We’ve been out in the canoe a few times in the last month, finally exploring local lakes and rivers. Our first voyage was through shallow channels that in less droughty conditions would constitute a river. Our paddles frequently met with the sandy bottom. I saw some odd little logs that turned out to be a friendly group of disgusting carp. Each time we came around a bend, we startled some contingent of wildlife – deer, lots of egrets and herons, a few ducks and even an otter (which I never saw – I’m taking Kris’s word for it). Many, many times I wished I could have brought my big camera with the zoom lens along, but it’s too risky. We keep our phones in a waterproof bag so it’s not always easy to get photos at all. At one point, the river got so shallow that Kris had to get out and pull us along. Visions of “The African Queen” danced through my head, but I made sure the leeches from that scene weren’t dancing in there, too. Toward the end, I had to get out and help pull, which ruined my sense of being carried along like royalty.
Our second time out, we explored a lake instead. After going under a bridge, we came to a tree-covered island that turned out to be a roosting place for hundreds of large waterfowl. Very cool. We discovered that we could keep our cameras in sandwich bags and take photos right through the bag. Since our sandwich bags were green, this lent an interesting filmy look to the photos which I rather liked.
We were on the water by 8:00 this morning in the cool of the day, paddling in choppy water to start with and then making our way to the western side of the lake where we encountered millions of milfoil weeds and chased off a congregation of pelicans. We stuck close to the southern shore on the way back, a nice smooth ride with the sun rising higher and making us sweat a little. Our souls were fatter by the time we left our valiant little water steed and got back into the car.
Pelicans whose worship service we interruptedPoignant message on the dock
The earth is the LORD’S and the fulness thereof; the world and they that dwell therein.
Late on an August night, we ambled over to watch the blue moon rise over the corn fields. Meanwhile, the blue moon made its slow crawl up the sky and wondered what all the fuss was. And the LORD God said, “You are my faithful witness in the sky.”
We went back home, thankful for what our eyes could see, and also confident that people with much better cameras than ours would give the moon its proper glory.
And will this post get deleted in the morning? Ask the Blue Moon.
They come and perch on our bird bath, like dignified and well-dressed guests in need of a place to rest their weary feet. I don’t see them bathing very often, just perching, watching and thinking birdie thoughts. They don’t stay long. I am always glad of their brief patronage and hope our bird bath gets good reviews since I put in fresh water daily.
One day I looked out to see a different kind of critter perching on the compost fence, but with no dignity whatsoever. He had a hard time balancing and looked more like a clown working the high trapeze act at the circus to get a few laughs. I gave them to him.
Muses brought to you by Lynniebeemuseoday.
I suggest you perch on this blog post in the morning before it disappears.
I like to write and therefore I like to read books about writing. Here’s a couple that I enjoyed, along with my reviews.
“What we choose to see, hear and read matters greatly. People need good stories just as they need home-cooked meals, clean water, spiritual peace, and love. A good story is part of that process. It affirms divine order in the universe and justice in human affairs–and it makes people better than they were before they read it.” John Erickson’s book is full of home-spun wisdom and plain speaking as he reflects on “faith, culture and writing.”. In addition to the interesting story of his own journey as a writer, he is generous in sharing his insights with those who have a passion for writing and seek to become published. This book is a gold mine for all aspiring writers, young and old. His final piece of advice is worth putting on every writer’s desk in a prominent place: “Don’t write anything that would shame your mother.” Can I hear an “amen?”
I’ve never read a book by Stephen King, but have had this one recommended several times from different sources. The first third of the book is about King’s story and what kinds of circumstances and relationships shaped him as a person and as a writer. I’m not a big fan of profanity in writing, but his explanation of why some people use it (including himself) was actually fairly interesting and thought provoking. (Still not a fan of it.). The rest of the book was on the process of writing and here’s where the book really started to take off, for me. I enjoy writing, but have never really aspired to write a novel. Yet, after reading King’s book, I begin to think that if I did decide to start something (dare I?), I’d have a good idea where to start and the pitfalls to avoid. Some of his observations are as hilarious as they are profound. The horror genre is not one that I enjoy, but I might pick up one of his books some day just to see how his writing process worked out in a published book. His general mantra was that it’s all about the story – everything else has to take a back seat. Good stuff.
Let me know if you have any books on writing that you’d like to recommend to me!
I’ll probably delete this in the morning while I work on the novel that I started two years ago.
A cat can never be completely satisfied with the indoor life. We have to watch our doors every time they are opened. In spite of our constant vigilance, she slips out occasionally, like a gray shadow. All other activity comes to a halt and we turn into cat hunters. She knows she’s the prey. It usually doesn’t take long to capture our little runaway and bring her back into benevolent captivity. Her eyes gleam with dim remembrance of a feral life and she resumes her haunting of the doors.
I’ll probably release this post into the wild in the morning.
After leaving Big Bog State Park, it wasn’t a long drive to Franz Jevne SP and we knew that the 1.3 mile hike wouldn’t take too long. On our way there, for the first time ever, I actually looked at reviews of the park on google maps. Lots of people posted photos and short reviews – I hadn’t noticed that feature before. In general everyone loved this little state park, the smallest one in Minnesota. But I was glad we hadn’t camped there because it looked like the bathrooms were all primitive and there were no showers. Good to know. Apparently, it’s a great park for fishing, though, if that’s what you want.
At last we came to Franz Jevne State Park, the final park to be visited and hiked on this particular trip. I wish I could tell you something about the man, Franz Jevne, after whom the park was named. All I know is that his family donated the land for the park in 1967. It’s strange to think of his name being used for the park, and then after some time goes by, only the name remains. The man, Franz Jevne, is gone. I found some information about his son, Franz Jevne Jr., though – he was born in 1913 in International Falls, so I’m pretty sure it’s the right family. That was a bit of a rabbit trail. Now that I think of it, maybe Junior is the Franz Jevne!
All the hikes we’d done so far on this trip had been fairly level so I hadn’t always needed the hiking pole, but Kris suggested I bring it along on this one, thinking the terrain might be more hilly. He was right.
The trail was narrow with lots of ups and downs. By this time we weren’t seeing a lot of new and interesting foliage, so there weren’t as many photos taken or plants identified. The trail goes along one side of the Rainy River, which forms another border with Canada. We didn’t see much of the river after the first part of the hike since the tree growth by the trail was so dense.
Those are Canadian trees across the river, just so you know.
This was another out and back hike instead of a loop. There were some tree stumps here and there and my observant husband noticed that on the inside of one stump a lot of the plant matter had gone, but you could still see where some of the small twigs that had grown through the bark were still there. Hard to explain, so here’s a photo.
When we got to the place where we’d be turning around, there was a nice picnic table to take a moment’s rest. We were uphill from the river and there was no good way to get down there, so we didn’t.
On the way back it began to rain, a nice sun shower. It was a very humid day, so we didn’t mind getting a little wet. Felt good!
As we made our way back, we saw one of the rangers coming toward us toting a chain saw. He stopped and told us that he needed to take care of a downed tree on the path (which we’d seen). He was an older fellow, maybe 70 years old. I was pretty impressed that he was still so active. Maybe he was thinking the same thing when he saw us.
We saw a sign with the word “Mishe-Nahma” on it, so after we got done, we looked it up on our phones. It means “King of Fishes,” and is in reference to sturgeons, which many people had mentioned fishing for there. Now you know!
Contrary to my Eeyore-ish predictions that I might not make it through the hikes this week, it all went well. I’ve really noticed a difference to my stamina since I started lap swimming again in March. We added up our cumulative hiking miles and it came to 180. We only have four more state parks and 17 more hiking miles to go to finish what we started in July of 2018! Can you believe it?
Before leaving for home, we stopped by Voyageur’s National Park so we could get our NP passport booklet stamped. Very efficient of us, I must say.
“Take me home, country roads…”
On the way home, we listened to the John Denver album, “Back Home again.” It’s good road trip music – hit the spot for us.
Knee score: 5 out of 10.
I think the axe may fall on this post in the morning.
Little Girl Holding A Ball. It could be the title of an old painting. I found this slide among my mother’s things and took a photo of it with light shining from the background. It’s a cheap way to make a photo from a slide, but I don’t necessarily recommend it.
There’s so much to enjoy about this photo, in spite of the fact that the the quality has degraded over the years. The colors are still vibrant and it almost looks like a faux-watercolor painting. I like it. The fact that the little girl is me in no way influences my regard for it, other than to make it more personal.
I don’t remember that moment; I don’t remember being that little girl. The colors wash over me and fill me with nostalgia.
The Big Bog State Recreation Area has a large office and a very nice campsite. Kris felt that a great injustice was done in not promoting Big Bog SRA to State Park status and said he’d devote the rest of his life to making it happen. Ha ha! This SRA was established in the year 2000 to help develop a tourist attraction in the area after the Red Lake walleye population crashed in the 1990’s, devastating the local economy. Big Bog is near Upper Red Lake, but it’s named after the 500-square mile peat bog, which is the largest bog in the lower 48 states.
By the time we got to the Big Bog campsite, the rain had stopped, so we were able to get set up in the sun and start drying some of our stuff off. The campground is in the southern unit of the SRA and our site was right next to the slow-moving Tamarac River, where I found more reflections and a lily pad flower.
After we put up our tent, two friendly chipmunks came around. They’ve clearly learned that humans are sources of food droppage. They kept going under our tent, which was disturbing. What if they did that at night while we were trying to sleep? What if we accidentally stepped on one while it was under the tent? Many unpleasant chipmunk-under-tent scenarios played out in my mind, so I had to quit thinking about it. One of them came into the screen tent while we were reading and approached us boldly. What if it comes too close and runs up my leg? I’ve got major chipmunk issues now.
We packed up early the next morning, having decided to do the 2-mile Big Bog hike before breakfast. Yes, even before Kris’s early morning coffee! The bog portion of the SRA is in the northern unit, which was about 15 miles north of us, so it was 7:55 a.m. by the time we started out. It was 68 degrees – not too hot – but boy, was it close and sticky! In order to get to the bog walk, you have to do a short jaunt part-way around Ludlow Pond until you see the grand entrance to the bog.
We had the bog all to ourselves – no other humans in sight. The construction of the boardwalk was really amazing. It boggled the mind (see what I did there?) to think of the work involved in setting up the mile-long pathway in the swampy area. The boardwalk was completed in 2005.
You would think a bog wouldn’t be interesting, but you’d be wrong. Every so often as we walked along, we’d come across plaques with information about the bog, what kinds of flowers, plants and trees we’d see, the birds and animals that inhabited it, and how the boardwalk was constructed. We also read about when the government appropriated the land back in the early 1900’s and gave parcels out, hoping people could tame the bog and make good farmland out of the area. The Mighty Bog just opened its mouth and laughed at the hubris of man. That’s why it’s still a bog.
Kris was going back and forth taking photos and identifying various things with the much-lauded Picture This App. I was hoping we’d get a glimpse of the exotic carnivorous pitcher plant! The first thing that caught my eye, however, was cotton grass – lovely stuff.
Meanwhile, Kris was enthused about all the tamarack trees. Once I got a good look at one, I could understand the appeal. It’s a conifer that’s not an evergreen, so it drops its needles in the fall.
We also found and identified a plant called “Labrador tea,” which turns out to be a natural remedy for diarrhea. Good to know, although one hopes that this would not be needed in the middle of a large peat bog.
At last we came upon the pitcher plant. I took gobs of photos, thinking I might not see another one, but as we went along we saw so many of them that it became rather ho hum, which didn’t stop me from taken even MORE pictures.
Another charming little plant was the Bog Laurel. (I wrote it sloppily in my notebook as we were going along and later it looked like I had written Bob Laurel. What a weird name for a plant, I thought, until I realized my error.)
We were also hoping to find another carnivorous plant called the sundew, but it must not be the season for them. What is it with bogs and carnivorous plants? At least they don’t eat humans, like mosquitoes do. (Insert bitter thoughts here.)
Animals that inhabit the bog range from the terrifyingly large moose (which we didn’t see, thank God) down to the adorably cute little bog lemming. I’m really taken with the whole idea of bog lemmings. If I had the artistic skills of Beatrix Potter, I would start a book series featuring these.
At the end of the boardwalk, we had emerged from the humid claustrophobia of all the trees and plants out into the open where there was a nice cool breeze. It’s a mile out to the end and then you just turn around and go back again.
As usual, my plan is to make short work of the return journey on these “out-and-back” hikes because I’ve already seen everything and don’t need to stop for photos. It’s amusing how I can fool myself on that every single time, but how was I to know that I would spot a dead bog lemming on the way back? Beatrix Potter sometimes used dead animals to make her sketches, so I had to get a photo just in case it would inspire me.
And also, how was I to know that a trio of interesting birds would come along and pose for me? (I took about 15 photos but they didn’t understand the concept of showing me their best side.)
Finally, one turned around
Or that one of those flighty, but beautiful dragonflies would sit still long enough for me to take a photo? Life is unpredictable.
When we got back to the bog entrance, I had this idea that the rest of the way around Ludlow Pond was tediously long, so I turned right to go back the way we came. “Lynn, we need to go the other way,” my husband said. “Oh no, I’m not – I’ll meet you back at the car,” I said determinedly. “But we’ve already come more than halfway around Ludlow Pond,” he informed me, “You’ll be walking farther if you go that way.” Have I mentioned before that map reading is not my strength? Good grief!
Knee score: 1 out of 10. Very level ground.
Unless a bog lemming tells me not to, I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
As I said before, we had to pack up our stuff in the rain when we left Hayes Lake State Park. Those of you who have done this know what I’m talking about. It’s not the ideal way to break down camp, but needs must. (That’s the way they used to say things in the 1800’s – quaint, isn’t it?). With our soggy belongings tucked into the car and the car-top carrier, we drove up to Warroad to wait out the rain, not wanting to do the next hike at Zippel Bay State Park until it stopped raining. The weather app kept promising times when the rain system would be past us FOR SURE, but the weather system itself proved that things aren’t always that predictable. After some hot drinks and some reading downtime, we decided to go to ZBSP and take our chances.
Zippel Bay State Park is way, way, up north in Minnesota, hugging part of the shore of Lake of the Woods, which comprises part of the boundary between the U.S. and Canada. When we got to the park, it was still raining, but by the time we got to the place where the trail started, it had stopped. Thank you, Lord!
The first part of the 1.5 mile trail was literally just walking along the beach, a first for us. The lake had a misty look about it, so the atmosphere was quite enchanting.
I picked up a stone that I thought looked like an arrowhead. I’ve always wanted to find an arrowhead and this might the closest I get to it.
We had decided to wear our full rain gear just in case it started raining again, and it’s a good thing we did. Once we came off the beach to walk on the inland portion of the trail, the mosquitos scented us out like insect bloodhounds and were hot on our trail the whole time after that. Our rain coats are made from strong stuff – no mosquito can pierce it. Of course, they figured out fairly quickly that our faces and hands were still fair game. Captain Picaridin helped, but didn’t eliminate the threat completely.
We sped things up a bit to keep ahead of our pursuers, so once again, we didn’t really stop much to identify flowers and plants. This was one of those “out and back again” trails where you just retrace your steps once you get to the end.
We tried to avoid the inland portion of the trail on the way back but discovered that you couldn’t actually do the whole trail on the beach. Oh well. I saw a little snake on our way back and whipped out my phone to get a photo, but the snake was on to me and all I got was the tail end.
Look carefully – it’s like “where’s Waldo?” except you’re looking for a snake tail. You can do it!
When we finished, Kris wanted our selfie to include the lake, and even the ship that was way out on the water and looked tiny from where we stood. Fortunately, we just couldn’t get that ship in the frame with us. And why is that fortunate, you ask? Kris posited that if it was a drug running ship, they’d have been watching us through telescopes and if we’d caught their illegal activity accidentally with our camera, they’d have had to set their dogs after us and silence us. What a fate we barely missed! (I’m not the only one in the family with an active imagination, you see.)
We didn’t see anything, we promise!
Five hikes done out of the seven planned for this week. Yay! Next stop: Big Bog State Recreation Area, where we’ll be camping for the night and doing the hike in the morning.
Knee Score: 2 out of 10. Short, mostly level hike, but sand is tricky to walk on. Plus we went off script and had to do a little scrambling around on large rocks.
I’ll probably delete this with my raincoat on in the morning.
Continuing stories of the camping/hiking trip we took in June.
We left the idyllic realm of Lake Bronson and made our way over to Hayes Lake State Park. Like Lake Bronson, Hayes Lake was a created lake, but the way the park pamphlet describes it, it sounds like a government takeover. “…one of the first developments was to create Hayes Lake by impounding the north fork of the Roseau River.” What? You can impound a river fork? Also, “the land around the lake was once a collection of private homesteads that has been returned to the forest.” Was the forest asking for it back? Smells like eminent domain to me, but that’s not a discussion that falls into the purview of this narrative. So, back to business.
Our weather apps informed us solemnly that rain was on the horizon and we wanted to get our campsite set up before it came. Just as we were sitting down in the screen tent after getting everything up, the rain started to come down. We exchanged triumphant looks, but we triumphed too soon. We discovered something interesting now about our new screen tent. It kept out the insect riff raff, but not the rain, sadly. It has a canopy at the top so we moved our chairs toward the middle in the hopes of staying dry. Hope got soaking wet, so we abandoned ship and retreated to the tent where the tent fly kept the inside nice and dry. We stayed in our little ark for awhile, reclining and reading on our cots – not a bad way to spend the afternoon, actually. By the time suppertime came around, the skies were relatively clear and our excellent chef got to work. He also does the dishes while we’re camping, so I can’t recommend him highly enough. Sadly for you, he’s taken.
A couple little squirrels entertained us while we ate, chittering loudly, chasing each other and occasionally looking like they wanted to come into the screen tent where they might get tasty tidbits. We spent a surprising amount of time considering what names to give them, surprising considering the small length of time we’d be in relationship with them. We tossed around a few ideas: “Al” for “Squirr-al,” or just “Squittle,” which is the way Brian Jacques pronounced “squirrel” when reading aloud one of his Redwall audiobooks. I heard one squirrel say to the other “Humans are weird.” It is so.
“Don’t call me Al”
All that lovely rain had given birth (so it seemed) to an army of mosquitos by which I was plagued all night in our tent, so I didn’t get much sleep and was decidedly grumpy in the morning. Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward; I went into silent and moody mode. We started out on the hike around 6:00 a.m. and it began to rain. Perfect! I always appreciate it when circumstances line up with my mood, so I leaned heavily into the sense that life had wronged me terribly.
Poor Kris attempted a little light conversation, but I was still invested in a bad attitude, so we finished the hike in silence. Sometimes I think my husband ought to receive extra crowns in heaven for his longsuffering with my occasional moodiness.
Eventually, I came out of my funk (the Holy Spirit having been tugging on my conscience), made things right with Kris and was restored to the general sense of cheer that usually characterizes me. We packed up in the pouring rain, but I had a much lighter heart. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…
As for the hike, I took very few photos and hardly looked around at anything, my primary goal being to get the two-mile hike done as quickly as possible. In fact, for only the second time since we started these hikes, we both completely missed the password and had to ask one of the park rangers later.
I need to absolve Hayes Lake State Park of any wrongdoing, but I could hardly wait to shake the dust of it off my feet.
Knee score: 1-2 out of 10. Very level trail.
This blog post has wronged you terribly – I shall delete it in the morning.
Lynniebeemuseoday 