Skiing – and so much more

For twenty four years in a row we have maintained our tradition.  Without fail.  There have been years of sickness, but we overcame it.  We had small children at home – five between us – but still we escaped.  Snow failed to materialize, but we went anyway.  Jobs were stressful and demanding, but we left them behind.  A lot has changed over the years, but Susan and I still get away for our annual cross-country ski weekend every year.

This year’s venue was Golden Eagle Lodge, on the north side of Bearskin Lake on the wonderful Central Gunflint Trail Ski System.  We stayed in a lovely cabin aptly named “Trailside” and took full advantage of our proximity to the 70k of XC ski trails at our door.

It wasn’t long before the weekend’s unique qualities began to reveal themselves.  And as each new challenge presented itself, we coined a new term.  It seemed better than complaining, and far more fun.

IMG_2363Adaptability  It’s the characteristic needed when things don’t turn out as expected. Like the gas fireplace that ceases blazing after the office closes at night.  And your figure out it’s the only source of heat in the cabin.  Or when the enormous clumps of snow that once graced the tops of the pine trees melt enough to fall, creating tree avalanches that obliterate the ski trail with icy mounds.  Or topple weakened trees across the trail.  It’s the turn-on-a-dime trait that comes in handy for revising ski plans to take advantage of trails that have been groomed in favor of those still coated in refrozen snow.  It’s figuring out how to use a percolator when you’ve only ever made drip coffee.

IMG_2365Lurch  This is what happens when the snow gets warm and wet, and ices up the bottom of your skis.  It creates a huge snowball underneath your foot, which effectively stops all forward progress.  Your body lurches forward with the momentum of your former glide, while your ski remains firmly planted in the ski track.  And an inane sound escapes your lips as you try to regain some sense of balance (and lose all hope of retaining any dignity).

IMG_2360Perseverance  It keeps you going when you realize you have chosen an overly ambitious distance to ski given the sticky snow conditions.  It makes you move when you fear you will be finishing your ski in the dark, and your headlamp is still back at the cabin.  It becomes your strength when you are dead tired after dragging your snow-bound skis across the snow (and lurching).  Its mantra sounds something like “think of crisp, chilled Chardonnay waiting for you.”

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Yet for each challenge the rewards were many.  Skiing at sunrise, watching it paint the sky with orange stripes.  Baking in the heat of the sauna, letting our aches drip away.  Sunny days, warm temperatures.  Talking, sharing, laughing caring.  Sipping that Chardonnay.

 

It’s a rare friendship that endures this long.  Perhaps it’s even more rare to keep up a tradition this long.  But we’re unlikely to miss next year’s milestone – 25 years of skiing together.  And so much more.IMG_2381

Our own Black Friday

The day dawns bright and clear.  Having laid out a clear strategy for our Black Friday shopping expedition, Rich and I hop in the car.  After the required stop for latte, I’m fueled with caffeine and ready to do battle.

The road to ElyNot content with the local offerings, we make our way to a distant renowned marketplace to do business.  It’s a taxing two hour drive.  The further we travel, the quieter the road.  Barely a car passes.  Soon snow appears – a harmless quantity and just the thing to put us in the mood for this holiday shopping trip.  It clings to a few trees and coats the roadway, barely touched by tire tracks.  Sunlight snakes through the trees and the sky is that winter blue overhead.  All we hear is the thrum of the tires.  Yes, it’s a rough trip.

At long last, we approach civilization.  The streets are navigable and traffic is tolerable.  We wait through a single stop light.  There, up ahead is our destination – and our choice of parking spots right in front.  We ease into a generous space, note the lack of parking meters, and emerge into the sunshine.  Ah, Ely is a great place for our Black Friday shopping.

The store windows are trimmed with evergreens, and attractive displays entice us into Steger Mukluk Co.  We first take time to browse through the merchandise, energized by all the outdoorsy offerings.  There are just enough customers to generate a friendly buzz, with no need to elbow our way through the aisles.  Despite our casual approach, we have one true mission and ultimately make a beeline for the footwear.  It’s Steer Mukluks that we’re after.  The king of warm boots.  What we hope will be the end of cold feet.

MukluksIt takes a lesson and several tries to get the laces right.  Cross them over just so.  Cinch them tightly.  Pull snugly.  But once done right, the boots conform to our feet.  And we’re sold.  Rich dreams of endless hours out photographing the Northern Lights in the snow.  I envision long treks on snowshoes and sledding with grandkids.  All with toasty warm toes.  We make our purchases without hesitation.

Rich shopping in ElyGiddy with our recent acquisitions we walk the quiet main street, meandering in and out of pleasant shops.  We treat ourselves to lunch.  We ponder our real holiday shopping duties and come up with a creative idea or two.  But feel no sense of urgency to fulfill them just now.

The trip home offers more scenic views and I admit to nodding off now and then.  It has undoubtedly been a successful day for us.  Just doing our bit to offset the rest of the world’s shopping chaos on this Black Friday.

Stoney-River-Molly-1Stoney River

 

Volunteer Sunflowers

Gigantic bags of sunflower seeds inhabit our pantry.  I am continually trying to wrestle them into submission and shove them under the lowest shelf so that I might have room to move.  At first it’s a challenge, pushing around nearly half my weight in seeds.  But the birds that frequent Rich’s bird feeders are voracious, and it’s not long before the diminishing supply is easily relegated to its storage spot.  Until the next bag arrives.

This summer those seeds delivered a pleasant surprise.  Out of the thousands of seeds provided for the birds, a few of the sunflower seeds migrated away from the bird feeders and into our garden.  Here and there among our colorful perennials, we discovered individual sunflower plants beginning to grow.  Not the enormous picture book sunflowers, just a nice size stalk reaching about four feet tall.  Now this was a use for sunflower seeds that I could really appreciate, and eagerly looked forward to their bright yellow blossoms.  Unfortunately, I was not their only fan.  Just as the largest buds looked about ready to bloom, the deer nibbled off the tasty flowers.

Volunteer SunflowerWe still had a few remaining plants that were behind in their development, so we quickly deployed the deer spray.  They got a liberal dousing after each rain and whenever we thought of it.  Our diligence paid off, and a few days ago the first sunflower bloomed!  We are nursing a couple more along, hoping for a few more sunny blossoms to grace our landscape.

Not being a birder, I’m not always thrilled with those voluminous bags of sunflower seeds in my space.  Nor do I fully appreciate the birds they attract.  But I have to acknowledge the role the birds played in dropping said seeds onto fertile ground. Yes, they have purchased a few months of good will as I enjoy the volunteer sunflowers that resulted.

A First Class Experience

The MISA campusIt’s been almost a month since I first set foot in the big red barn.  But from that moment it became my home for five days, and my life revolved solely around my purpose for being there.

I was at the Madeline Island School of the Arts (MISA as we came to know it) for a writing class by Catherine Watson.  The focus was memoir and travel writing, and we soon learned that we were there to learn from a master.  But it was the whole package that made the experience so rich and rewarding.

It was one thing to spend five days learning about writing.  It was another to be steeped in   the experience.  Staying at MISA, we nestled into simple cottages on campus.  No husband, no family and poor cell phone reception meant I was completely on my own.  I was master of my time and could focus entirely on the writing and the beauty of the island.  That lack of distraction was key.

Mealtime in the red barnMost of our meals were provided for us.  All I had to do was saunter over to the red barn.  There I found foods tailored perfectly to my liking.  Lots of fresh fruit, hearty breads, crisp salads, quiches, soups, wild rice salad, pasta.  And every classroom featured a jar kept filled with chocolate chip cookies.  I was well fed.

My bicycle accompanied me to the island, so I spent my early mornings and afternoons after class exploring, either running or cycling.  The weather was beautiful as were the surroundings, and more than once I worked out some of my writing problems in the process.

Our writing classWith that as the backdrop, I poured myself into my class and assignments.  There were ten women in the class, and we met in the upper level of the barn.  Each night we had a writing assignment, which we read aloud in class the next morning.  Catherine fostered a very supportive environment for sharing our stories, resulting in thoughtful and useful feedback from her as well as our fellow students. As a result, a strong sense of trust was quickly established among our little group and we soon bonded as aspiring writers.  I knew my fellow students by their writing style better than I did their names.  Each morning I eagerly mounted the stairs, looking forward to another session with this diverse and caring group of women.  We laughed heartily together, we felt for one another, we lived each others’ lives through our personal stories and we cried together.  We were strangers at the start, but left with solid friendships and a common passion for our writing.

It was a week of growth for all of us.  We learned to believe in ourselves and our abilities.  We gained confidence in our writing.  We gathered invaluable insights from Catherine from her many years of travel writing, and loved her vivid stories of the writing assignments that sent her all over the world. All this was delivered with a graceful style that nurtured and encouraged us, married with constructive instruction that improved our writing day by day.

I loved my week in that big red barn.  I would do it again in a heartbeat.  I can’t imagine a more effective way to learn and grow as a writer.  It was a first class experience in every detail.

Trading one lake for another

It was ideal cabin weather. Our unprecedented long string of hot sunny days continued, spelling out ideal conditions for being at the cabin. Plans were laid. We’d leave mid-morning.

North ShoreWaking up to deep blue skies, a fresh breeze and less humidity than we’d seen in days, it was a fabulous day in Duluth. Heading out for my early morning run, I couldn’t help but absorb its perfection. Lake Superior was at its finest. Mostly calm with a royal blue hue, lined with rich green trees and brilliant blooms along the Lakewalk, it called to me. I realized that I have let the summer slip by without enough time spent on its shores. I craved time to sit on the rocks and stare into the water. A picnic by the lake. A close encounter with a ship passing through the canal. Anything to be by the Big Lake.

There were ample offerings to enjoy the weekend in Duluth, so why was I going to the cabin? It was my idea, and I’d spent the previous evening executing my usual over-scripted routine to round up plentiful food and other assorted necessities for the trip. I could have abandoned all that. One word and Rich would have been happy to stay home. But despite my internal conflict I remained silent.

I will admit that part of me rationalized staying home because I could also make further progress on my to-do list. That bottomless source of busy-ness is the bane of my retirement, keeping me constantly occupied and prone to turning down opportunities for pure pleasure activities. I allow it to squelch my flexibility and in return I reap mild reward from some warped sense of accomplishment. Perhaps this knowledge unconsciously propelled me to continue loading the car.

ANorth Star Lakell it took was arriving in the cabin driveway. I could already feel life’s requirements falling away. The silence was broken only by the wind rustling the leaves and the flies buzzing. And the lake was beautiful. With only occasional boats cruising by, it was the picture of tranquility.

My to-do list is meaningless here. With no computer, internet or sewing machine I am powerless to tick anything off that list. And I’m so glad. With just the two of us here, there are no demands on my time. I am free to do nothing, or as close to it as I can manage. (I do have my limits.) I have already finished one book while sitting on the dock and started another. I’ve mulled over some writing ideas, which have previously been crowded out by tasky clutter. I can feel my creativity flourishing. It’s peaceful here in a way it never can be at home, precisely because it is not home. Although I generally prefer a more sociable setup at the cabin, sharing this small space with family and friends, there is a lot to be said for some quiet time.

At the cabin, anything feels possible. I am confident that I will find another time to linger by the Big Lake. For now I’m happy absorbing the solitude of North Star Lake. It turned out to be a good trade.

Taking the Plunge

Sometimes you just have to let loose and take advantage of what life sends your way.  With a free afternoon, and yet another day of blistering heat, when my friend Beth said she was going to a swimming hole I quickly volunteered to accompany her.  Although we live across from “The Deeps” (the infamous swimming hole favored by teens) and additional river pools abound in Amity Creek and Lester River, I had never gone swimming in one.

Beth took me to a spot in Lester River less than a mile from our house.  Clambering down the riverside, we dumped our stuff on the warm rocks and I followed Beth into the pool.  It was very shallow on one side and quickly dropped off to a deep hole on the other.  I had expected frigid river water, but to my surprise it was quite warm.  We immediately immersed ourselves in the water, which felt so good after the day’s heat.  Floating on our backs, looking up into the sky through the green branches of the pine trees was heavenly.  It was hard to believe we were really in a city.

Moving up river from the pool, there were some rapids with shallow pools.  We deposited ourselves there, waist deep in the flowing water.  The hot sun actually felt good as the water swirled around us while we talked and relaxed.  By the time we climbed back out of the gorge, I no longer felt hot and bothered.  The river had washed all that away.

Walking up the Sucker RiverDuring coffee hour at church this morning, I mentioned my adventure.  As it happens, one couple at our table lives Jacuzzi Falls on the Sucker River and told us about the “Jacuzzi Falls” where they like to go.  Before long, we had an invitation to join them and by early afternoon six of us were hiking up the river together. We followed the water upstream, sometimes walking the river bottom.  Soaking my feet in the river felt oh, so good.

Just as promised, we reached a series of small waterfalls, each with a pool below.  It was a popular spot today, but we found one that was unoccupied and soon claimed it for ourselves.  It too was fairly warm, making it comfortable to hang out in the water.  We took turns bracing ourselves under the waterfall, letting it flow over our heads until the force of the water eventually pushed us away toward the deep center of the pool.  It was the perfect respite from the day’s sweltering heat.

Sucker River swimming hole Rich and Molly at the base of the waterfallI never expected to spend two successive afternoons hanging out in a swimming hole.  And yet it’s the most fun I’ve had in ages.  Both were spontaneous decisions, and better than any planned activity could ever be.  It was enjoyment in the purest sense, entertained by Mother Nature, shared with good friends, and good healthy outdoor activity.  What could be better than that?  I’m so glad I took the plunge.

School Time

Madeline Island School of the Arts

Photo from the Madeline Island School of the Arts

I’m spending next week on Madeline Island.  I’ll be staying in a pretty little cottage on a picturesque farm-like plot.  I expect to be surrounded by creative and talented people.  And I will be attending class.  A writing class – my first ever.

It’s been over three years now since I embarked on this writing thing.  Immediately after retiring, I launched this blog and submitted my first story for publication.  Now 459 blog posts later and with 17 stories to my credit in Lake Superior Magazine I seem to have quite a bit of momentum.  And yet, I know I have so much more to learn.

I found the class through the Lake Superior Writers, of which I am a member.  The title alone was alluring, as it included the two genres that suit me the best: “Inner Journeys: Mindful Travel Writing and Memoir.”  What clinched it was the instructor, Catherine Watson.  She was the main travel writer and photographer at the Star Tribune during the same time that I worked there.  Our paths crossed only long enough for me to purchase her book, Road Less Traveled, at an employee holiday craft sale.  But it was enough for me to enjoy her writing and remember her style all these years later.

It took quite a bit of courage for me to actually sign up.  The idea of opening myself up to the scrutiny of others is daunting.  It would be easier to stay the course and continue to write on my own.  But where would that get me? I convinced myself that it’s worth the risk to my personal psyche in order to grow and learn.

Also, I have yet to figure out where I really want to go with my writing.  I’m looking forward to finding out what paths other writers pursue, and what might be rewarding for me.  I’m fortunate in that it is only a retirement gig for me.  I’m not dependent on the income (which is a really good thing!) and I can be choosy about what writing I do.  And since I only write on a part-time basis, I want my efforts to be more focused.

So I’ve packed my bags soon and am heading to the Madeline Island School of the Arts.  I’m looking forward to meeting interesting people, being challenged, learning and absorbing as much as I can, and being inspired by the beautiful surroundings on Lake Superior.  Not a bad way to go back to school.

My Civic Duty

I’ll admit it. When the envelope arrivedJury Summons I wasn’t thrilled.  In my 42 years of being eligible for jury duty I’d only received a summons once before.  Since it was just weeks before leaving for college, I didn’t have to serve.  This time there was no escaping it.

My first concern was the date.  I was being called to report the day before we were due to leave for a 6-week vacation.  But as it turns out, deferring my term of service was as easy as requesting an alternate date online.  Whew.

The first day was predictably chaotic.  There were numerous people to process, missing names, lost survey forms and mysterious other reasons to delay progress.  As expected, it was a lot of sitting around.  It didn’t take long to find out that most people were not thrilled to be there, and it was easy to succumb to the general aura of discontent.  I actually had it easy, being retired.  But that didn’t stop me from obsessing over my long to-do list and that I would rather be at home tackling it.  However, I did make great progress on my cross-stitch project that day.

With a trial ready to start immediately, we did proceed to jury selection before once we completed our orientation.  That’s when it started to get interesting.  I was not chosen as one of the 22 potential jurors, but was required to sit in the galley throughout the remainder of the selection proceedings in case they had to replace anyone in the jury box.  Because of the nature of the trial, the process of questioning was extensive and thorough.  I found myself fascinated by the line of inquiries made by the judge and attorneys, trying to follow their reasons for asking the questions and how they would act upon the responses.  I also tried putting myself in the shoes of those being grilled.  How would I answer that question?  Would I be able to think quickly enough to articulate my position?  There were definitely times when I was glad not to be in the thick of it.

It took well into our second day before the jury was finalized.  So we all returned to the courtroom the following morning.  I felt like I was back at work again, making my lunch the night before, setting my alarm for close to 5am in order to get in a run before leaving, and allowing time to make my coffee and toast before leaving for my “job.”  It was shortly before 11am when the final jurors were selected, and I was off the hook – able to go home and resume my normal life.  For the time being, anyway.

Round two came the following week.  We arrived to find that there were two trials starting, a criminal and a civil suit.  This time my name was called for the criminal suit.  Fortunately, this case was less complex, so the jury questioning was not as intense and was completed more quickly.  By this time, I was quite enamored with the process.  My irritation had transformed into a desire to see it all the way through.  So I was actually pleased when I made it to the final set of jurors.

Juror BadgeWe were cautioned several times that real courtroom proceedings do not match what one sees on TV.  They even questioned jurors on whether they would be disappointed not to see the histrionics of television trial drama.  What I discovered was that it was all a very controlled and deliberate environment, that incorporated a great deal of respect.  In the two cases I was exposed to, I was very impressed by the lawyers and judges.  They worked hard and were very professional, yet I found them personable and they showed great consideration for the jurors both in our role and for our personal needs.  They also readily showed their human side, including numerous jibes at the paltry $10/day we were being paid.

Our case took only until mid-morning the next day to conclude.  It was then in our hands.  It’s a mighty responsibility to weigh the guilt or innocence of a man, and I wasn’t sure how I would react to doing that.  But with the law clearly laid out for us, along with guidelines for treating the evidence and testimony, we had a good process to follow.  There were unanswered questions, holes in the evidence and ambiguous bits to navigate.  And ultimately I could logically evaluate each component and support my decision.  Guilty.  Fortunately, my fellow jurors all came to the same conclusion.

After being dismissed, the judge came back to meet with us in the deliberation room.  I did not expect that, nor his candor and willingness to respond to any questions we had.  He explained some of the reasons behind certain procedures in the courtroom, and the roles each person played in the proceedings.  We were surprised to learn that the defendant was already in custody prior to the trial, which he said was deliberate.  They were very careful to hide that fact from us as it may have biased us to presume his guilt.

With that, I was free.  Having served on a trial, I no longer had to check the phone line each night.  I no longer had to report for service.  It felt like I was retiring all over again – suddenly my days were my own again!  And yet I was glad I had done it.  It was a good experience and well worth doing my civic duty.

Woman vs. Machine

It’s been lurking in the back of the closet for years.  At least 16 years, as far as I can tell.  That’s how long it’s been since my children were young enough for me to sew matching pajamas, sweatsuits, leggings and Zubaz for them.  Those were the heydays for my serger.  Me and my machine – we spent a lot of time together back then.

Recently I pulledMolly with serger my old pal out from the recesses of its hiding place.  Not only did I dust it off, but given its long retirement, I took it back to the sewing shop where I bought it for a good tune-up.  Soon it was lubed, oiled and ready to go.  I just wasn’t sure I was.

Sergers are finicky machines.  With not one but four gigantic spools of thread and complicated threading schemes involving upper and lower loopers and two needles, just getting it ready to sew is a complex business.  Unlike my regular sewing machine, which I can still operate on autopilot, this one was going to require a hefty re-learning process.  Me and my machine needed to get reacquainted again.  It didn’t help that I couldn’t find my manuals.  But Google solves all, and I soon had an electronic version of my 25 year old booklets.

Serger and scrapsOnce I worked up the nerve to start sewing, the real fun began.  Ugly messy stitches ensued, followed by the hit or miss process of fiddling with the tension knobs for each spool of thread.  It took several days, more Google searches, many scraps of fabric and lots of thread, but finally I mastered it.  I had a good stitch going!

By now I’m sure you’re wondering just what could possibly entice me to resurrect this old relic and re-engage in battling with it?  The obvious answer is grandchildren.  But they’ve been around for almost 5 years now, and despite feeble promises to sew knits for them I’ve yet to deliver on that.  No, it’s napkins.  More accurately, lots and lots of napkins for our son’s wedding reception.  In keeping with some homespun elements of their outdoor celebration, his fiance envisioned vintage looking napkins in various patterns.  And so I volunteered.  Happily.  After all, I have a serger that makes fast work of just that sort of thing.

Wedding napkinsToday was the true test.  I finally set aside my scraps and set to work for real.  My serger hummed and stitched, overcasting each edge with absolute precision.  Just as I knew it would.  I created neat rolled hems on all four sides of 25 napkins with ease with my trusty machine.  So far so good.

Woman vs. machine?  Naw, we’re a team again.  Me and my machine.  And only 200-some napkins to go.

The Light Show

Ask anyone in Duluth – or anywhere in Minnesota for that matter – and they will tell you how dismal the weather has been for the past umpteen weeks.  Clouds, dark and heavy have obscured the sun for all but one day in the last 18.  It hasn’t helped that these clouds have produced only rain, not any negligible snow for those of us who love winter sports.

Rich with Christmas lightsThe lack of sunlight has been depressing to say the least.  So like all good northern Minnesotans, we look for the bright side (literally in this case) wherever we can.  Christmas lights certainly quality.  If daylight disappoints, evenings bring on a bright glow.  Driving anywhere in town delivers a showcase of pleasing light displays.  We were a bit on the late side getting our lights up, but Rich headed out one gloomy night to add our own colorful strings to the night time drama.

In the midst of this light drought, we passed the Winter Solstice – the day with the least amount of sunlight.  So even though we couldn’t see it, the sun made its shortest appearance of all.  Bonfire at Solstice SkiOur ski club has an annual Solstice Bonfire Ski, and the thought of a bright bonfire to light up the night enticed me out there.  I skied over the trails at Spirit Mountain to find not one but nine bonfires illuminating the way.  My particular favorite was the elevated bonfire, flaming away in one of the barbecue grills. The snow far exceeded my minimal expectations, Winter-Solstice-Ski-1and it was pleasant skiing in the mild temperatures.  But it was even better just hanging around the main bonfire.  Roasting a hot dog over the fire, singeing my face as well as the dog sure felt good.  Wrapped in a tortilla, char-broiled never tasted so good.  Spirits were high as we all basked in the light of the fire.

This morning I woke to an unusual sight – a break in the clouds!  I can’t say it was sunny exactly, but just seeing some blue sky and a touch of pink from the rising sun was uplifting.  The lake reappeared and there were the waves crashing onto the shore as I ran along the Lakewalk.  It was as if life in the the great outdoors had been reactivated.  I couldn’t help but smile, passing others and hearing them remark, “Look, the sun!”

Not too surprisingly, by mid-morning the clouds resumed their cover and the world returned to its gray hues.  But that short glimpse was enough to get us through and feed our belief that one day the sun will shine again.  The ultimate light show.