughts kept wandering back to the oven.  Did I tell Susan when the muffins would be done?  Did I set it to the right temperature?  Despite my best efforts to dismiss that responsibility, something nagged at me.  But I walked on – intent to let go and savor the freshness of the morning.

Opening the door to the cabin, my senses were assaulted by the harsh burning smell.  And it wasn’t the blaze in the fireplace.  Susan looked at me sheepishly saying “I failed…”  Suddenly the six black rocks outside on the deck railing took on significance as I recognized them DSCN0055for what they were.  And the charred pears that melded themselves into the baking dishes were equally appalling.  I knew it!  I shouldn’t have left my baking in the hands of an artist absorbed in her work.

But in fact, I was wrong.  And Susan’s self-blame was misplaced.  Instead of activating the lower heat element, the oven malfunctioned and turned on the broiler, charring our breakfast to death.  No amount of care or attention could have stemmed the tide on that disaster waiting to happen.  All we could do was laugh.  And poke fun at ourselves and the situation.  And our six black muffins.  Sitting in a row.

My instincts were right – something was bound to go amiss.  I just didn’t know what.  And Susan’s painting?  It turned out quite nicely.  A lot better than the muffins.

2014 North Shore at Anderson's Resort day 1

 

Changing Perspectives

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Tonight my good friend Susan arrives in Duluth for the start of our 22nd annual XC Ski weekend together.  This is the first time we haven’t driven up from the Cities together, talking our way through the dark to our first stop in Duluth.  I remember those days well, rushing out of work, decompressing on the drive and looking forward to some time to ourselves.  It was a release from kids, husbands, work and routine.

How things have changed, for me anyway.  Retirement has not only brought me back to Duluth, but I’ve left behind the stresses of work for good, not just for a long weekend.  The kids have all grown, and having the little ones in the house is now something special rather than a daily responsibility.

I no longer feel I need the “break.”  But I still look forward to our ski trip.  There is no substitute for time spent with a long-term friend, one who knows me well.  Nothing else compares to getting in some women time.  We can talk feelings, art, culture, crafts, family, life, religion and anything else that occurs to us.  Running out of things to talk about is never an issue.  And it is oh, so rewarding.

Of course we’ll ski.  We’ll put in asIMG_7501 many kilometers as we can squeeze in each day.  It will be invigorating and being out in the snowy woods will feed our souls.  We’ll revel in the views of Lake Superior and appreciate the beauty of the North Shore.  And each night we’ll collapse in front of the fireplace to enjoy some wine and cheese – and chocolates – and talk.

Yes, some things about this get-away weekend have changed.  But my real reasons for treasuring it stand firm.  It’s all just a matter of perspective.