After taking a couple months off of our hiking adventures, we decided to start up again on a not-too-cold-for-Minnesota day in January. We’d been to Minneopa earlier in the year on a day that so humid we just ate our lunch, took a quick little walk over to the falls, snapped a few photos, and hastened back to our car. We weren’t members of the illustrious Hiking Club then, which is probably just as well – I’m not a big fan of hiking (or even moving about languidly) when the weather is sultry.

Minneopa State Park has two entrances, each one boasting of a main attraction: the waterfall entrance and the bison entrance. (Spoiler alert: We saw neither the waterfall or any bison. But keep reading anyway – something interesting might turn up.) They had two signs, which sort of made up for the shameful lack of a sign at Tettagouche State Park.

The sign above was by the waterfall entrance and looked very much like someone had been taking pot shots at it. Woodpeckers maybe?

Even though the signs are the same, we had to get two photos because I knew I’d be desperate for content.

First of all, I was in a funk and took a grim sort of pleasure in the fact that it was a cold and dreary day, all the better to mirror what was going on inside me. Yes, I’m that self-absorbed. Nevertheless, as we started out on the 2.7 mile hike, we were determined to enjoy what the park had to offer on a wintry day. As usual, Kris played the part of pack horse, toting along our water and victuals.

We felt very much alone as we walked over the snowy and icy trail. It was unusually quiet as well, although I heard a distant blue jay at one point. We plodded along surrounded by leafless trees and barren bushes. We came eventually a sign indicating that we were going to be near where the bison are fenced in and naturally, warnings had to be made that bison can be dangerous.

We found it amusing that the directions tell you to stay back 75 feet when the bison are near the fence. The trail goes along fairly close to the fence, maybe 15-20 feet away at the most. There’s nowhere else to go, either. In spite of all these dire warnings, we would have welcomed the sight of any bison near the fence or in the distance. Alas, they must have all been feeling rather introverted that day, since they stayed well away from any human contact. Kris thought it would make a great April Fools Day prank to change the sign replacing the word “bison” with “velociraptor.” Tee hee.

That would certainly shake things up a little bit at the park, wouldn’t it? As it was we had to be content with the more ordinary sights of oak leaves on the snow and an occasional deer print.

You can imagine the excitement when in the midst of this bleak landscape, we spotted some color in the form of a fallen branch of sumac. Praise be to God!

Why is it that we hunger for color like that? And how kind of God to provide it like manna in the wilderness. Feast your eyes on it for a moment… We did.

There’s a sort of haunting beauty to winter landscapes after all. Everything is dead or dormant, gray or brown, all skeletons and tombs. All that you see is pared back to the essentials. But how glorious to know that the resurrection of spring is always under the snow, right around the corner, hiding in the bare limbs of the trees. Seeds fall and die and just when all seems lost, they begin the whole marvelous dance of life anew. “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” – John 12:24

It’s a comfort to ponder such things when one is feeling much like a pared-back landscape, like a fallen seed.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Next Hike: Lake Louise State Park