Category Archives: Life Up North

Christmas al fresco

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There’s a pine tree standing in our entryway.  Boy, it smells good.  Once the branches drop and stop dripping from the ice and snow, it will move into the great room.  Who ever thought of bringing the outside in for Christmas sure had a good idea.

I’m not sure I could handle Christmas in a warm climate.  The cold and snow are an integral part of what signals the season for me.  Even if it means cold toes, bundling up and heading outdoors for the season’s festivities are part of the package.

Julebyen 1The typical Christmas craft fair took on a new look recently when Knife River started up Julebyen.  That is the Norwegian word for Christmas Village, and it combines a place for celebration and gathering with music, crafts and food.  And it’s all outdoors.  In this its second year, the weather was far more seasonable than last year’s frigid temperatures, making it pleasant to wander down the shortJulebyen 2 “street” of village shops and peruse the fine wares made by local craftsmen.

The tent at the end of the row offered Norwegian delicacies, and a musician playing the dulcimer provided entertainment. In the background the skating rink hosted an active group of children enjoying the winter ice.  Combined with colorful Norwegian characters, it was a delight to the eye.

Julebyen 4Julebyen 3

Bentleyville 1For nocturnal outdoor fun, nothing beats a trip to Bentleyville. The collection of Christmas lights and surround-sound seasonal music is irresistible even to adults.  This year we went without the benefit of children and grandchildren, and enjoyed the light show as much as ever.  The “dancing tree” was my favorite – watching the 130-foot tall conical Christmas tree’s lights pulsate in patterns in time to the upbeat music was great entertainment.  We commended ourselves for spotting a few new additions, including Split Rock Bentleyville 2Lighthouse and some Tall Ships sailing near the illuminated Aerial Bridge.  It’s hard not to feel the magic of Christmas, surrounded by so much fanciful brilliance.

Yes, it’s good to have the smell of pine permeating the house, and a real tree temporarily rooted to the floor.  It will tide us over until our next Christmas al fresco activity.   Hmm, Christmas caroling anyone?

Tag Along Photography

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I just don’t have what it takes.  The patience.  The persistence.  The hours of practice, research, testing, trial and error.  Not to mention standing nearly motionless out in the cold.  From watching Rich, I can see just what dedication it requires.  And I am fully prepared to admit that I’m not cut out to be a serious photographer.  But that doesn’t stop me from enjoying taking pictures.

Recently, Rich was hot on the trail of another photography idea.  He’d worked it all out.  The crescent moon would be setting at just the right angle to be seen over the Two Harbors waterfront.  His plan was to photograph the lighthouse at the end of the pier, along with the setting moon.  (Now do you see the extent of his efforts?)  So despite single digit temperatures that promised to fall further in the evening hours, he convinced me to head out with him for this marvelous adventure.

In theory it was a great idea.  Rich’s calculations were accurate.  The only problem was the lighthouse had no spotlight, and hence was invisible.  Part of me wanted to rejoice and head home, as the wind was stronger than we expected and infiltrated my heavy down jacket and warm gloves.  But the photography session was salvaged by an incoming ore boat.

It moved ever so slowly through the black night.  Watching and waiting for the boat to line up with the moon, my fingers reached ever increasing degrees of iciness.  And yet the scene was captivating.  The boat’s lights twinkled over the water, and occasionally big spotlights swept out IMG_0228across the liquid expanse as it progressed toward the ore docks.  I was too cold to think very hard about what settings I should be using, or to try different techniques.  That would be too much like the photographer I profess not to be.  But I still snapped away, hoping I was close.  The result requires a bit of imagination to see the boat, but I do rather like the sparkling effect.

Settling into its berth at the IMG_0233ore docks, the boat’s lighted posterior lined up nicely with the dropping moon.  Without that description, it would probably be unrecognizable.  But I still thought it was picturesque.

That was enough for me.  A beautiful evening.  Chilled to the bone.  A floating spectacle.  Ready for home.  Oh, but wait – another boat was heading our way!  How could we be so lucky?  With the moon nearly down and the ship still a mere speck, it would be a long wait.  Fortunately, even Rich was ready to call it a night.  We took a pass on that one.

No, I’ll never make it as a photographer.  I’ll stick to wrangling with words, thank you.  Writing is my gig.  But that doesn’t stop me from tagging along and snapping a few pix.  Just for fun.

The indecisive ore boat?

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It was bitterly cold.  The wind was so fierce that I had to stop and blow warm air into my mittens cupped over my face to revitalize my nose every few miles.  But still I persisted.  Very little keeps me from my morning run.

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The CSL Tadoussac – photo by Steve Geronazzo, courtesy of Shipfinder.co

My destination was Lief Erickson Park via the Lakewalk.  Passing under London Road next to the railroad tracks, I reached the lake shore for the first time.  As always, when I see a boat out in the lake, my heart does a little flip and I am grateful for living next to the wonderful body of water we call Lake Superior.  Seeing an old style ore boat is even better, connecting me back to the days when all boats had such graceful lines and majesty.  So seeing the CSL Tadoussac heading out into the lake was distraction enough to help me forget the wind and cold.  I had something much more appealing to focus on.

But then things got really interesting.  The boat began to turn toward shore.  Running to the next open view point, I stopped to watch.  Before long it had done a complete 180 and was heading back to port.  Why would a boat come out of the harbor only to change its mind and return a short distance later?  It didn’t appear to be having any trouble as it steamed back toward the bridge.  Continuing on my run, I followed its progress, and sure enough before long the bridge lifted for the incoming boat.  I didn’t actually see the boat go under the bridge, as by then I had turned around myself.   But I did hear the boat and bridge salute each other as it slipped under the raised bridge deck.

The whole episode might have remained a mystery to me, but this is where it helps to be connected.  As soon as I contacted Konnie at Lake Superior Magazine, she was on the case.  She in turn went to her shipping experts who not only solved the puzzle, but provided a visual explanation.

Tadoussac route

The CSL Tadoussac’s route, from Shipfinder.co, and my route – I’m the red X watching the boat turn

Shipfinder.co tracks ship movements worldwide, and by zeroing in on the port of Duluth, it is possible to view the exact movements of any recent vessel.  As soon as the Tadoussac’s route displayed, the answer became clear.  She hadn’t come out from the harbor at all – that was just my own mistaken assumption.  Instead, she had been anchored outside the harbor awaiting her turn at a dock.  When her turn came, she must have needed more room to maneuver to get a good point for entering the narrow ship canal, so headed down the lake before doing her U-turn and pointing toward the bridge.

I really should have thought of that.  After all, I just wrote a story for Lake Superior Magazine about boats using the “free parking” outside the harbor!  But logic doesn’t always flow through the cold brain of a runner.  It seemed far more exciting to consider the dire consequences of the ore boat that appeared to change its mind.  And yet, I’m glad there was a simple explanation.  We both had a good run this morning, me and the Tadoussac.

It’s here to stay

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Winter.  Snow.  I can’t see it going anywhere soon.  While we have had early snowfalls in the past, I don’t remember anything that feels so permanent.

It’s a bit of a shock to the system.  One day I’m out puttering in the garden, reaping seeds from some of our perennials and scattering them in bare spots in the hope of generating new blooms.  The next day the plants are all covered in snow.  I’ve had to dig into the storage boxes that contain my out of season clothes.  Now where were those heavy wool sweaters?  Time to exchange them for the sleeveless tops and flimsy running clothes in my drawers.  It’s taking a while for my body to adjust to these frigid temperatures.  Single digits bring a penetrating chill.

Snowy running trailI know I should be out on the ski trails. Rich claims that they are amazingly good.  I did give them a whirl one day.  But I can’t quite give up running yet.  It’s been a challenge, dodging the crusty snow left behind when they plowed the Lakewalk, but each day it gets better.  And I have a great excuse for running a slow pace.

The biggest bonus was having the sun come out the last two days.  What a transformation, from dark and dreary to sparkling contrasts of white and blue.  I was inspired to run all the way down to Canal Park and back just to spend more time alongside the deep blue lake.  How I wished I could capture it with more than just my eyes.

Brighton Beach with snowThis morning, I discovered that my tiny camera would fit snugly into the key pocket of my winter tights.  There was no chance it would bounce around there, which drives me crazy.  So I was in business.  I didn’t repeat my visit to Canal Park, but made a swing through Brighton Beach instead.  There I found the same blue/white combination I find so Lester River icing upappealing.

I was amazed to see just how much freezing is going on already.  Lester River was filling in with ice, creating a wiggly pattern through its snowy banks as it made its way down to Lake Superior.  If this keeps up, soon it will disappear below its icy surface.

Even if fall does briefly reappear, it won’t feel real.  By now we all know where this is headed.  Winter is here to stay.

Hello Boots

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I have been reacquainted with the new boots I bought last winter.  If today’s weather is any indication, we will see a lot of each other for the next six months.  Good thing I really like them.

It’s only November 10.  Barely out of the single digits.  Not long past Halloween and the earliest snowfall in my memory, back in 1991.  This one is nothing compared to that blizzard, but it still looks plenty white out there.

IMG_1474I was content to stay inside as the flakes fell throughout the day.  Working on my latest writing assignment seemed the perfect excuse to hole up and avoid the slippy slidy world out there.

But by late afternoon I just had to venture out in it all.  Groceries for dinner were as good an excuse as IMG_1477any, and I opted to walk to the store.  The world was hushed by the new layer of snow, and few vehicles were moving on our out-of-the-way road.  It was easy to make believe it was mid-winter.

With temperatures promising to stay well below freezing for the remainder of the week, it doesn’t look like this snow is going to disappear any time soon.  Rich is already chomping at the bit to strap on his rock skis and start the XC ski season.  Honestly, I was hoping for a few more weeks of good running weather.  But I may just have to ski a few loops around the golf course tomorrow instead.  Today snow boots.  Tomorrow ski boots.  Why not?

O Christmas Tree

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Capitol Christmas Tree emblemFor 45 years, the National Forest Service has provided the nation’s capitol with it’s Christmas tree.  And this year it came from “our forest.”  Not only is our cabin in the Chippewa National Forest, we actually lease the land it sits on from the Forest Service.  So I feel justified in identifying with this tree.  Not only that, but the man who cut it down – Minnesota’s logger of the year – was from Marcell.  Home to the bait shop, just down the road from the cabin.  It doesn’t get much more personal than that.

I honestly knew very little about this Christmas tree program before now.  I missed it entirely in 1992, the last time the Chippewa National Forest provided the tree.  But something about this year’s tree peaked my interest.  I was fascinated when reading about how it was cut down.  One doesn’t just fell a Christmas tree.  No “timmmmber” for this tree.  It was painstakingly secured and carefully lowered by two gigantic cranes onto a specially built wooden crib on a flatbed truck.  There it was wrapped and cradled for its 2,000 mile journey to Washington DC.  At 88 feet tall, this white spruce required a 100-foot long truck and trailer for its transportation.

Out of the 30 stops the tree will make along the way, one of them was in Duluth.  It was scheduled for this evening, and I decided I had to be there.  So camera in hand, bundled in winter jacket, hat and gloves, I headed down to Bayfront Park.

IMG_0128I’m not sure what I expected to see.  Surely, I should have realized it would be housed in its truck.  But still I felt rather underwhelmed to only be able to see a few branches of the tree through the windows at the back of its special truck.  Like everyone else around me, however, I took my requisite pictures of  the truck.

Photo Nov 05, 9 29 42 PMHaving anted up my $5 for parking, I wasn’t willing to leave it at that.  The park was brimming with families, enjoying the bonfires, s’mores, hot chocolate and cookies on offer. With a good share of Bentleyville lights already glowing, it had an eerie IMG_0129feeling of early Christmas without the snow or deep chill.  I’m not a fan of pushing the Christmas season so far in advance, but this particular celebration seemed justified by the presence of The Tree.

Wandering over to the booths, I was soon engaged in conversation with the folks from the Chippewa National Forest.  There we traded Marcell stories and expressed mutual love for North Star Lake.  I met a man from Choose Outdoors, a non-profit organization that supports public lands by promoting outdoor recreation and an active lifestyle.  Now that was right up my alley.  He was part of the support crew for the tree’s journey, and in fact had accompanied several Christmas trees from their source all the way to Washington DC.

My conversations transformed the evening.  Suddenly it felt quite enchanted.  The joyful spirit of the families surrounding me was infectious.  And returning to the tree’s truck, I realized just how long it really was.  Not your ordinary semi.  Quite impressive, really.

IMG_0141I took a few more glaces around to admire Bentleyville’s own unique Christmas tree.  It danced and spun through the magic of modern technology and its light show.

May the nation enjoy Minnesota’s tree when it first lights up on December 2.  O Christmas Tree indeed.

The annual haircut

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It was part of our philosophy in building our house. Low maintenance. The less work we needed to do on upkeep, the better. Our cement siding (you'd never know to see it), the garden full of perennials and the unstained deck are all pieces of that strategy. So is our lack of lawn.

Starting with a wooded lot, it was an easy decision to keep it as natural as possible. But the simple logistics of building resulted in some clearing and “yard” on one side. It turned out to be a fortuitous outcome as it exposed the south facing side of the house to penty of sunshine – particularly on the deck. I am thankful for that warm, sheltered oasis many mornings while nestled into my Adirondack chair, coffee at hand.

A cultured lawn on that steep slope was out of the question. Mowing does not belong in the vocabulary of retirement or low maintenenace. Instead, we opted for tall grasses sprinkled with wild flowers to populate the grounds surrounding the house. A more natural look. That's what we call it, anyway. The terms unkempt, wild and scraggly have also been uttered within my earshot. I can't say I disagree. There are days when I feel the same way about it. But like most things, I've grown used to it. And a wee bit attached to the concept.

In the spring, it takes a while before the grass grows enough to hide the lumpy nature of the ground. But it fills in quickly and grows at an alarming rate. By mid-summer, I could get lost in its tall shoots, which easily tower over my 5-foot frame. At times I think it may overtake the young trees we have planted, but we have yet to lose one in the jungle out there. Gradually the wild flowers begin to bloom. More of them appear each year, easing my conscience about the unruly yard. By fall, it bears some resemblance to a wheat field. The brownish cast blends with the autumn leaf tones and assumes an air of legitimacy.

And then it's time. With winter approaching, the days are numbered for our waves of grain. It has to be cut. This is no job for just any lawn mower. It takes a powerful machine and an intrepid operator from Boreal Natives to deal with our grasses. The procedure cuts, chews and mulches our grass forest down to a rough stubble. The cost of this specialized service debunks any myth that this approach to yard work is a cheapskate's alternative to weekly mowing.

I used to feel better at the end of this process, when the grasses had been tamed. But this year feels different. The house looks naked. The yard lacks its foliage. Just last week, I led our toddler grandkids on a rugged adventure through the tall grass. That landscape is now gone. Rich misses it for a different reason. He says it signals the start of winter. I'm not ready to even consider that yet.

Looking on the bright side, this approach eliminates any need to rake leaves. Any leaf that could possibly find its way to the ground gets ground up in what I've dubbed the annual haircut. Mission accomplished, pawning off another of those pesky maintenance chores.

 

 

Savoring the home life

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It’s good to be missed.  After almost-daily posts from our cycling trip, my output has definitely dwindled.  To be more accurate, it’s come to a complete halt.  And it was noticed.  Granted, it was my siblings who commented on my literary absence, but it felt good nevertheless.  It’s good to know I have readers who enjoy my posts.

Between resettling at home and catching up on my volunteer duties, I’ve been at a loss for inspiration.  Compared to pedaling through an ever-changing array of new sights and adventures every day, life at home is quiet. Or is it?  Taking stock of the three weeks we’ve been home, I realize that I’ve journeyed through a litany of emotions and personal experiences that rival many of my traveling highlights.

Molly-Beryl-Bill trimmedEnduring friendships – Sharing in a private dinner party for a dear friend to celebrate her 75th birthday.  Spending the night in her North Shore home, waking to the sunrise over Lake Superior and lingering over a delicious breakfast prepared by her husband.  Delightful.

Truly moving moments – Losing a close friend to cancer.  Attending her Celebration of Life service, hugging mutual friends and witnessing the multitude of people whose lives she touched.  Such an outpouring of love.

photo-2Family celebration – Getting the phone call with the joyful news.  Hearing the happiness in our son’s voice as he announces his engagement.  Feeling his new love and excitement.  What a thrill.

Nature’s beauty – Running in the dark of the morning, as the days get progressively shorter.  Watching the sun pop over the horizon to shine across the water and spread its colors into the clouds above.  Every day different.  Each one gorgeous.

Little hugIMG_0080 trimmeds – Filling the house with kids and grandkids for the weekend.  Swishing through the leaves on the nature trail.  Playing Pooh Sticks on the bridge.  Seeing the world through their eyes.  Never a dull moment.  Tiring, but oh so worth it.

Cabin time – Nestling in front of a crackling fire on a chilly evening.  Listening to the radio to play Green Cheese.  Preparing the cabin for the winter season.  Calm and quiet in the off-season.

No, travel is not essential to finding inspiration.  I need only open my eyes to what is around me.  And it’s good to be home.

I Love Where I Live

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IMG_5876That’s a direct quote.  My friend, Myra, and I were walking the Lester-Amity trails this weekend.  The sun was out, the sky a potent blue, the air crisp and the leaves still so very colorful.  We walked and walked as we talked and talked.  It’s a favorite activity of ours, and accomplishes many purposes.  Myra was commenting on how lucky she was to live right across the street from these beautiful trails, Amity Creek, and Lester River.  With all that nature, city life seems so very far away.  Since we’re neighbors, I am equally lucky.

It’s a benefit of living on the edge.  Literally.  Our house backs up to a regular city neighborhood.  But that’s where civilization ends.  Looking out the front it’s all park.  That’s no accident.  We built the house because of the park, and it fills the huge windows that surround our living space.

Yesterday I returned to the trails. IMG_5878 Since I was on my own and wasn’t trying to carry on a conversation, I ventured onto the narrower single-track trails recently built by COGGS. Fortunately, these trails are available for multiple uses, not just mountain biking.  I’d followed them before for snowshoeing, but things look entirely different without all the snow.

In contrast to cross-country ski trails, these paths can be a lot more flexible.  I loved how they twisted and wound through the woods, sometimes doubling back on themselves and doing switchbacks through the trees.  They covered a lot more mileage for the same amount of forward progression through the park.  I could see why they prove so attractive to mountain bikers.  The views of Lester River were frequent, and the rushing water a constant welcome background music for my walk.

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“We love the forest floor at this time of year,” noted another friend recently.  It was a good reminder to look down.  To gaze more carefully among the colors and growth at my feet.  To take in details, not just broad views.  My reward was noticing the late blooming hawkweed flowers along the trail.IMG_5869

I hadn’t a clue where my route would return to the main ski trails.  It turned out to be a lot farther away than I anticipated, and I turned toward home on the more direct ski trail.  That too held a surprise for me.  I discovered a view of Lake Superior I’d never noticed before. There it was, pure blue visible above the trees when observed from a high point in the trail.  It would be impossible to see when skiing in the park, given the one-way system of ski trails.  But when walking, anything goes.  And everything takes on a different perspective when viewed from a new angle.

I have to agree with Myra.  I too love where I live.

Restoring Seven Bridges Road

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We are about to lose our private cycling and walking trail.  It’s been nice while it’s lasted, but we knew it wouldn’t be forever.  And to be honest, Seven Bridges Road is such a treasure that the citizens of Duluth and our visitors ought to have access to this beautiful drive again.

For over two years, the road has been closed.  Contrary to popular belief, the major damage predates the flood of June 2012 by a couple of months.  The steep banks of Amity Creek became seriously eroded, carving away the land next to the road.  With the landslide area just inches from the roadbed, it became too dangerous for vehicles.  The flood added to the problems, causing a cave-in over a culvert a little further up the road, and further impairing bridge supports for the 3rd bridge.  Since no one lives on that portion of the road, it was a low priority for repairs.

IMG_5150All that changed this summer.  As soon as spring hit, the work began.  Trucks rumbled back and forth in front of our house all summer long as serious reconstruction took place.  Since the land next to the problem area rose steeply alongside the road, it required carving out the hill to move the road inland.  In addition, it meant relocating the cross-country ski trails as well (a project near and dear to our hearts, as we spend many hours on those trails).  We were anxious to see just how they were going to navigate that terrain.  I’ll admit, a few summer evenings we ambled up that way to take a sneak peak, and marveled at the huge mounds of dirt that would eventually transform the landscape.

Recently there has been an uptick in activity.  Longer work hours and even bigger trucks hauling.  Then it happened almost without our noticing it.  The absence of noise.  The lack of truck traffic.  Sure enough, a day or more went by without a single construction vehicle.  Did that mean the road was completed?  We just had to find out.

IMG_5152To our amazement, the pavement was complete and work was progressing nicely on  landscaping the area.  Where the road once went straight along the creek, it now safely curves inland with a berm between it and the edge of the drop-off.  Adjacent to the road, the ski trails follow a new path inland which is strikingly similar to the old route through the woods.IMG_5157

There is a hefty new culvert to replace the old one, and enough heavy duty drainage rocks to handle the worse rains.  All with a new roadbed over it.IMG_5156

The 3rd bridge is still undergoing repairs.  The footings have been replaced, and where the road was falling away from the bridge, a new concrete extension is in the works.  Soon it will be rocked in to look like the rest of the bridge.  A nice touch.

It’s getting close.  I hear the goal is to open the road by the end of the month.  I’d put my money on them making it.

I’ll miss being able to cycle up the road knowing there will be no cars.  It will undoubtedly mean more traffic going past our house.  And I dread the day the motorcyclists rediscover the road, noisily revving their engines as they roar by.  But it’s good to see the road restored.  Just in time for leaf season, when Seven Bridges is in its glory.  Then I can look forward to winter when the steepest sections of the road are closed for the season.  And we will have our private trail once again.