Category Archives: Life Up North

Cabin Time

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At the beginning of the week the days stretch out luxuriously. The vacation seems endless and each day feels like there is ample time for everything. Plenty of opportunity to swim, go fishing, take out the kayak, go for boat rides, play yard games, and sit on the dock reading and soaking up the sun. But as soon as midweek arrives, time speeds up. The days feel shorter, and there is an increasing urgency to fit everything in. Even though by definition there is no “to do list” at the cabin, there is still the litany of favorite activities that define time at the cabin. And we wouldn’t want to miss out on any of them.

The cabin is timeless. The things we enjoyed years ago are still the things we come back for year after year. The undeveloped nature of the lake, the wildlife, the feeling of remoteness are all key ingredients. Our self-powered boats often get more use than our motorboat, and our original little fishing boat still has its appeal. When the lake feels inhospitably cold, a hot sauna will coax anyone into the water. Evening bonfires, hanging out in the hammock, reading books and watching sunsets never change over time.

Time seems to stand still at the cabin. We occasionally pick up the morning paper, but the outside world encroaches little on our slice of paradise. The important focuses are the weather forecast and the latest local news gleaned from the regulars at the bait shop. And some might add the Fishing Hall of Fame board posting the latest catches – large and small.

At the cabin we live by sun time. Life is simple and there is no reason to make elaborate plans or live by the clock. My watch (yes, I’m of the age that I still wear one) stays at home. We don’t set alarms. The exact time doesn’t really matter. In summer we easily slip into a later dinner hour, savoring the long days, reluctant to stop to eat while there is lingering sunshine. In winter the evening meal comes sooner, as darkness defines an earlier end to the day.

The cabin is made for family time. There is no better place for it. Sharing unstructured, stress-free time and playing in the outdoors allows plenty of opportunity to build lasting memories. Our children have grown up coming to the cabin, and have now begun making cabin trips on their own as well as with us. And we’ve now added a third generation to the cabin family. What a joy to spend extended time together with them at our special place.

All too soon, however, it is time to go home. What seemed endless at first did in fact have an end date. Packing up and loading the car while the sunshine and the lake beckon feels like torture. But we all cling to the knowledge that we will be back. And we can’t wait for next time.

Doing without Electricity

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We pride ourselves on our lack of technology and unnecessary appliances at the cabin. But truthfully, over time improved cell signals have enabled some devices to creep into use. I will admit to occasionally checking email myself. And then there was the arrival of wireless Internet at the bait shop. Suddenly the trip for the morning papers took longer than before.

But all that's a moot point without electricity. When the storm took out our power the other night, little did we know that days later we would still be managing without it. The smartphones were the first to go. The storm hit in the evening, when the devices were already depleted from searching for distant signals. Common cell phones fared better. We all switched to airplane mode to conserve what little life was left. iPads without a data plan hung in there, but the Kindles were the clear winners – they can go forever without a recharge. Good thing, as reading is a high priority at the cabin.

On the more mundane side of life, we have bemoaned the loss of our fans in the continuing heat, humidity and lack of wind. But the lake has served to cool us off. Opening the fridge is severely restricted, and has been supplemented with a cooler of ice. We normally grill most of our meals anyway, and have been using up our fresh fruit and salads. By chance, my son brought his camp stove – that's our next option. And thank heavens for the old fashioned outhouse… Without electricity, we have no water pump.

And then there are the creative solutions. We have swapped the usual evening board games for 20 Questions. Booklights and headlamps are in demand for nighttime reading. Our son, the newly minted electrical engineer, fashioned a recharger out of batteries and a dissected charging cord. Since it produced smoke, we opted not to plug in any of our precious devices. We patiently awaited my husband's arrival today, as his car held an electric converter. Although we earlier poked fun at our neighbor who recharged her iPhone in their truck, the idea has since become more appealing. If this keeps up tomorrow morning, we're going to plug in our coffee maker. Communicating with the outside world can wait. There is only so long we can go without our morning caffeine.

Cabin Storms

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Boats were absent from the lake, the thrum of their motors replaced by the whine of chainsaws. The resort’s raft floated peacefully out in the middle of the lake. The calm waters belied the turmoil that raged the night before. Neighbors were out inspecting the damage, swapping stories and wondering when power would be restored.

The storm was the worst I’d experienced in 22 years at the cabin. It came up in a hurry, whipping the lake into whitecaps that were then replaced by a horizontal spray covering its surface. We were on the receiving end of the wind, driving straight down the lake toward the cabin. We lost the lights immediately, at the same time we were emptying out the tiny closet in the interior of the cabin for safe cover. Fortunately, we didn’t need to cram into that small space. With flashlights in hand, listening to the weather radio and cuddling two young grandchildren, we could only wait it out. The winds tapered while the rain droned on, but the worst was over. What a relief to be able to reopen some of the windows and feel the cool air left by the storm. At least we would have better sleeping weather that night.

Pine tree down in the yard

Venturing out when the rain subsided, it was immediately obvious that we had been lucky. Nature had neatly downed the big dead pine tree on the edge of our yard, relieving us of the chore. At the lake, we were amazed to see two big birches blown partially over, taking up a huge piece of the shoreline with them creating a watery cavern. Nestled underneath were five sections from the neighbor’s dock. But they suffered worse than that. Three huge trees had come down alongside their cabin, and a fourth lay squarely on their roof. Fortunately everyone was okay.

Birches ripped up the lakeshore
Trees down on the neighbor's cabin

We’re marooned this morning. Cut off from the main road by power lines draped across our road. It looks like restoring power won’t be imminent. But there is plenty of cleanup work to do. And our two year old grandson continues to sing his refrain from last night’s storm, “Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day.” He seems pleased that in the end, it worked!

I’ve Been Bridged!

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I could see it from a distance. The red light that meant the bridge was up. Being on the Park Point side of the Aerial Bridge when the roadbed is raised means staying there until the boat passes through. There is no other way off the narrow strip of land that forms the Duluth Harbor.

Most people don’t mind. They know that when going over to Park Point there is a distinct possibility they may need to wait for the bridge in order to return. And today I was solidly in that camp.

I’d chosen to do an easy bike ride instead of a hard workout. It was one of Duluth’s finest days, with sunshine playing off Lake Superior and comfortable warm temperatures. Cycling along the Lakewalk is by definition a leisurely ride, as it is shared by numerous runners, walkers, dogs and tourists, and winter has provided more than a few heaves in the pavement. Besides, it is prime territory for just looking out at the lake.

Cycling down Park Point and back is easy going. It’s flat and straight, with plenty of shoulder. I love looking at the jumbled assortment of houses along the way, from tiny cabin-like homes, to huge modern structures built high enough to see over the dunes to the lake. They are wedged close together and sometimes one in front of the other, all trying to get a piece of the prime beachfront or harbor shoreline. And there always seems so be an abundance of flowers. The area must be a magnet for zealous gardeners.

So approaching the end of the line of cars waiting for the bridge, it was an easy choice to swing onto the pier and just take it all in. It didn’t matter that the bridge was only half way up and that it was the Vista Queen tour boat going under instead of an ore boat of foreign freighter. It was an opportunity to slow down, take a break and have a closer look at what was around me. Like the bridge coming down, right over me. Like the view of the bridge, from below. Like seeing the bridge from the harbor side – how often do we look at it from there? No need to rush back and cycle over when the bridge was back down. After all, I had all the excuses I needed. I’d been bridged.

The calm after the storm

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I don’t remember the big Duluth flood of 1972. Odd, I lived here, and I can’t claim I was too young to remember. We weren’t here for the recent rainfall in Duluth or yesterday’s flooding, but we followed it closely on the web as water tore through the city wreaking havoc and leaving devastation in its path.

We drove up to Duluth in the evening. By that time, the day had cleared, the sun was setting and the air was calm. We had only one detour off I35, south of Cloquet, and there was an eerie beauty to the standing water on the roadside. Before reaching the top of Thompson Hill, we could see a double rainbow in the sky, terminating down in the troubled city of Duluth in the distance. It seemed to be an omen. The remainder of the route was clear, including the tunnels, yet we were almost the only car on the road. Emerging from the final underground portion, we could see a flock of ships in the now calm waters of the lake. For all the day’s turbulence, it was a strange feeling to see it all in the quiet afterglow of the day. We were traversing streets that had suffered only water and mud, not collapse, so the day’s pictures felt surreal in comparison.

Reaching our home, we were pleased but not surprised to find it high and dry. Blessed with the lack of a basement, our landscaper‘s effective water management planning, and being perched on a hill kept it out of harm’s way. But we now understood the reality of the creek’s high water mark and set-back regulations for building which had seemed so absurd at the time.

We immediately headed across the street to see Amity Creek. Having seen earlier pictures of the gazebo at “The Deeps” surrounded by swirling, angry water, we were eager to see it for ourselves. The water had receded significantly, and the creek was back within its rocky borders, mostly. It was still thunderous and raging, and far higher than we’ve seen it before, but had returned to some resemblance of a creek. But all around us were remnants of its earlier rampage. There was mud everywhere, and huge trees and limbs were thrust against anything left standing, showing us the outline of where the thrashing water had overrun the area. The power of rushing water.

Here are some during and after pictures of the footbridge and gazebo from three different perspectives.  The flood pictures were taken by others.  The after pictures I took the next day.

This flood I will remember.  Even though I wasn’t here.

Finding Inspiration

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I’ve been displaced this week.  Voluntarily.  I’ve been spending my days in the home of my daughter and her husband, taking care of their new baby and her older brother while my daughter returned to her 2nd grade classroom to complete the year with her students.  As a result, I was in a “foreign” environment, without access to my own familiar resources.  But what a benefit – I made some wonderful discoveries and came away with new sources of inspiration.

My first find was a book called Heroes for My Son by Brad Meltzer.  It was a small book, lying on the coffee table, almost disguised among the assortment of children’s books.  I picked it up and was immediately taken with the premise and content of the book.  It is a collection of 52 individuals, hand selected by Meltzer for their virtues and talents, as life examples for his son.  Its beauty is in its simplicity.  Each entry is comprised of a single black and white photo, and a few concise sentences that capture the qualities that define the individual.  And finally, a quote by or about the hero.  Many, not all, are famous, and each is selected for a character trait not a specific accomplishment.  It is a book to be savored, but I found myself wanting to read on to the next, and the next.  The inspiration it contained was heart-warming and lasting, as the stories were so memorable.

Next was music.  Thumbing through the iPod connected to the music system, I selected the album Just Relax: Mexico by Lifescapes.  The music was calming yet with nice variety, unlike some of the other more boisterous selections on the device, and made for good listening.  It turns out that Lifescapes is a series of music CDs developed for Target Corporation, which in all honesty was a bit of a turn-off for me.  But reading more, I discovered that it started with a small group of musicians from the Twin Cities area, who “came together with one mission in mind… to create a fresh and authentic music collection tuned to everyday life.”  Where the inspiration comes in is their message that followed: “Think of your life as a film where you’re the lead character in your movie. Every day you live your life in big and small ways, through seasons of change, through good times and hard times, through passing moments and memories that’ll last forever.”  I scoured the website, trying to discern just who those original artists were, and which were the initial CDs, but they left no clues.  Still, I’m interested enough to check out other titles and artists in the series.

Not bad for a week spent largely in the absence of other adults!

Running Grandma

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Two years ago, I ran Grandma’s IMG_5966Marathon as a grandma for the first time.  I proudly emblazoned the fact on my running top, and enjoyed the resulting cheers along the way.  It was a great – no grand – variation on a race that was otherwise an annual affair for me.  And stopping to kiss the baby at mile 21 just before Lemon Drop Hill was definitely a timely energy boost.

Yesterday I was a running Grandma as well, only this time it was behind my second grandchild.  I wasn’t chasing her, I was pushing.  What a great invention these running IMG_7953strollers are!  They glide with ease, turn on a dime (not always where I intend, however), and absorb all the curbs and bumps I might find along the way.  Best of all, they turn drivers into the most polite and accommodating citizens I’ve ever seen. Perhaps it was the wiry but distinctly gray haired runner piloting the stroller that compelled them to stop and grant me priority to proceed at every intersection.  I was fortunate that at two months, the baby wasn’t much of a payload and we managed a good pace.  But I still managed to convince myself that I was getting more workout per mile.

This grandma has plenty of good reasons to keep on running.  And maybe one day it will be with those grandchildren at my side!

New Twist on an Old Game

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I come from a family of game players. Our specialty is word games. When my husband and I were first dating, I finally talked him into playing Scrabble with me. At first, I trounced him regularly. Then the tables began to turn. He played with strategy! High scoring words were no longer enough to ensure my victory – he began to block my moves. Deliberately! He could turn a Scrabble board into an unplayable assortment of letters in just a few moves. It became a whole new game. Literally. But that wasn’t a bad thing, and it made for a much more genial relationship by balancing out the scores.

This weekend, we had two 10-hour car trips to attend our youngest son’s college graduation. We carpooled with our daughter, her husband and their new baby to and from the festivities. To pass the time, I reached back to a favorite word game that was well suited to car trips in my youth – Jotto. A quick search on the internet quickly refreshed my memory of the rules. It is normally played with two players. Each person thinks up a 5-letter word. The players proceed to ask each other 5 letter words, and the number of correct letters from the secret word is revealed. By repeatedly asking words to rule letters in and out, one can eventually guess the other player’s word. It particularly appeals to my mathematical and analytical mind, as well as word knowledge. But we had three players, so we dreamed up a new approach – round robin Jotto. Player A tries to guess Player B’s word, Player B guesses Player C’s word, and C tries to guess A’s. Surprisingly, it worked out quite well! And suddenly, our game for 2 was expandable to any number of players. Once a player was out (when their word was guessed correctly), it was possible for them to review other players’ answers to try and guess their word as well.

It was good to revert back to pre-technology times and while away the hours with a mere pen and paper. Try it sometime!

Gardening Surprises

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Gardening is not my thing. I like perennials that come up and grow reliably. Annuals are almost always impatiens, prized for their constant and brilliant color throughout the summer with no effort on my part.

The whole idea behind the landscaping for our new home was to be natural and maintenance free. We have “highway mix” grasses that are not meant to be mowed, which give way to woods around three sides of the house. We strayed a bit when it came to the front approach, however, where friends with marvelous gardening skills designed and planted perennials and bushes to line the walkway.

I have to admit to gathering interest in the various plantings, and recently had an uncharacteristic surge of industrious gardening activity. Seeking to fill in the barren wall alongside the garage, and spying an expanding patch of Lilies of the Valley in our woods, I decided to try my hand at transplanting. Getting up close and personal with the plants, I discovered hidden treasure. Trillium! I surprised myself by coming up with the name, but a Google search and Wikipedia confirmed my identification. Something in my memory registered “do not pick” and I thought I had found a rare flower. Although my research revealed that they are protected in a number of states, the reason is that picking the blossoms inflicts lasting damage on the plants, and it takes years for them to recover. Regardless, I delicately avoided disturbing my new find, and plundered my lilies from a safe distance.

We’ll see if the lillies take root and multiply. But even if not, I’ve been rewarded for my efforts. And just maybe I will buy those wild flower seeds I’ve been thinking of introducing In front of the large rocks outside our dining room windows.