Tag Archives: Lake

In search of the photo

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IMG_1202A while back, my son gently suggested that I change the header picture for my blog.  Apparently, he felt that the outdated scene didn’t really speak to readers as well as a more current seasonal photo would.  I could see his logic, so I’ve since made it a point to update the header with the seasons.  And just to be consistent, I’ve tried to periodically refresh my profile picture as well.IMG_1220

Spring was slow in coming this year, and so was my photo update.  The trees hadn’t leafed out yet, and the scenery around the lake continued to be bleak for so long that I finally dug into some old photos so I could at least retire the one with snow capped rocks.  But that selection didn’t really do much for me, and my to-do list IMG_1214 rotatedincluded finding a replacement.

On a bike ride along the shore this week, I decided to take a detour around Stony Point in search of that photo.  After the interminable wind and heavy clouds of late, it was a pleasure to find calm waters and some sunshine among wispy clouds.  The air still held a chill, but it was IMG_1219peaceful to hear the soft lapping of the water against the rocks and feel some warmth from the sun.  I stopped in several spots for photographs, and ended up with several shots in contention for the header position.  Overachieving is good.  I may need to use some of these runner-up photos in the future.

Ice on the way out

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Lake ice. It’s been with us so long, far longer than any normal winter. It felt as though it was never going to retreat. But this week I finally saw signs of a thaw, thanks to a trip to the Twin Cities. There the weather is undeniably milder than the Northland. And I admit to being thoroughly enchanted with the rising temperatures, sun that penetrated my exposed skin with its warmth, and the mild breezes. Well, breezes that did not cross lake ice, that is. The latter still felt distinctly polar.

IMG_0634On a bike ride that included circling Medicine Lake, the beginnings of ice-out were distinctly visible. Perhaps it was the long wait that seemed to make it special, but I found the resulting patterns charming. A river developed in the middle of the lake, as the shrinking ice separated and created a channel across the lake. The blue water in contrast with the surrounding ice was a pleasing sight.

IMG_0639Other sections offered open water against the shore. Migrating birds were drawn to the available water making it a great place to watch for species not normally seen in that lake. I’m certain I saw a loon, and numerous ducks paddled the waters.

At the far end of the lake I came to a sudden stop. A mound of snow crossed the bike path, blocking my way. But what was more impressive were the huge piles of snow, ice and boulders that lined the shore. They were not there the day before, and I learned from someone who witnessed it that they were created in 30 seconds flat! Strong winds had been blowing the free lake ice from one side of the lake to the other all day, when all at once something gave way, and it all piled up on shore creating the ice mountains I saw before me. How I wish I’d seen it happen!

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With the warm weather, the lake ice is quickly turning to black ice as it thins out. It’s not nearly as pretty, but I approve of the trend. I’ll sacrifice some photo opps for open water. Now let’s see about that ice Up North – is it on its way out yet?

Nature Lessons

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Being at the cabin is not like home.  There is so much more to experience, particularly outdoors.  This past week we were able to indulge our love of nature in many different ways.

Watching the loons and hearing their hauntingly beautiful cry was one of them. Seeing baby loons in early summer is always a treat. Looking for the bald eagles is a favorite. Going over to inspect the eagles’ nest in the next section of the lake is a ritual. Over the years we have watched numerous baby eagles peering over the edge of the enormous nest, and seen some of their earliest flights. Sadly, this year the tree that was home to their nest has finally succumbed to its awkward angle and fallen into the lake. But fortunately, they are not the only nesting pair on this lake. One evening, I saw an eagle in the distance swoop down and catch a fish. He brought it to a tree not far away from where I was kayaking, and I was able to get close enough to watch him devour his meal.

This cabin week we were treated to one of the sunniest and warmest ever. Every morning but one, as I gradually gained consciousness I could peer out our bedroom window to see the sun coming up over the glassy calm lake. Sometimes I caught a beautiful red sunrise. The sunsets were equally spectacular, particularly when I had enough energy left at the end of the day to kayak out to see it from a better vantage point.

On one of our bike rides around the area, my husband and I cycled through a swarm of butterflies!  Shortly after we turned onto a little used road, there were thousands of Red Admiral butterflies perched on and along the side of the road.  Most of them were lined up just to the right of the white line.  As we approached, each one took flight until they filled the air around us and occasionally careened into us.  It went on for well over a mile, and then ended as abruptly as it began.

It’s the nature of a cabin to bring the outdoors into close proximity.  And we love the first-hand lessons that come along with it.

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!

Up North at the Cabin

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Like all good Minnesota families, we have a cabin Up North.  Ours is a true cabin.  It’s meant for three seasons, but we use it all four.  It has running water, pumped directly from the lake, but with the benefit of a hot water heater for showers and washing dishes.  Drinking water comes in a large jug we bring from home.  Heat emanates from the fireplace, or wood stove – sometimes both.  Appliances are limited to stove and refrigerator.  No TV, no phone.  And limited cell coverage.  I hope it stays that way.

Two bedrooms and main room/kitchen make for cozy space.  Carving a bunkhouse out of the front of the shed when the kids became teenagers was a timely idea – they could make as much noise and stay up as late as they wanted, and we didn’t mind.  Add a sauna, and that’s it.  Simple is best. That’s what cabin life is all about.

Naturally, being in Minnesota, our cabin is on a lake.  There is nothing better than waking up on a summer morning, pulling back the curtain and peering out at a glorious sunrise.  Hearing the loons call is added glory.  Ours is a spring-fed lake, deep and cold.  No matter how warm the summer, swimming is always “refreshing.”  The guys love fishing, the girls prefer hanging out on the dock.  Night times mean playing games or reading books.  Sometimes a bonfire or late-night sauna and jump in the lake.

There is no better place for family time.  We bought the cabin not long after our youngest was born, and we have the best memories from time spent there.  We have a journal recording each visit and photo albums full of pictures.  And plenty of stories to tell.

Tomorrow we head up there to open it up for another summer – let cabin season begin!