A Classic Day in the Woods

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The ski trails had not been groomed.  I know, I went over to check.  Twice.  With all that new snow, it seemed there was enough for skiing, but without grooming it was too deep for skate skiing.  There were decent classic tracks, forged by a number of skiers out ahead of me.  So I was left with little choice.  If I was going to ski today, it had to be classic.

Ever since taking up skate skiing, it’s been my favorite for workouts.  I just don’t have the solid technique nor the desire to press hard when doing classic skiing.  So instead, I reserve it for recreational skiing with friends or going out in the woods to enjoy the scenery.  I just didn’t know that today was meant for that type of skiing.

As soon as I set off, IMG_9348I could feel the magic.  The snow was soft, with plenty of coverage, and the tracks were decent.  The silence of the woods descended on me as I glided through the snow.  I didn’t need a workout, I needed to enjoy the surroundings.  It was slow going in the new snow, but that meant more opportunity to enjoy the scenery.

It was mid-afternoon but since we are zeroing in on the shortest day of the year, the sun was low in the sky, sending long shadows across the trail.  The sky was a brilliant blue, providing a beautiful canopy over the snowy scene.  And the sunshine felt good on my back.  Lester River was gurgling under the snow and ice and provided a nice vista as I worked my way uphill.

As the afternoon progressed, the sun lit the treetops on fire.  Soon following, the sky itself began to glow and silhouetted the trees in the foreground.  I desperately wanted to capture it in a photo, but my camera battery had long since succumbed to the cold and complained when I tried to turn on my camera.  A mental picture would have to do.  Perhaps it was for the best – it was cooling down quickly, and my willingness to take off my mitts to handle the camera was quickly evaporating.

Maybe they will groom the trails tonight.  I hope so.  But now I’m glad I had a classic day in the woods.

A Black and White World

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We woke up to a black and white world this morning.  Snow was falling at a brisk pace and about two inches had accumulated already.  Our surroundings were masked by the deep white powder which transformed all color to a palate of only two hues.  It must be the brilliance of the pristine white snow that renders all other colors mute.

IMG_9329Normally in winter, I prefer to work with the snow rather than against it when going out for my workout.  However, I knew that enough snow would not accumulate in time to send the groomers out on the ski trails.  So I donned my Yaktrax and headed out for an early morning run in the falling snow.  Traction proved to be tricky, as I found unexpected icy patches beneath the snow, and in the deeper untraveled sections the snow clumped and unclumped under my feet.  But this run wasn’t about speed or quality, it was for the experience.  The snow muted all sound and obliterated any long distance view.  I was hemmed in by snow covered trees, in black and white.

Heading down to Brighton Beach I experienced the full force of lake effect.  The NE wind came right off the lake, transforming the snowflakes into crisp pellets that felt like pins and needles on my face.  I was toasty warm inside and frigid on my exposed skin in the bracing wind.  The lake was slightly roiled up and looked decidedly chilly.

I may be biased, but I found some of the prettiest views when I returned to our own neighborhood around Amity Creek.  Who can argue with living in such beautiful surroundings?

    Particularly our own flavor of black and white!IMG_9347 trimmed

A Winter Oasis

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Driving down the entrance road, a beautiful sight greeted us. The dry brown late fall scene was suddenly transformed into a wintry wonderland. The trees were laden with fluffy snow clinging to the branches, and the ground was covered with a clean white blanket. The picturesque chalet was lit up from inside, aglow in the evening darkness and skiers silently slid by on the lit trails. Winter!

We were in the Twin Cities, and took the opportunity to get in some skiing at Elm Creek Park Reserve where they make snow for a portion of their cross-country ski trails. Since there was no snow even Up North, we were grateful for the investment and industriousness of the park staff dedicated to keeping their ski trails open. Never mind that it was artificial snow – it was snow and skiing. So far they had covered only 1.3k of trail, and were working hard to add the additional portions to bring it up to 2.5k, but we were happy to have that. Despite the recent warm temperatures, nightly grooming and frequent replenishment with the snow guns had rendered very decent skiing. It was heavenly to ski along, pressing rusty muscles back into service and get some real glide. Feeling the cold air on my face and spending the evening outside skiing was nirvana! To add to the ambiance, real snow was falling, making us believe that maybe real winter was not far off after all. It didn’t amount to much, but that wasn’t the point.

Rich calls it “gerbil” skiing. Doing any distance at all on a 1.3k loop means lots of rotations around the same terrain. But last night no one complained about the repetitions. And once the dinner hour arrived, the trail emptied out and we had little competition for space. Make no mistake, it’s not the same as skiing in the woods, away from civilization and on real snow. But it’s the best we have right now.

I know it’s a worn out refrain, bemoaning losing the ferocity of winters past. So we look forward instead, and as we return to Duluth we are putting our hopes in the Winter Storm Warning that is out for tonight. Will we wake up to winter that is more than a small urban oasis, and snow that blankets not only our front yard but the ski trails across the street? We sure hope so.

Winters of Yesteryear

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The high school Nordic ski team just skied by…  on roller-skis.  It’s December and it looks more like September.  The plants outside our front door are greening up again.  I went Christmas shopping yesterday, and passed fellow shoppers in the parking lot who were not wearing jackets.  It just didn’t feel right being so warm while toting Christmas gifts.

When I was growing up in Duluth we always had snow.  Lots of it.  In grade school, our favorite Friday celebration was to walk home from school on top of the huge snowbanks that lined the streets.  They were high, well over our heads.  We had a little red ball that we put on the antenna of our car so others could see it over the snowbank, coming around corners.  (Okay, so cars don’t have antennas any more either.)  We made igloos out of the snow piles from shoveling the driveway.  Big ones that we could sit inside.  Streets were so narrow due to the plowed snow that parking became a problem, or more accurately, navigating around parked cars was a challenge.  And we had legitimate Snow Days, home from school to wait out a blizzard.  At least such is my memory of winter.

IMG_9300The snow we had on Thanksgiving was just a teaser.  I keep telling myself that we didn’t always have snow for Thanksgiving.  And that holiday was early this year.  It’s not time to panic just yet.  Never mind that last year’s dismal lack of snow lurks in recent memory.  We still might have a good snow winter.  Please?

We thought she was a goner

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It didn’t look good.  Spot’s accidents in the house turned out to be more than a nuisance – she was sick.  Blood in her urine and losing control of her bladder could not be a good sign.  At 15+ years old, we knew her time was limited and we had pledged not to resort to any heroics to prolong her life.  It was with heavy hearts that we acknowledged we could be facing the end.

The difficult part was waiting.  It developed over a weekend, and we wanted to get her in to see her regular vet who had examined her just two months prior and knew her history.  So we kept her warm and as comfortable as possible and doted on her.  We had to keep her confined to the tiled area in the house, which meant she could not sleep beside our bed at night.  I awoke in the morning to find Rich missing from his spot beside me.  He had gotten up in the middle of the night, scrounged around for a sleeping bag and laid down with his beloved pet.

We called the kids to let them know and give them warning of what seemed to be a likely outcome.  We promised not to do anything until they could come over for their final good-byes, and planned a Skype session with our son in DC so he could “see” Spot one more time.  It was pretty grim around our house.

We were able to get in to see the vet first thing Monday morning.  Rich and I went together, but he could hardly speak, given his sorrow.  The upbeat attitude of the assistants in the office and the professionalism of the vet were somewhat calming, but I wondered if it was false hope.  It turns out not!  A urinary tract infection seemed the most likely cause of Spot’s woes, and could easily be treated with antibiotics.  That didn’t sound like heroics to us, so we agreed to give it a try and left with our bottle of pills.

Miracle medicine we called it.  Spot’s system rapidly responded to the treatment.  With the help of frequent trips outdoors, her accidents ceased. She lost that haunted look she had been wearing.  The appearance of the dog across the street initiated vigorous barking.  That’s our old Spot!  She also figured out that the additional pills meant more peanut butter – her favorite treat.

We’ve gradually given her greater range in the house, and she’s still enjoying pampered treatment.  We’re just glad she’s still with us.  Her time wasn’t up after all.

Early season skiing

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Sometimes a little restraint is required. My husband, Rich, is a fanatical cross-country skier. He can't wait for the season to begin, and bolts out to the nearest trail at the first sign of snow. His spirits are impossible to dampen, and he relishes nothing more than being the first out on the trail. I have learned to interpret his early season enthusiasm with a dose of skepticism, however. His glowing reports of that first ski often come with skinned knees, new gouges in his rock skis, and harrowing tales of catching a rock going downhill.

My own forays out on the trails are attended by a greater dose of caution. Why is it that I think I won't remember how to ski? Why is it that my first venture of the season finds me flailing and struggling to find that elusive sense of balance? Never mind that the trails are ungroomed and that my skate skis are ill suited to the untamed powder in the woods. That first ski is never pretty.

Skiing ungroomed trails

This year's first outing was no exception. I let myself be talked into skiing the first snowfall on trails that reportedly had been rolled. In reality, hikers and dogs and tromped and stomped all over the trail, leaving it barely navigable on skis. Come to find out, we had mixed up trail names and were in the wrong place.

With another two inches of snow overnight, I decided I was willing to give skiing another shot. This time I headed to the right set of trails, and although the new snow obscured any previous grooming, it also erased the heavy wear from the previous day. Unfortunately, when I arrived so did two carloads of adults and kids with dogs who eagerly bounded out onto the trails ahead of me. Early season skiing certainly has its hazards. Without groomed tracks, trespassers on foot are oblivious to the errors of their ways. Forging on, I soon left the hikers behind and found I was enjoying myself. The woods were quiet and pretty in their new blanket of snow, and the trail was unchallenging but very skiable. I had no idea where I was going, having never been on the trail before, but it wasn't difficult to follow and I easily made my way around the figure eight loop for 2.8k of fun. So much so that I did it three more times. With each repetition, my rhythm improved, my technique began to return, and at times I even felt quite competent. I didn't exactly break any speed records, nor did I get the workout of my life, but I was out skiing.

Hopefully I now have the flailing behind me.

If you don’t like the weather in Duluth…

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Wait five minutes.  That’s the saying, and today it is so true!

Getting ready for my morning run, our outdoor thermometer said 30 degrees.  The Weather Channel on my iPad said 39 degrees.  Turns out both were right.  Stepping outside the door, seeing the frost on the garden and feeling the air, I knew our thermometer was accurate.  I headed up 7 Bridges Road and continued on toward Hawk Ridge running through the morning’s chill, challenged by the hill work.  Suddenly it was SO WARM!  It was as if I’d crossed a magic line and the heat was on full blast.  Off came the hat and gloves, and I wished I for lighter layers of clothing.  I had reached the critical elevation where I was out of the lake’s reach and its morning fog.  Sun blanketed my path and I knew I was in the zone measured by the Weather Channel – it was at least 10 degrees warmer than down below.  Not long after, while cruising down Glenwood Street I re-encountered lake effect air.  Back on went the hat and gloves.

I continued on down to the lake, through Brighton Beach and up the North Shore before returning home.  As I ran, the sun burned through the fog and began to warm the air even down by the lake.  Once again I felt overdressed.  But it was a welcome warmth and I enjoyed the glorious morning that resulted.

By early afternoon when we left for Thanksgiving dinner, it was positively balmy out!  The temperature had risen to over 50 degrees.  It seemed so odd to think that it was so warm on Thanksgiving when by all rights we could have snow.  (Oh, if only!  We skiers are getting concerned…)  But we didn’t give Duluth her due.  By the time we returned home, big fat flakes were falling and by now it’s even accumulating on the ground. It’s a winter wonderland out there.

What a difference a few hours makes.  Or five minutes.

Pre-Thanksgiving Hike

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One of the best parts of living on the edge of Duluth is the proximity to the North Shore.  Today we decided to go up to Tettegouche State Park and go hiking.  In just about an hour, we were there and heading up the trail to High Falls.

The day’s weather held promise.  It wasn’t too cold and started with a clear sunrise.  But fog and clouds drifted in and lingered, masking the blue sky that we knew was up there.  No matter, it was still bright if not sunny.  The barren deciduous trees provided a backdrop of gray and the blanket of leaves on the trail had weathered to a subdued brown.  In contrast, the pine trees brought a welcome splash of green color.

We had the trails to ourselves – it wasn’t exactly prime season.  We rather prefer it that way, just us and nature.  We could walk and absorb the sights and sounds around us uninterrupted.

The Baptism River was low, which was to be expected for the fall season coupled with the summer’s drought.  There was still enough water to provide action over the falls.  And the sound of rushing water drew us to the sights.

The bridge above High Falls provided some great entertainment.  Suspended from a single cable anchored at each end, there was plenty of sway in the middle.  We felt like kids bounding and bouncing across.  It only made me a little bit nervous.

We have a lot to be thankful for, living so close to such natural beauty.  Not everyone has the good fortune to venture into the woods on well-kept trails, to watch the water plummet over the rocks, and to benefit from living near the largest fresh water lake in the world.  Thank you, God, for planting us in such a special part of your world.

Happy Thanksgiving!

We have arrived!

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It’s only a mailbox.  Well, a super-duper mailbox.  But it represents so much more.  After building a house and several years of splitting time between the Twin Cities and Duluth, we have finally tipped the balance and are spending over 50% of our time in the Northland.  And we anticipate that growing.  So we decided it was time to make it official.  Yesterday Rich filled out the forms to make this our formal residence and started mail service.  Expecting government forms to fill out in triplicate for the mail, Rich was amused and gratified to find that all it took was writing the address on a post-it note.  Done deal – that’s all our mailman needs.  Today the mailbox went up.  We are Duluthians once more.  We both grew up here, and love being back by Lake Superior.

I have to admit that for me, there are still family members in the Twin Cities that tug on the heartstrings of this decision.  We are fortunate to have two of our three children settle in good jobs back in the Cities after college.  And one has produced two beautiful grandchildren for us.  Proximity to them is priceless, which is why I know that we haven’t seen the end of Highway 35 yet.  Not in a long shot.

On the flip side, the rest of our family loves Duluth and the North Shore.  I guess we brought them up right.  And we learned one unexpected lesson.  Once we began celebrating holidays in our Duluth home, having our children and grandkids here for the holiday meant having them stay.  If the little ones get cranky or need a nap, they don’t head home after the big meal.  And we get them for several days, not just one.  There is nothing like waking up in the morning and making fresh muffins for my grandson.  Or snuggling with my granddaughter as she has her morning bottle.  Or perhaps I can go for a run and out for coffee with one of my own kids.  The time is precious, and there is nothing like sharing space with them in our home.

My daughter reminded me of the times she and her brothers stayed with my parents in Duluth while Rich and I took time to go up to the Boundary Waters or other adult pursuit.  She remembered it fondly, calling it “Grandma and Grandpa Camp.”  It’s a term I don’t remember myself, but I’m ready to recreate the experience.

Home is where the computer is

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We’ve had our house in Duluth for over two years now, and we’re beginning to tip the balance with spending more time there than in the Cities.  Instead of making trips to Duluth, I feel like I’m packing for a few days in the Cities.  That’s all fine with me!

But it does make for a transition of goods.  Most of my clothes still live in the Cities, and my favorites seem to travel back and forth.  I guess that just goes to show how few clothes I really need…  Perhaps there is a message there for me, and a closet cleaning activity in store.  Specialty cooking tools and ingredients appear to be making a gradual migration.  We’re more likely to entertain in Duluth, so with each recipe different items make my packing list.  Sports clothes are largely duplicated in each home, but the big ticket items like bikes and skis will continue to travel back and forth.

But the real indicator is my computer.  Until now, my “main” computer has stayed in the Cities.  It has all my specialty software installed – including SportTracks for tracking my workouts, and Scrapbook Factory for designing Christmas letters and creative photo pages – and stores all my photos and files.  In Duluth I have used a hand-me-down computer, which I primarily use to connect to the internet, do email, write on my blog, and use Word and Excel.  Any files I need from my main computer are accessible by virtue of using Carbonite for online backups or with Dropbox.  It’s a system that has worked well so far.  But now that has changed.  Recently I loaded up my main computer and moved it to Duluth.  For a technophile like me, that’s making a statement.  Duluth is becoming our real home.