LaSalle State Recreation Area, the last hike of 2022. There are a few of these State Recreation Areas (SRA’s) in Minnesota that don’t have all the services of a state park, but are still set aside as protected wilderness areas. Most of them don’t have Hiking Club hikes, but this one does, a 2.9 mile trail. LaSalle SRA was established in 2011, so it hasn’t been around long.
It was a cool, overcast morning when we set out. We brought our rain jackets just in case. This was another out-and-back trail, rather than a loop. The advantage to those is that when you turn around to go back, you’ve already seen everything and the pace can pick up. I always tell Kris that I won’t be taking any photos on the way back, and I’m always sincere when I say it, but inevitably, something catches my eye that didn’t catch it before.
There’s a sub-section of the hike that’s enclosed, a Scientific and Natural Area where there’s an effort to cause re-growth of jack pines after a windstorm in 2012 took down most of them. Jack pines are an interesting tree in that the only thing that opens up their pinecones to release the seeds is intense heat, like a forest fire, which serves well to revive forest growth after a devastating fire. The plantings in the SNA are from pinecones which had been forced open by other means. Time will tell whether or not man’s way will be a successful as God’s way.
We got up to the lookout point which was halfway. I need to prepare you for the shocking disclosure that there is NO bench up there to rest your weary bones. We had a nice view of the toddler Mississippi River (if you consider the baby river to be that which leaves from Lake Itasca). Photos were taken and then we left to go back.
I gave the usual assurances that I wouldn’t be stopping to take pictures. At this point I went through some chickadee-filled shrubbery and they were so close that I just had to stop and it took me so long to get a semi-decent photo of one of these cheeky fellows that I had to “run” to catch up with Kris. And by “run,” of course I mean walking at a challengingly fast pace.
After we got back, we enjoyed a late breakfast at a nice outside picnic area. While we were there a park employee came and I was greatly amused to see him using a leaf blower to clear part of an area not far from us. As they say in the South, “Bless his heart!”
Thus ended our 2022 Minnesota State Park hiking season. We have now hiked 54 of our state’s 68 parks and have walked 158.5 miles out of a total of 197. Next year, we hope to finish them up, Lord willing.
Knee Score: 4 out of 10; some up and down equivalent to 6 flights of stairs.
Thank you for “hiking” with us thus far. You are honorary Hiking Club members!
I’ll probably delete this unless I get distracted by a cheeky chickadee in the shrubbery.
Busy season, lots of traveling, changing habits, excuses, excuses…
I used to write a daily blog post, Monday-Friday. Remember those days? Somewhere along the line, it ceased to be a habit – you know how it goes when any routine gets interrupted.
When I was in college, I decided to make jogging a habit. I’d see people jogging regularly and it impressed me favorably as something that would be good for my health and get me in good shape. Win, win! So off I went with my Adidas (points for cool shoes) and absolutely no experience. Generally, my attitude about running up until that point had been that I saw no reason for it unless I was trying to catch a bus. I figured I’d start small and work my way upward.
Jogging is a huffing and puffing sport, an awkward, shuffling, sweaty, stitch-in-your-side sport. Why do people do this thing? Those were the prevailing thoughts I had after my first attempt. But I’m no quitter, at least not while I still had the idealistic visions of “Lynn the Athletic Young Woman” running through my brain. I’d never been accused of being athletic before and I really wanted the title. I kept at it, hoping that at some point it would become less agonizing and more rewarding. Well, guess what? It did! After a month or so, I hit my stride, literally and figuratively. “Gonna fly now…flying high now…” I felt like Rocky, except without the disgusting raw egg drinking.
And then I got a nasty cold which put me out of commission for a week. My jogging career derailed just like that. The balloon of my motivation became completely deflated. (I’m rather liking the image of balloons of motivation skimming along over people’s heads, some really buoyant, some losing air, and some like limp rags flopping listlessly on the forehead, obscuring the vision. Just a minute – I need to contact Disney with an animated movie idea!!!! You can see how I get caught up in flights of fancy.)
But I actually like writing, a sport that can be done in the comfort and ease of my plushy chair. So, there may come a day when I give up writing this blog, but IT WILL NOT BE THIS DAY!
I’ll have to see if I can get back up to the speed of 5 posts per week. I’ll start small and work my way upward. Oy – I’ve got a stitch in my side!
I’ll probably delete this post in the morning in an attempt to return to the basics.
Everyone knows that Lake Itasca is the headwaters of the Mississippi. Back in the day, many an explorer sought to find the origin of that river because that’s what explorers do. Of course, the Ojibwe people knew it all along. When Henry Schoolcraft came along in 1832, Chief Ozawindib kindly guided him to it, the lake they called “Omushkos,” which means Elk Lake. Schoolcraft apparently didn’t think that name was sufficient, so he put his scholarly mind to the matter and decided that since the lake was the “true head” of the Mississippi, he would use the Latin version of that phrase, “veritas caput,” and cobbled the name “Itasca,” from the end of the first word and the beginning of the second one. I bet his children had interesting names.
We had been to Itasca State Park about 10 years ago with our two youngest children, but we hadn’t done any hiking there. We went to the actual headwaters and took pictures of each other there. Because that’s what tourists do. We were looking forward to seeing more of the park this time.
We stayed at the Douglas Lodge and were mystified to see trees growing out of the roof of the building behind it, Nicollet Court. It reminded me of the Mrs. Piggle Wiggle story about the boy who hated bathing and cleaning himself. Mrs. P.W. advised the parents just to let him experience the consequences of being dirty instead of constantly nagging him to take a bath. He was overjoyed with his freedom at first, but then the dirt layer on his skin became a nice place where seeds could grow and when plants began to emerge, he gave up his commitment to filth. Ha ha! I loved those stories! Well, Nicollet Court had been given over to itself, that’s for sure. Kris talked to a park employee later and found out that when it became clear that Nicollet Court needed some major repairs and that it would cost 20 million dollars to do it right, the park officials decided to let it go the way of the world: death and decay. Ah, there but for the grace of God go I.
The description of the Hiking Club trail included the word “hilly,” which is always a red flag for me. In spite of that I opted out of the hiking poles, which are nice, but an encumbrance when I want to take photos (i.e. frequently). I had my trusty knee huggers on and they would have to suffice. It was 49 degrees and sunny when we started out around 9:00 a.m., picking up the beginning of the 3.5 mile trail right by Douglas Lodge.
The trail was quite ferny, and we also saw some of our old friends, like Meadow Rue, Large Leaved Aster and Smooth Blue Aster. It feels good to know their names now. My husband’s educational background was in plant breeding and therefore, he knows a goodly amount of botany. I received a little instruction along the way about the difference between dioecious and monoecious plants and I now pass it on to you, dear readers. Dioecious plants, like meadow rue, have their male and female parts on separate plants, rather than on different parts of the same plant. Corn, on the other hand, is monoecious, containing both male and female parts, the tassel/pollen being the male and the ear being the female. This has been the plant sex education portion of this blog.
Meadow Rue: “Call me Dioecious”
I had a eureka moment on this trail. I noticed some interesting icons on trail signs. I’d seen them before but wasn’t sure what they meant. I finally looked at the legend on one of the maps on the trail and saw that these were cross-country ski trails in the winter and the icons meant “easy,” “difficult” and “more difficult.” In other words, these were comparable to my knee scores! Very nice to know.
More Difficult (uh-oh!)
The colors of the natural world are a continual source of joy. Thank you, Lord.
The trail would not be taking us anywhere near Lake Itasca, actually. Instead we would be seeing some of the smaller lakes in the park, like Mary Lake and Myrtle Lake, Itasca’s forgotten little sisters.
We’re assuming Mary Lake is named after Mary Gibbs, who was appointed as park superintendent at age 24 when her father, the current superintendent died. We read a few things about Mary Gibbs and it was like reading a script from a movie. At one point she came up against a local lumber company that built a dam to facilitate logging operations, but which might cause flooding that could kill the park’s old pine forest. Gibbs and a local sheriff brought a warrant to open the dam’s lift and the lumber boss threatened to shoot the hand off of anyone who put their hands on those levers. The sheriff backed off, but Mary Gibbs was made of stronger stuff. She said, “I will put my hand there, and you will not shoot it off, either.” The lumber boss knew when he was beat. He ordered the gates opened and was eventually jailed. Gutsy lady!
We passed by a few more lakes, probably the most lake-intensive hike we’ve been on so far. For me, lakes are all about the reflections in them, so that’s what I captured as we went along.
But I also saw a couple geese on Deer Park Lake.
Fallstad Lake was a frenzy of fish feeding activity. You could see places all over the lake where the fish were touching the surface as they were feeding. It was like watching stars twinkling in the night sky. I tried to get a photo, but it’s hard to capture.
It turns out that the Toilet Family has a tiny dwelling in the park. We passed by their humble abode but decided not to pay a visit.
We’ve seen several different species of goldenrod this time of year, the most attractive of which is called zig-zag goldenrod. I have nicknamed it ZZ Gold. But let’s play the Henry Schoolcraft game and take it one step further. The Latin words are “obliquum aurum,” so the HS technique would render it “quumaur.” I guess not. ZZ Gold it is!
The last lake we passed was Coffee Break Lake. Who gets to name all of these lakes anyway? I know a lot of coffee drinkers who would appreciate that one.
We finished the hike in just under 2 hours and due to the cooler weather, it was a lot easier on the weaker vessel.
Knee score: 6 on a scale of 1-10 (equivalent of 14 flights of stairs).
But that’s not the end, no sir. You don’t think we’d come all this way and NOT go to the actual headwaters again. We put our tourist hats on and got ‘er done. From this little trickle of water, a mighty river is born.
If you can tell me where the Blog Headwaters are, I’ll take a photo and delete this post.
After visiting one set of the family progeny, we prepared to head northward to spend some time with the others who have settled out West. It was hard to say goodbye to everyone, especially to my little exercising buddy who also sat by me on the couch every day singing Bible songs with me. I did my best to kiss an extra layer of skin off of the faces of our grandchildren before leaving, and to keep the tears out of my eyes. We drove away but left part of our hearts behind.
North we went through steep valleys with mountains hovering over us for a long time, alongside a stream that was a times a brook, at other times a full-fledged river. There are rumors of salmons in those parts, but we never saw any. Eventually we left most of that behind, coming into the beautiful rolling hills of the Palouse and to the town nestled in the midst of those hills where the rest of our Western children live (we still have one son and his wife living in our town in Minnesota). It’s been a few years now since we’ve had to arrange for paid lodging. We have children in both Western locations who roll out the red carpet for us, letting us use a room in their homes. This is an extra heap of blessing for us on many levels.
The week filled up quickly. Our daughter and son-in-law hosted family meals at their home – much good conversation and laughter ensued. Kris got involved in re-upholstering their kitchen table chairs. This was a project that none of us had even the slightest experience doing, but by the end of the week, all four of us had invested some sweat equity in finishing them. I love how they turned out!
I have failed to mention the presence of Fred and Velma at our daughter’s home. You may be thinking of Scooby Doo, and you wouldn’t be far off, since the names probably came from that cartoon. These are the Large Cats in Residence. I call Fred, “Fatty Freddy.” It doesn’t bother him one bit, nor should it bother you. Picking Freddy up is a wonderful experience – his girth fills your arms and it’s like hugging a big cuddly pillow. Velma is a little smaller but very personable. When we came out of our room every morning, Fatty…er Freddy was always lounging just outside the door, ready for some attention.
I also got to try using some Virtual Reality (VR) equipment for the first time at my oldest son’s place (the newlyweds!). It’s a unique, mind-bending experience, like being in a 3-D theater that wraps around your mind. Later on, a few of our other kids got to try it for the first time as well.
On Sunday, we all gathered at the church to worship. I love being back in church with our children (in both locations!) speaking the liturgy, singing psalms and hymns, and taking communion together. Ah, how sweet it is.
Not unto us, LORD, no, not us, But to your name above, Bring glory for Your faithfulness And for Your steadfast love.
One last gathering for a Chinese food supper, one group photo, and the next round of goodbyes began. “Goodbye! Goodbye! Have a good trip! It was good seeing you!” And in the morning, the last goodbye to our wonderful hosts. I choked off a swelling of emotion as we turned our faces toward the Midwest and set off for home.
That’s the rest of the story.
Good night. I’ll most likely delete this in the morning.
Dear friends, we have returned after a journey of 4000 miles and oh, what wondrous wanderings we’ve had. We met our newest grandson, Baby “Odipher,” as his 2 1/2-year old big sister calls him. I am often tempted to sing the song from the musical “Oliver” when I see him. Sometimes I give in to the temptation: “Oliver, Oliver, never before has a boy asked for more…” We were blessed to be present at his baptism, at which he was perfectly composed and mellow. Not all infant baptisms go like that.
The Beloved Lucy and I developed a daily exercise routine in which she faithfully worked through the song “Chicken Fat” with me, as well as another video exercise routine I was trying out. How many of you remember the song “Chicken Fat,” sung by Robert Preston? I was explaining to my daughter-in-law that this was used in our elementary school as exercise music and decided to go ahead and play it, and as it played, I figured I might as well go through the motions. Little did I know that Lucy would be such a good sport about doing the exercises with me.
Touch down every morning – ten times! Not just now and then Give that chicken fat back to the chicken And don’t be chicken again No, don’t be chicken again.
Those of you who know the song are singing along and I approve. It’s actually a pretty good workout, especially for this older lady. My “sit-ups” were more on the order of “roll-ups,” and my “push-ups” were of the wimpy kind, but I think my jumping jacks were as good as when I was a sprightly young lass. Lucy’s attempts to follow along were unspeakably adorable. I’m not sure her parents appreciate me adding the phrase “chicken fat” to her vocabulary, though.
We went to a zoo and a YUGE corn maze while we were in that part of the country. I’m not good at mazes, so my strategy is to make sure I don’t get separated from people who know where they’re going. But for that, I’d still be lost in that maze somewhere and you wouldn’t be reading this blog post.
I’ll tell more about our adventures in the next post.
If this doesn’t get lost in the Great Maze of Blog Posts, I’ll probably delete it in the morning.
A friend gave us a tour of his garden. The flowers were on their best behavior, although some of them were definitely tired and heading to bed. The youngsters entertained and fed their own visitors. A splendid time was had by all.
I’m tired and heading to bed, too. I’ll think about deleting this in the morning.
Lynniebeemuseoday 