After the hike at Schoolcraft SP, we made our way to Scenic State Park where we’d camp overnight and tackle the 2.9-mile hike in the morning.

With our cots, mattresses and sleeping bags, it’s quite a comfortable experience usually – home away from home.

We had a nice spot, not too far from the bathroom (very important consideration!), but right in the thick of Mosquito Metropolis. Have you ever seen the Star Trek movie “The Wrath of Khan?” This is relevant, trust me. There’s a point at which Khan is full of frustration about Captain Kirk and says, wrathfully, “He tasks me. He TASKS me!” Oh, those mosquitos – they TASK ME!

In spite of that we had a lovely meal of ribeye steak, sour cream and chive mashed potatoes, and green beans. Can God set a table in the wilderness? Why yes, He can.

As we drifted off to sleep that night, we were aware of the constant and rhythmic chorus of frogs, surprising loud, but nice music for sleeping. We both woke up in the night to hear the haunting songs of loons on the lake. It’s a stirring experience. Back in the day, I wrote a short poem about it:

When evening comes to call,
The wind begins to fall.
The tent gives an invitation,
The loons cry in elation.

We got started the next morning bright and not too early by 8:30 a.m. after breakfast. It was 64 degrees, cool enough, but with a clinging humidity. Thoughts of Lord of the Rings are never far from my husband as we do these hikes, evidenced by his getting us off to a festive start by chanting, “They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard, they’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!” I really love this man.

We were in the same conditions as yesterday in the sense that it was dangerous to stop too long to take photos, but as we went through a boggy area, Kris began identifying a few plants and flowers using Picture This, so I took some photos, too: purple alder and yellow marsh marigold.

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I took a photo of my reflection in the water and thought about the Robert Louis Stevenson poem “Looking-Glass River,” one stanza of which reads:

We can see our colored faces
Floating on the shaken pool
Down in cool places,
Dim and very cool;

We started on the second leg of the trail, a largely uphill trek on a peninsula between the two lakes Coon and Sandwick.

Friends, let me be honest: I had a bad attitude about the humidity, the ascent, the difficult effort, my labored breathing and most of all, the mosquitos. “In everything give thanks, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus,” came to my mind and I felt convicted. I’ve often been inspired by Corrie Ten Boom’s story about when she and her sister were in a concentration camp during WWII. Their crowded building was overrun with lice, which she complained about (she didn’t say, “They TASK me!” but it was probably something very similar). Her sister Bessie, reminded her that they were to give thanks to God in everything, even the lice. Corrie had a hard time joining Bessie in this prayer, but soon they discovered that the guards avoided their barracks because of the lice, giving them the freedom to have Bible studies and sing God’s praises.

Can I be thankful for mosquitos? Why yes, I can. It takes some imagination, though. I began contemplating the idea that mosquitos are a reminder that the enemy wants our blood, our souls, our lives. He prowls about as a roaring lion, (whining mosquito) seeking whom to devour. But death where is thy sting? Little insect, where is thy sting? Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ! Christ bore the suffering of the cross to redeem my soul – can I not bear up under the small suffering of mosquitos?

Feeling somewhat fortified in soul, though still weary in body, I turned my mind toward a favorite hymn, “This is My Father’s World.”

This is my Father’s world,
And to my list’ning ears
All nature sings, and round me rings
The music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world;
I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas –
His hand the wonders wrought.

It was time to get out of my head and look at the wonders around me. Thank you, Lord, for majestic cedar trees, for a corridor of towering red pines, for higher elevations where the mosquitos don’t go, for quiet lakes, for a kayak slicing through the water, for a wooden stairway in the wilderness, for legs that can still walk, for a heart that still beats, for lungs that still breathe, for my handsome and faithful hiking companion… Good theology is very cheering and encouraging.

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We headed back from our place at the point of the peninsula and I took a few more photos. There’s a lot of posters and cute photos of animal babies, but I think plant babies are really neglected. I submit to you that flora babies are just as sweet and adorable as fauna babies. Maybe not as cuddly, though.

When we got back to the campsite, I sat in the car with the AC on for about 10 minutes. It was heavenly.

The name “Scenic State Park” sets up some expectations and I think for the most part, the park delivered.

Knee Score: 7 out of 10.

Can I delete this in the morning? Why, yes, I can! But maybe won’t.

Next hike: McCarthy Beach State Park

Our raspberry patch has been thinning of late. The glory years yielded a bounty of 8-10 quarts, but the last few years have given only a quart or so at most. Raspberries give us jam and add lovely color and flavor to the chocolate raspberry ice cream that I often make. Some years ago a fellow with raspberry experience advised Kris to mow down half of our raspberry patch each year to encourage good growth the next year. Hah! We did it once and it took our patch a few years to recover from that. The raspberries themselves are eager to expand but keep coming up in our lawn and we’ve been reluctant to let the patch take over that part of the lawn. What to do?

It seems obvious that we should get new stock and plant some more. But it’s such a shame to keep mowing over the new plants that are already coming up. As you may know, raspberries spread through a root system underground. It’s not easy to dig up these fledgling plants and transplant them because it necessitates cutting them off from the mother plant, but I gave it a try anyway. Results below are pretty much what I expected.

Then we had an eureka moment. What if we dig up the new babies, separate them from the grass, put the grass back, and plop the little dears into jars where they could establish new roots and then be transplanted? So it has begun.

I’ll keep you updated on the results of this very scientific experiment. Very sciencey.

I’ll probably uproot this post in the morning.

The 2023 hiking season got off to a mosquito-y start. Even as I type this, the little devils are circling around me as I sit at the picnic table, whining and landing on my knuckles, the only unprotected part of my flesh.

But never mind about all that. Our first hike took us to Schoolcraft State Park, or, as I think of it, “O. Henry Schoolcraft State Park.” Although the park was only created in 1959, Henry Schoolcraft made his appearance in this area in 1832 as he did some investigative research into the mystery of where the Mississippi River headwaters were. I’ve written about that already in my post about Itasca State Park, which you can read HERE. He was unsuccessful in getting that park named after him, but maybe he’d be pleased to know that another state park bears his name. Or maybe he’d feel abashed and dismayed. Here’s a photo of him from back in the day.

We didn’t arrive at the park until around 1:50 p.m. and started off on the 1.8 mile hike by 2:00 after getting all our hiking gear on. The park was deserted except for us and a million mosquitos. We lathered up with DEET-less mosquito spray and hoped for the best. I read somewhere that mosquitos are attracted to certain blood types. If so, my blood is clearly of gourmet restaurant quality to them. Have I said too much about mosquitos?

The hike itself was very pleasant, as far as I could tell, although you should ask my husband for details. I was walking through it very rapidly to get ahead of the little offenders who shall not be named again. They found me anyway. The path was level and nicely lined with pine needles.

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We saw some early spring ephemerals along the way and for part of the trail we walked along the Mississippi River.

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I stopped occasionally for a quick photo, fighting off the enemy as best I could.

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The trail is called the “Old Grand Rapids Tote Road,” which was constructed more than 100 years ago. Just think how many feet have walked that path! We made our way through many stands of pine tress and the occasional grouping of oaks. A flicker of movement ahead at one point alerted us to the departure of two deer, their white tails winking out of sight in the distance. Nice.

For awhile our hike was accompanied by a very loud bird that sounded as if it was at a baseball game and its team was losing. Assuming you’re tired of seeing the flawless and beautiful close-ups that actual nature photographers get, you’ve come to the right place. I like to think my photos are still somewhat artsy in their clumsiness. Don’t burst my bubble.

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We came across a lone park employee in a four-wheeler. He spoke to us about the only really important topic of the day: Mosquitos. You didn’t really think I wouldn’t name them again, did you? His words of wisdom to us were that they weren’t really bothering him since there was a nice breeze. I added, “as long as you keep moving,” and he came back with, “or as long as the breeze keeps moving.” It was quite a sparkling conversation in the wilderness. I noted that his tee-shirt said something about rhubarb on it, signaling that he was probably born and bred in Minnesota. He went on his mosquito-less way.

Not long after that, we saw the most beautiful sight of all: our shiny blue car, all sparkling in the sunlight. A haven from mosquitos! A blessed tiny world with air conditioning!

The Schoolcraft State Park people might read this and feel that I have misrepresented the experience of being at their park. I think that’s a fair complaint. If you take away the whiny insect component of the park, it was quite lovely. If you go, bring your best friend, DEET. You won’t be sorry.

Knee score: 1 out of 10. Level and short.

P.S. A post-script about mosquito bites and their remedies. I thought I’d tried them all (with varying degrees of success) until I began seeing ads for something called “The Bug Bite Thing.” I mean, why complicate your product by giving it a name that doesn’t get right to the heart of the matter? We saw one at a gas station on the way up and decided to give it a try. The idea is that you suction out of the bite whatever irritating thing the mosquito puts in your skin to make it so itchy. You have to do it right away for the best result. I’m always desperate for ways to alleviate the torturous itching that I get from those bites. I’d say the results were mixed. If you use it right away after getting the bite, it does the trick! But that’s often not practical, and sometimes while you’re trying to suction away one bug bite, the mosquitoes are busy making more.

I’ll probably suction the juices out of this post in the morning.

Next hike: Scenic State Park

This one is for my friend, Sherri, who deals with chronic pain due to neuropathy. She’s always so cheerful when I see her – I don’t think I’d deal with my pain half so well. Now I need to put this one in the mail for her.

If you want to participate in the Lazy Artist Initiative, you can comment on this post and I’ll send you a small watercolor – if I know you. 😊 It might take me awhile, but I’ll get there.

I’ll probably delete this and fly off as a butterfly in the morning.

I put the word “poem” right in the title, so those of you who don’t really want to read poetry have been forewarned.

Dandelion
Spick and spandy
Yellow dandy.
Wax and wane,
Lion’s mane.
Young and mellow,
Buttery yellow.
Cottony fluff,
Gone in a puff.

I wanted to do a poetic shortening of “buttery,” but somehow “butt’ry” just looked weird and unacceptable.

You’ve been poemed now for the day. You’re welcome.

I’ll probably delete this spick and spandy in the morning.

Next up was the opportunity to be involved in a group that was sponsoring the showing of an evangelistic film called “Heaven’s Heroes” in Rochester. Local churches were being asked to participate in all aspects of bringing this film to town: fundraising, prayer, logistics, advertising and general PR, etc. “Me! Pick me!” I said in my newfound zeal to say “yes” to everything. I had hoped to be slotted into the organization as a minion taking orders. Instead I found out that I was to be in charge of advertising and PR. Oh boy. I had to take hold of that adage again and remind myself that “God is more interested in availability than He is in ability.” I had never been involved in promoting anything before and I’m not a tremendously outgoing person either. My idea of sales is to say “You probably don’t want that thing that I’m trying to sell you. I’m sorry I asked.” So, ability level zero. But I was very available!

We started out many months in advance of the one-day showing of the movie. A group of us met with the local contact from Mustard Seed Productions and the plan was to meet regularly with updates on our progress. Somehow I accrued a couple minions for my committee and we met separately to put together a strategy of PR. It was a big job and we spent some time making lists of things to do, people and churches to contact, media resources, etc. So far, so good.

Then we all went to a sneak preview showing of the movie. I don’t know how else to say this: it was awful. The production value was embarrassingly bad, the plot was overly simplistic, the script was phony sounding, and the acting was worse (excepting perhaps the main actress who was a professional and had appeared in a series on TV). The best you could say was that the intended goal of reaching people for Christ was a sincere one. I was filled with a heavy ambivalence about the whole thing after watching it. On the one hand, people kept saying, “If even one person comes to the Lord it’s worth it all!” Yes, I could see that. I was a relatively new Christian and hesitated to stick my neck out with opinions about the quality of the product. But it was going to make my role in promoting the film a difficult one. My heart just wasn’t in it anymore. I felt I should keep my negativity to myself. I couldn’t just quit after I’d committed to it anyway. Right? I needed to let my “yes be yes and my no be no.” No way out of this one. Sigh.

Then I went to the Urbana Missions conference and connected up with a fellow named Kris whom I’d known in college. He had approached me shortly before the conference with an interest in dating me, so ooh la la! I was happy to meet up with him there and eventually told the whole story to him about my involvement with “Heaven’s Heroes.” He was a much more mature Christian than I was and I was pretty sure he would sympathize with my plight but urge me to stay faithful to my commitment. After I finished talking about it, he said, “I think you should quit the project.” WHAT???? A little ray of hope sprang up in my heart. He went on to explain that I had committed to it before seeing the movie and in view of my personal distaste for the movie, I wasn’t doing the team any favors by sticking with it out of a misplaced sense of duty. His own conviction was that Christians need to have a culture of excellence in everything they do and we should not be characterized by shoddy workmanship.

It all made sense and lightened my heart considerably, but I was still faced with the problem of how to exit graciously. He agreed that I shouldn’t just walk off, but counseled me to pray that God would provide a replacement for my role, which would be a confirmation of my decision to leave. I prayed about it and then after I got back, I asked one of the guys on my committee if he’d consider stepping up to the job. He agreed to it enthusiastically without the slightest hesitation. Truth be told, his personality and skills were far better suited to the task than mine were. I had decided that rather than tell people that I hated the movie, I would just let everyone know that I was unable to finish out my part on the project due to some other commitments in my life (which wasn’t an untruth, it just wasn’t the whole truth).

I went to one last group meeting and explained that I’d be leaving, apologized for backing out of the project, and introduced the new head of PR. The man in charge of things could tell I felt bad and mouthed the words “We still love you” which made me feel better (and yet worse because I hadn’t told them everything). I was grateful for God’s provision of a substitute for me, grateful to be freed from what had become a real burden, and truly grateful for the lovely group of people committed to bringing the gospel to Rochester, albeit through a flawed medium.

I was long gone out of Rochester by the time the film came to town, having gotten engaged and moved to the city where we’d be living after we got married. I don’t really know what impact “Heaven’s Heroes,” had on the community, but I hoped and prayed that the Lord used it in spite of its weaknesses to draw others to Himself. And although I wasn’t done volunteering for things, I had learned a good lesson about being more careful and discerning about what I said “yes” to.

I’ll probably delete this bit of shoddy workmanship in the morning!

If you want to start at the beginning of this series, here you go:
Adventures Part 1

Next adventure:
Adventures Part 10

I guess that’s what we’re calling the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum these days: The Arb. Whatever. I’ll let the photos from our time there today do all the talking.

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Don’t tell my family members that I stuck a photo of them on my blog without asking permission. Shhh…

I’ll probably delete this in the arb.

When we went out West for two weeks recently, I carefully packed up almost all my watercolor painting supplies. They came with us everywhere and came back to our house feeling rather ignored, although I did get them out once to finish the last page of the watercolor travel journal I attempted in 2021, which took me about 15 minutes. Two years’ procrastination for a 15-minute project – not bad for a professional procrastinator such as myself.

I promised to do a small watercolor for those who are participating in the “Lazy Artist Initiative” and I shall fulfill my end of the deal, even if it takes me awhile. Here’s one for my friend Barb, which coordinated nicely with her birthday.

Inspiration for that little painting came from something similar that I saw on Pinterest – kudos to the original artist!

Next up: paintings for Teresa, Lori and Sherri – I have not forgotten! I appreciate the motivation and inspiration to paint, which I really do enjoy in spite of my lack of momentum. Onward!

The basil-eating bunny will eat this post in the morning.

We have a beauty contest going on in our yard without all the usual fanfare. There’s no press coverage, no assembled guests, and no ordinary music (we allow for the general music provided by the Great Conductor in the form of birds, insects and gentle breezes). Vying for the title of Miss Best Apple Tree are our three contestants: Miss Crabapple (who begs you not to be put off by her name), Miss Zestar and Miss Honeycrisp. Let’s listen in as these three beautiful contestants are interviewed by the emcee.

Emcee: Miss Crabapple, what can you tell us about yourself?
Miss C: Unlike these other two ladies who are alike enough to be twins, I have a unique presence in the yard. My brilliant pink blossoms are profuse and fragrant and in a much larger array than my competitors (God bless them, of course). Please note that I have also thoughtfully and with no apparent effort provided the pink carpet for this event.
Emcee: Can you tell us something about your fruit?
Miss C: As you probably know, I’m an ornamental fruit tree; my talents lie in other directions.
Emcee: Such as…
Miss C: I’m very proud of the fact that I play a big part in pollinating the flowers of these “little sisters” of mine so that they can bear fruit.
Emcee: That’s quite an accomplishment! Thank you, Miss Crabapple.

Emcee: And now we come to Miss Zestar, wearing a lovely white gown. Miss Zestar, how do you differentiate yourself from Miss Honeycrisp? As Miss Crabapple pointed out, you two look enough alike to be peas in a pod!
Miss Z: Well, to the discerning eye (no offense to my bulky friend Miss CRAB-apple), we are quite different. Although Miss Honeycrisp wears a fine plain white gown, it has none of the flair which attends mine in the form of these lovely pink highlights at the edges.
Emcee: I see. Do you have any particular talents that you’d like to mention?
Miss Z: I’m not just an ornamental tree, that’s for sure. Say what you will about the flowers, the proof is in the pudding, or in this case, in the fruit. I don’t like to brag (like SOME), but I was specially developed to bear fruit in these sometimes harsh northern climes and I’m known for my early ripening season. My deep red apples are crispy, light and sweet. Eat them fresh off the tree or use them in baked goods, desserts and salads. And people praise my apples for having a long shelf life. But I’m still just a humble little tree for all that.
Emcee: Depends on how you define “humble,” I guess. Thank you for your time.

Emcee: And now for our last contestant. Miss Honeycrisp, are we saving the best for last? What can you tell us about yourself?
Miss H: Thank you for including me in this illustrious contest. I feel a bit like the country mouse who came to the big city. I also want to thank Miss Crabapple for her efforts in pollinating my flowers. I couldn’t do what I do without her. As for Miss Zestar, she certainly dazzles with that pink accent on her flowers. I feel almost ashamed to come before you in my simple white gown. Perhaps the best thing I can tell you about myself is that I deliver the goods.
Emcee: What do you mean by that?
Miss H: Year after year I’ll give you fruit that’s consistently large, well-shaped, crisp and honey-sweet, and mostly blemish free. I’ve often felt bad for poor Miss Zestar who tries so hard but yet still ends up with misshapen fruit that is sometimes a little wormy, through no fault of her own. I know that her best efforts are quite good indeed.
Emcee: Do you ever encounter hardships yourself?
Miss H: Oh my, I could make you shiver with horror to describe the two years in a row that both Miss Z and I were positively ravaged by Japanese beetles. It was quite shocking and ruinous! Fortunately we were made to survive and I thank the Lord of All Apple Trees for His kindnesses to us.

Emcee: Well, that wraps up this portion of the contest. Let the votes come in!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning unless I’m too busy counting votes.

Well, the great day came when I finally graduated from the dietetic internship. I got a temporary job right away at St. Mary’s Hospital covering for the menu planning and food purchasing dietitian during her pregnancy leave, which meant I was going to be staying in Rochester for a time. A few friends had gotten a 2 bedroom apartment nearby and graciously allowed me to be the fourth roommate. I had been so busy during the internship that I hadn’t had a lot of time to do anything else for God and the church, so I made an expansive promise to the Lord that I would say “yes” to everything that came my way. This is the kind of promise that immature and undiscerning Christians make and I was to learn that the hard way.

I was still interested in doing a Bible study with the dietetic interns, so I invited a group of them over to our apartment to give it a try. I still didn’t really know what I was doing, but I’d been around long enough to hear the adage “God is more interested in availability than He is in ability.” So there! A few of the interns took me up on my invitation, which was exciting. I have absolutely no memory of what Bible study we did, but what did get seared into my brain at the first gathering was something one of the interns said during the discussion. She told us she wasn’t a Christian, but “when someone tells me they are a Christian, I watch them especially closely to see if how they live matches up with their claims.” Gulp. She had a way of staring at you that added to the whole feeling of being scrutinized. It was a bracing statement, but not an outrageous one. I have never forgotten that when I identify with Christ, I had better not take His name in vain by speaking or living in a way that dishonors Him.

Next up: a Petra concert was coming into town and various churches were looking for volunteers to help on the day of the concert. I found out that the band, Petra, wouldn’t come to a town unless they knew they had the prayer and support of local churches and they always made their concerts an evangelism opportunity. Look no further – my hand went up and I said “Yes.” I met with the group before the concert and discovered that volunteers were expected to be available to counsel, pray with and keep in touch with anybody who responded to “altar call” at the end of the concert. Gulp. Really? I was tremendously nervous about this. We were given information on what kinds of things to say and pray and then were sent on our way (I’m liking the rhyme scheme in that sentence, by the way).

On the day of the concert, we met in a separate room to pray before the concert started. The band started playing while we still in the room – it was so loud that I could feel the music and drums reverberating in my chest. What had I gotten myself into? That was my inward thought, but outwardly, I was pretty cool about the whole thing. We went into the auditorium and fanned out so as to sit in different places throughout. To be honest, I was kind of dreading the end of the concert at this point, the whole altar call and my part, which was still a little fuzzy in my mind. Time doesn’t stand still for hesitant people, however, and after the last song, one of the band members gave a short gospel presentation, followed by an invitation to come forward. Kids started making their way up front and I was paralyzed in my seat. One of the other volunteers, Myla, was made of better stuff than I – she went by, saw me sitting still and exhorted me, “C’mon – go grab one!” I got caught up in the forward motion and found a couple high school girls waiting up front for someone, so I prayed for courage and “grabbed” them. They were very earnest in their desire to follow Christ and after speaking briefly to them, I helped them through some sort of prayer, or maybe I prayed for them. We exchanged contact information and I found out they both lived in Wisconsin. I felt pretty exhilarated after the experience – my first time helping someone come to Christ!! But in my follow up calls (which I also dreaded), I discovered that there was big difference between the emotional moment of the altar call experience and the follow through after some time went by. Both of the girls were fairly lukewarm by the time I talked to them a week later and seemed embarrassed to be contacted by me. After a couple awkward phone conversations, it was clear they really didn’t want to pursue this new “faith” that they’d claimed to have. I quit calling. That was a big learning experience for me in many ways, but I still hadn’t learned to be a little more discerning about what I volunteered for. More stories to come!

I volunteer to delete this in the morning.

If you want to start at the beginning of this series, here you go:
Adventures Part 1
If you want to go to the next installment:
Adventures Part 9

I spent all my summers as a child running around barefoot. At the beginning of warmer weather, my winter-softened feet always needed toughening up, but by the end of the summer, I could tolerate just about any kind of surface – with the exception of burning hot asphalt.

I’m trying to remember when I stopped going barefoot outside in the summer, but I’m sure it was well into adulthood when I started feeling like I needed sandals on every time I went outside. My feet are in a permanent state of wimpy tenderness and I suppose I don’t have the patience to toughen them up anymore.

Recently a friend told me about something called “grounding,” which I’d never heard of. Within a week, I ran across a couple more references to it and then last week when I went for a walk barefoot with my husband, some young neighbors of ours called out “Oh, I see you’re grounding!”

Clearly there’s some sort of trend going on. I looked it up and here’s some information:
“Grounding, also known as earthing, is when humans make an electrical connection to the earth’s energies. The simplest form involves walking barefoot in the grass, dirt or sand.” The benefits of grounding are that it may:
Reduce inflammation
Reduce cortisol
Increase energy
Increase healing speed
Decrease pain
Restore balance to the body

I’m not sure if there are any rigorous studies to back up those claims, but I kind of like the idea of having some barefoot time outside every day again. Except on burning hot asphalt.

I’ll be stomping on this post with my bare feet in the morning.