Amazingly, when we made our way to Lake Bemidji State Park, we were on the last three parks of the ambitious schedule of 12 that my husband had made for us to finish in August and September of 2022. The plan was to hike Bemidji, drive to Itasca and stay at their lodge overnight, do the hike at Itasca the next day, have one more night at the lodge, and then finish off the hiking season at LaSalle State Recreation Area. You may be wondering why we forsook our lovely tent for this trip. Technology told us that the temperatures were going to get fairly low overnight and there was a possibility of rain. Now it all makes sense, doesn’t it?

The trail at Lake Bemidji was only 2 miles and was one of the few Hiking Club trails that isn’t a loop; it went out to Big Bog Lake and then back again the same way. In honor of the bogginess of it all, we will henceforth be calling this a “Bog Post.” Clever, eh? I wish I could tell you I thought of it, but that came from the funny mind of my hiking partner. He’s a witty fellow, I tell you.

The trail was wide to begin with and we almost immediately crossed over Highway 20 which was being worked on.

A bit more meandering through the woods and we came to a sign telling us that we were going to be entering the bog: The Bog Walk!

Naturally, one does not simply walk into Mordor – oh wait, I meant the Bog. If not for the boardwalk, you might end up like The Tollund Man, who was discovered in a Danish bog in 1950. There are rumors that he was a human sacrifice who ended up buried in the bog more than 2,000 years earlier, but I think maybe he was just on a hike and fell in. We can only speculate. And speaking of Mordor, it’s hard not to think about the Dead Marshes when walking through a bog. If none of these references make any sense to you, get going on reading The Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien.

There was a sign telling us to make sure and stay on the boardwalk AT ALL TIMES and I thought, “Ha! As if I’d ever consider stepping off of it and going into the bog.” Then I saw something I wanted to photograph and realized that the best angle would be from farther back, just a little bit farther… Don’t worry, I didn’t step in to the bog at this time. But it was close.

There was a sign about the bog that was filled with poetic substance. Here’s an example: “An aura of mystery and beauty awaits you in the lowland bog. …The wind that causes the trees to sing and the upland vegetation to sway will seem absent in the more sheltered lowland bog. The quiet may be broken only by the repetitive song ‘Oh, Sam Peabody, Peabody,’ of the white-throated sparrow.” Wasn’t that positively inspiring? State park sign writers, you could take some lessons from that person. I just went to the internet to hear that sparrow’s song and although it took some imagination, I could almost hear the words.

Well, that’s enough of that little side excursion. I spotted the Great Bog Monster, too.

It’s a good thing we were walking through in broad daylight. There’s just enough Anne Shirley in me to think it would be very creepy to walk through it at night. And if you don’t know who Anne Shirley is, you’ll meet her in Anne of Green Gables, a book which you can read after you get done with LOTR. If you like her, then you and I are kindred spirits.

There aren’t a lot of blooming flowers this time of year, so I spent more time photographing tree branches (like those of the black spruce and the soft tamarack) and autumn colors.

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I saw a plant that looked like a fright wig and to my shock, the Picture This app identified it as my old friend Spotted Joe Pyeweed from the hike at Glacial Lakes.

Oh, Joe! What has happened to you!? The ravages of age are cruel indeed. As I considered Spotted Joe and the transformation from beautiful bloom to fright wig, a song began to emerge. If you’d like to sing along, use the tune from the hymn “Fairest Lord Jesus.”

Spotted Joe Pye-Weed
Worst name in all nature
Pink clustered blooms
On a summer’s day.
Thee, I’ll remember
Late in September
When all thy glory turns to gray.

What with one thing and another, we made our way to the Big Bog Lake and sat for a spell, eating our Clif bars, chatting quietly so as not to disturb the “aura of mystery.”

The way back was just like the way there except slightly uphill. I didn’t notice it going slightly downhill the other way. When we got close to the end, I was rewarded with the sight of some blue jays flitting around in the open. Usually, they flee when a human enters into their space, but one of them stuck around and let me take a photo. Aww….

The robin let me get even closer. That berry looks good enough to eat!

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Knee Score: 1 out of 10 on the way out, 2 out of 10 on the way back.

That’s a wrap. ‘Twould be a shame to delete all that in the morning, wouldn’t it? If it’s gone missing, look in the Bog.

Next hike: Itasca State Park

I’m sure you’re all starting to feel a sort of “hiking-post” fatigue. I know I am! So here’s the next page of my project, “A Year at Providence Place.”

What a challenge this project has been for me! But I am enjoying the challenge. The thing down in the bottom right is supposed to be a bit of honeycomb dripping honey. Oh well…

I’ll probably delete this when my blog has o’er-brimmed its clammy cells.

First of all, let’s settle the issue of pronunciation. A friend had told us she thought it was pronounced “Kat-TEE-oh,” so the first thing we did when we got there was ask the lady at the park office. “Oh,” she said, “We all just pronounce it “Kathy-oh.” It’s a made-up word anyway – more about that later.

We packed up all our gear at Father Hennepin State Park and made our way over to Mille Lacs Kathio State Park, which is closer to the southwestern edge of the lake, starting the 3.2 mile hike around 9:50 a.m. It was 53 degrees, much nicer than hiking in the heat. The trail description mentioned the words “hilly,” and “one fairly steep incline,” so I decided to use my hiking poles just in case. Unlike the trail at Father Hennepin, the trail here would not take us anywhere near Mille Lacs Lake itself.

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If you come to MLK, prepare to be educated as you go. There are about 30 historic sites of former Dakota villages, and archeologists have come along to do their thing in those. Lots of signs with information. You won’t actually see most of those sites on the hike – just a few.

We started out and didn’t get far before we were hearing the most jarring noises coming from somewhere in the park. It was clearly some sort of animal call, but what on earth? Were they in pain? It wasn’t long before we got to the first village, the Cooper Site, from which we could see the swampy Ogechie Lake and deduced that whatever was making that noise was out on the lake. Out in that reedy expanse, we saw some white waterfowl, which upon closer inspection proved to be swans. Well, now we know what trumpeter swans sound like. They could give peacocks a run for their money if there was a competition for most awful sounding bird call.

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We wandered around the site reading signs and then went onward. Because of the Picture This app, we are beginning to feel like expert botanists, identifying plants and trees as we go.

It wasn’t long before we arrived at the next village, the Wilford Site, where there were more signs to read and more views of Ogechie Lake. We found out that the lake used to be a source of wild rice for the native peoples. At some point, the wild rice stopped growing (I don’t remember why – I think I took a photo of the information though), and now scientists and botanists are trying to find a way to bring it back. We wish them providential blessings in their endeavor.

There was also something called a “datum” at this site. I thought it was interesting but now I can’t remember why. I think I took a photo of that sign, too. We shall hope for some illumination on the topic when I review the photos. I’m too lazy to quit writing and go look at them now.

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After leaving the noisy shores of Ogechie Lake, our trail brought us inland, “through the hilly hardwood forest of the Mille Lacs moraine.” Hilly, it certainly was. I was glad I’d brought the hiking poles. I now know that whenever the word “moraine” appears in a hiking description, it is virtually synonymous with “hilly.” Noted. Although you couldn’t describe the weather as getting hot (it was only 66 degrees when we finished), the word “humid,” would not have been inappropriate. I took off my jacket, which was the signal that all the mosquitos in the park were waiting for. They were especially pleased that my hands were occupied with holding the hiking poles, so they had unfettered access to my arms. Do I sound bitter?

I was keeping an eye out for that “one steep incline,” but after encountering five of them, I quit counting. Perhaps it all hinges on the definition of that word “steep.” Kris kept up a merry pace and I, as usual, was taking more photos and lagging behind, stopping occasionally after one of those steep inclines to catch my breath. The whole trail, all 3.2 miles of it, was in the shade, by the way. Very nice. While we’re having a breather, I’ll let you in on why the word “Kathio,” became the name of the park. A Frenchman named Duluth was trying to write the word phonetically that the Dakota Indians used for their great village, something like “Izatys,” but also seen sometimes as “Isanti.” So far, so good. Then someone else, who probably doesn’t want to be named, translated Duluth’s journal and in a moment of spectacular inattention, came up with “Kathio,” which doesn’t sound anything like the original word, nor does it mean anything. How embarrassing for him that his big mistake has lived on in the name of the park. He’d cringe, no doubt.

I realized that I was no longer hearing the cicadas. I guess the Day of the Cicada is over already. We soldiered on through the moraine and many steep inclines later came to the end, definitely a “hallelujah” moment for me.

As we were driving out of the park, Kris decided to stop at the 100-foot observation tower and climb to the top. There was no discussion about whether or not I’d like to join him – no words were needed. I stayed in the car and did the Wordle O’ the Day.

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Knee score: 6-7 out of 10. Equivalent of 14 flights of stairs.

I’ll probably delete this when the trumpeter swans quit playing their awful music.

Next hike: Lake Bemidji State Park

On a bright mid-September day, we set out to conquer Father Hennepin State Park, which sits on the southeastern edge of Mille Lacs Lake. Fellow Minnesotans, did you know that Mille Lacs is the second largest lake in Minnesota? Only Lower Red Lake is bigger. This kind of trivia is sure to win you points in some circles, but probably not in mine.

We were camping at Father Hennepin, so we set up camp first and then set out boldly, picking up the trail right in front of our campsite. For those of you who care about these details, it was a little after 4:00 p.m. and 68 degrees, but the hike was a paltry 2 miles and we were going to be building an appetite for our pork chops and pesto pasta supper. We were told in the trail description that we should watch for bald eagles perched in the large trees, so our eagle expectations were high. Come along!

We got momentarily distracted by a dock along the way. Kris likes to walk out on these and think the thoughts of a fisherman. I conducted myself as usual and took photos of things that interested me.

We came to a nice little playground and swimming beach with lots of information about the park.

I grew up in Hennepin County and rode the bus downtown to Hennepin Avenue, so my curiosity was piqued by the man whose name was spread so far and wide. In fact, when I did a little internet research on Father Hennepin, I found out that he left his name behind wherever he went and places named after him can be found in Illinois, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, New York and Ontario, Canada. He was born in Belgium in 1626, became a Catholic priest, and eventually answered the call to come across the pond as a missionary in 1675. In case you didn’t do the math, that means he was 49 years old. What an adventurer! He wrote a few books about his experiences, too, but before you get all excited about that, the reviews are mixed; there are some who think Father Hennepin’s ego caused him to inflate and exaggerate what he wrote. Ha! Who would ever do something like that? 😊

We continued on our hike and I continued to look up occasionally to see if our eagle expectations would be met. Eureka! Could this be the eagle we were looking for?

And then we started up a path and saw some deer, which almost never happens on these hikes. We stopped, certain that any other move on our part would send them all scattering into the woods. But the deer at FHSP are apparently quite used to having humans around. They continued to eat as if we weren’t there and we took lots of photos.

There were plenty of maps to guide us along the way and before you knew it, we had arrived back at our humble home, the Tent of Requirement.

While Kris tended to the meal (he does all the cooking while we’re camping!), I busied myself with taking more photos. It’s what I do. Later the sun set beautifully over the lake, and we finished the evening with a campfire.

Knee score: 1 out of 10 (wearing knee huggers). Fairly level trail, much of it paved.

I’ll probably have to delete this in the morning due to my inflating and exaggerating habits.

Next hike: Mille Lacs Kathio State Park

Far north of Mumbletypeg
And west of Tomfoolery
You’ll find the sunset berry
Hanging from the Sunset Tree

You mustn’t try to pick it
E’en though it looks so grand
If you wait ‘til long day’s end
It’ll drop right into your hand

You mustn’t try to eat it
For it tastes of sorrow and grief
Just plant it on the horizon
And let it sink underneath

Then south to Higglety-pigglety
And east to Kathmandu
You’ll find the Sunrise Tree
Blooming there just for you.

Brought to you by Lynniebeemuseoday.

I’ll probably delete this when the Sunrise Tree blooms.

I just finished reading the book The Road by Cormac McCarthy. It’s a post-apocalyptic story, not my favorite kind of story. The main characters, a father and son, are never named, nor described. There’s been some sort of world-wide catastrophe and this father and son are in what’s left of the United States, trying to make their way further south and toward the ocean where the father hopes to find others like them, the “good guys.” The father is fiercely protective of his son and they have to be constantly on their guard so they don’t fall prey to roving bands of savage people who will do anything to find food in this ashy, fruitless world – even to the point of cannibalism. I tell you, it’s not a pretty story.

But this father-son relationship left an imprint on my mind. In the midst of this bleak and harsh existence, they cling to hope, they “carry the fire.” The father knows he is dying and must trust to whatever goodness there is left, either in heaven or on earth, to take care of his son when he is gone. He continually imbues his son with hope, even when things look hopeless.

It’s hard to forget a story like that. We were camping recently at Father Hennepin State Park and sometime before sunset a father and son came and sat on a bench overlooking the lake. All I could see was their silhouettes and the image brought back to memory that father and son of the book. They stayed there for an hour or more, just sitting companionably together. It was so sweet and poignant a sight for me. If I ever read that book again (a big “if”), that’s the image I’ll have in my mind.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, when the blog posts of this world are in silhouette against the sunrise, carrying the fire.

We stayed overnight at Glacial Lakes State Park after doing the hike at Big Stone Lake. We had an isolated spot in the upper campground, the only ones up there, but then somebody else moved in and just ruined the neighborhood! Ha ha – well, not really. I’m such a weirdo.

The hike at Glacial Lakes would be 4.7 miles, so we decided to get up before dawn and set out before the morning sun showed up with its warming tendrils. In spite of the fact that I had a hard time sleeping that night, we did, in fact, get on the trail by 6:30 a.m. It was 64 degrees, just starting to lighten up and already very humid.

It was magical at first – blankets of foggy mist covered the low lands as we did the first leg of the hike which meandered up and down past a lake with an odd name: Signalness, AKA Mountain Lake (kind of cheeky for a place characterized by hills). There was hardly a breeze, so the surface was a “glassy sea.” We also went by a council ring – hard not to think about Elrond and the epic council at Rivendell with the members of the future Fellowship of the Ring.

By the time we were on our way back up to the campground to the second (longer) part of the hike, the sun was up over the horizon and began to make short work of the mist. As it happened, I came across a little poem by Emily Dickinson the day after that hike that described the situation perfectly:

The Sun and Fog contested
The Government of the Day –
The Sun took down his Yellow Whip
And drove the Fog away –

The next part of the hike was more meadowy. Because of the humidity, everything was charmingly dewy and I spotted my first dewy spiderweb – a work of art! Click. Then I saw another. Click. And another. Click. I was rapidly losing control over my photography impulses. I began to notice a wide difference in craftsmanship of these webs. I only saw one that looked like it had been made by a Master Craftsman. The rest were fair to middling and then there was one that had been made by a spider with a mindset like me: “Oh, is it time to build the web already? I’m too tired and the work is so tedious. What’s the least amount of effort I can put into this and still call it a web?”

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I took so many spiderweb photos that I finally made a solemn and firm promise to myself not to take anymore NO MATTER WHAT. Here’s a hypothetical question: if you break a promise that you only made to yourself, does it count? Purely hypothetical, I assure you. Mostly hypothetical. Okay, you found me out – I took yet MORE photos of spider webs! There’s probably a 12-step program out there that can help me.

We came to a beautiful, wide vista and stopped to take panorama photos. It’s the kind of sight that makes you want to break out in song. “Praise God from whom all blessings flow!” We had skipped breakfast and were a little peckish, so we sat on the bench and ate our Elevation Bars (previously known as “Fake Clif Bars”), enjoying the view.

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The trail wound down and around into a woodsy area after that. We saw a little walk-in campsite along the way, complete with biffy. Quaint, but a little too isolated for me, plus I require a higher standard of bathroom now.

We marched on and came out into a grassy area, where the grasses reached out and touched us with their wet fingers as we walked. I must say, we certainly appreciate the people who tend the trails at these parks. It was a lovely mown path that went hither and yon, winding around enticingly ahead of us. “The road goes ever on and on…” There were nice ridges on our left and I kept thinking how perfect it would be if a deer (with antlers preferably) would stand at the top of of one of those and let me photograph him in silhouette. Nature documentaries make it look so easy, but leave out the part about the photographer having to stick around for hours or days to get that one photo. It didn’t happen for me that day, but I like to think that it could have.

We finally got back to our campsite at 8:30 – two hours for the whole hike.

We rewarded ourselves with a pancake breakfast. The playlist was provided by a group of raucous blue jays having quite the party. I got up and tried in vain to get a photo of one of those loud but evasive birds. I could hear them all around me, but they’re very tricksy. If you could translate their jeering calls, it would be something like “catch me if you can!”

Knee Score: 7 out of 10. Although I left out the usual bit of complaining about my aches and pains, this was very up and down trail, 24 flights of stairs. But so beautiful!

This amusing bonus photo is due to the fact that I sent my BIL a couple different poses of me to choose from. He couldn’t resist.

I’ll delete this in the morning if I catch a blue jay with my camera.

Next hike: Father Hennepin State Park

A word about September
A caution to remember

You’ll hear a lot of crickets
On sidewalks and in thickets,

You’ll harvest your potatoes
(Ditto with tomatoes)

You’ll cut and peel the apples
With peppers you will grapple

The nights are getting chilly
Cicadas are sounding shrilly.

There’s just no more pretending
That summer isn’t ending

I felt the need to tinker with that page – adding a little color. Mistakes were made. The paper is multi-media, which means that it isn’t quite as bad with watercolor as regular paper, but the paper still tends to get “wavy” with the water. But who cares? Moving on.

I predict that a dissembling breeze will whisk this blog post away in the morning.

We’ve been so busy with all our hiking and camping, as well as other things (like hours spent processing apples, etc.) that I haven’t had as much time as I hoped to work on this project. I had originally thought to do 5-10 pages per month, but this month, I’ll be glad if I can get 4 pages done. Will I share every page of it on this blog? Perhaps, especially if I get to the end of the day and realize I was so busy I forgot about posting anything. Like today.

I’m thinking about painting in the crow – a very light gray. Thoughts?

There’s a time for every matter under heaven, including deleting this post in the morning.

After our hike at Lac Qui Parle State Park, we made our way over to Big Stone Lake (BSL) State Park where we camped overnight. I’m going to subject you to some of the photos I took at the campsite because…well, no good reason I guess. I got a little carried away with sunset and fire photos, as well as finally getting a photo of a pelican flying overhead, which was harder than it may seem.

The hike at BSL was 2.2 miles and we wanted to get an early start. We decided to pack everything up first, so our “early” start was actually 9:55 a.m. But it was a beautiful day, NACITS! I have just unveiled for you a brand new acronym, pronounced “nackitz.” It stands for “Not A Cloud In The Sky.” Look how many syllables you can save by saying NACITS instead. A case could be made for the fact the the acronym takes away the beauty of the phrase. Actually, that’s a really good point. I withdraw my acronym. Let us proceed.

The entrance to the Hiking Club hike is about 7 miles from the official park entrance, which is kind of different. It’s in an area called the BSL Bonanza Unit. Ha ha – can’t hear that word “Bonanza” without remembering the TV show by the same name. Remember Hoss and Little Joe?

As we walked along the trail, we realized fairly soon that we were back in the world of frogs. Kris was walking ahead of me and therefore was the first to see them. He’d stop and take a photo and by the time I got there, the little buggers were gone. I had an unflattering moment of frog-photo-envy, but I needn’t have worried. We came to a beach and there was an abundance of frogs for everyone. I used to worry about exaggerating the number of them, but now, throwing caution completely to the wind, I will say that there were “hundreds of frogs, thousands of frogs, millions and billions and trillions of frogs!” Hey, if Wanda Gag can get away with saying that about cats in her book, then I think artistic license allows me the same privilege.

I saw a lone frog sitting on a stone looking meditatively out on the lake and felt a small (very small) measure of kinship with him. I imagine it’s hard to get any froggy privacy in a place like that. I ruined his moment by creeping up to get a photo. Worth it!

At 10:15 the cicadas started in. I’m beginning to see a definite pattern with these little buzzsaw insects. They’re definitely not early risers, which is okay by me. If they started in at 5:00 a.m., it would be like having your neighbor out there mowing the lawn at that time. Also, it was humid. Very humid. Just setting the scene for you.

Kris spotted a snake, crept around and got a splendid photo of its slithery head. Bravo!

You will have to put up with a little poetry right now, but for a change in pace, it won’t be mine. Emily Dickinson wrote a perfectly marvelous poem about a snake, a portion of which I will share with you.

A narrow Fellow in the Grass
Occasionally rides –
You may have met Him – did you not
His notice sudden is –

The Grass divides as with a Comb –
a spotted shaft is seen –
and then it closes at your feet
and opens further on –

Several of Nature’s People
I know, and they know me –
I feel for them a transport
of cordiality –

But never met this Fellow
attended, or alone
Without a tighter breathing
and Zero at the Bone –
Emily Dickinson

I’ll tell you – that says it ALL when it comes to me and snakes. “Zero at the bone” – *shiver*. I saw one in our front yard one time – it appeared right by my feet. It was a harmless garter snake, but I jumped a foot and screamed like a girl.

Big Stone Lake is a very long lake and we were never far from the lake as we walked. It’s a popular fishing lake as well – we saw flotillas of fisher folk out in their boats on the lake.

It took us a little over an hour to do the hike. Although the nice park lady had said it was a very flat route, there was definitely some up and down. My phone says we did the equivalent of 8 flights of stairs.

Knee Score: 3 out of 10 (with knee huggers on)

I almost forgot to mention that there was a very big hatch of midges at the campground. I couldn’t resist getting a photo of their teeming masses outside the restroom facility. It was gross. And how many do you suppose there were? Say it with me: “hundreds of midges, thousands of midges, millions and billions and trillions of midges!” Now wasn’t that fun?

And now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for: I’ll probably delete this..yawn…you know the rest.

Next hike: Glacial Lakes State Park

We arrived at Lac Qui Parle State Park mid-afternoon for our hike. I was already predisposed to enjoy the park because of the name, which in French means, “The Lake Which Speaks.” Isn’t that lovely? It’s pleasant and edifying to think about how a lake speaks: the lapping of water against the shore or against watercraft, the waterfowl making their noises as they land and take off, the fish going “bloop bloop” as they surface occasionally. It makes for a nice conversation.

LQP was the first of three hikes we had planned for in as many days. We chose to start there to accommodate the weaker vessel who thought if we had to do a hike in the afternoon, it should be the shortest one. I’m sure my fellow weak vessels are nodding in agreement to this plan. When we set out on the 2-mile hike at 2:00 p.m., it was 79 degrees – danger! danger! – but wait, there was a nice breeze and (this is the key point) there was very little humidity. Sigh of relief.

By now we are becoming well acquainted with the flora at this time of year in this part of the state. The Picture This app has made experts of us. But eventually one gets tired of taking photos of the same plants every day. I’m sick to death of cutleaf coneflowers! And white snakeroot! Not to mention all the milkweed. Well, not really, but I need to have some sort of explanation as to why I took so few photos of these things at LQP. I think I’ll have to slide a poem in here to make up for this.

Lac Qui Parle, Lac Qui Parle,
Where the cutleaf coneflowers tangle and snarl
And the many white snakeroots slither and hiss
While the giant chickweeds swing and miss.
The barnyard grasses just sit on their asses
And the blue vervain just waves on the plain.
You’d think the beautiful Lady’s thumb
Wouldn’t be so awfully dumb
At Lac Qui Parle, Lac Qui Parle
Where the cutleaf coneflowers tangle and snarl

We were on the lookout for frogs after our experience at Sibley, but didn’t see many. In fact, I would say this: “Frogs, I’ve seen a few…but then again…too few to mention…”

There were no benches along the way, but also zero people, so yay. You didn’t know I was so anti-social, did you?

We finished this 2-mile hike in 45 minutes. The paths were wide, the trail easy to follow (good thing since there were no trail maps along the way) and we got to try out the fake Clif bars we bought at Aldi’s.

We didn’t see much of the actual Lake which Speaks until we were on our way out of the park. Was it speaking? Let’s imagine that it was, because our car windows were closed.

Knee Score: 1 out of 10.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning to atone for my snarky and shocking rhyme with “barnyard grasses…”

Next hike: Big Stone State Park