Don’t tell me you haven’t been to Gooseberry Falls State Park yet – c’mon! It’s a very popular place in Minnesota, as evidenced by the crowded parking lot and oodles of people there the day we went for our hike. We’d been there several times with our children and always to see the falls. Who knew there were hiking trails? The hiking club trail was a mere 2.2 miles and although it was only 43 degrees, it was mostly clear and sunny. We made a short stop in the amazingly large visitor center/gift shop and then set out to leave the crowd behind.

As usual, I’m pretty peppy at the beginning of a hike and all full of enthusiasm about taking photos. It’s all interesting at that point and I know enough now to realize that by the end of the hike I’ll be passing by the same things with nary a glance.

Soon we were rewarded with soul-filling views of Lake Superior.

As we walked along, we came to a place where you could see up the shore a ways and my husband broke into song. It’s true! It was a rousing little ditty he’d learned in his camp years about the rocky shores of Lake Superior. I wish you could have been there – it made the hike quite epic.

Along the way, we noticed little fenced enclosures here and there. Kris went to investigate and discovered that these were cribs for cute little baby white pines. Awww… We speculated that the fences were to keep deer from eating them.

Later on we passed one with a rambunctious teenage white pine in it, straining to get out.

This is the way of the world. You raise them up with prayer and protective boundaries and then one day, the fence has to come down and you have to let them face the dangers of the world on their own. But you still pray; you always pray.

Near the end of the trail, we found a cozy bench and sat down to enjoy our repast of a Clif bar and some water.

Some large birds of prey were circling overhead and Kris said nobly that if they flew down and grabbed me with their talons, he’d hold onto me and not let go. Who needs chocolates on Valentine’s Day if you can get a nitty gritty declaration of love like that?

We mused about how if those were large eagles, one of them would be Gwaihir, and this could be like the scene in Lord of the Rings when Frodo and Sam are stranded on Mount Doom after throwing the ring in, with the mountain crumbling down around them. Kris looked at me and said, “I’m glad to be with you here, at the end of all things.” No chocolates needed.

Another 2.2 miles down, 16.4 miles accumulated toward the first 25-mile patch. Next stop: Tettegouche State Park, just up the road apiece.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Next Hike: Tettegouche State Park

We planned an ambitious weekend: 3 hikes in two days: Banning State Park, Gooseberry Falls State Park and Tettegouche State Park. (Those of you who are clever will have deduced that there will be two more blog posts coming.) We’re really getting the hang of this thing! Banning State Park is the site of a former sandstone quarry, and part of the Hiking Club hike follows an abandoned railroad track from the Short Line of the St. Paul-Duluth Railroad that used to carry sandstone to the Twin Cities. (William Banning was president of that railroad company, so now you know important things.) We picked up a self-guided trail pamphlet at the park office and began the 2.6 mile hike which would also take us right by the Kettle River.

The trails were named Trillium Alley, Cartway Trail and Quarry Loop. On the day we were there, they would have been more aptly named Falling Red Leaf Alley:

Muddy Rut Trail:

and the Pine Needle Carpet Loop:

The act of naming is a dominion task and I wanted to take what little dominion I could.

There were numbered posts along the way, each one corresponding to a section of the pamphlet we picked up, so we dutifully stopped at each one and read the information.

In between these educational moments, we chatted about how quite a few of our friends or rellys have indicated an interest in joining us on a hike. This got us wondering if we could use the hikes as a springboard for an interesting talk show, much like Jerry Seinfeld’s “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee.” We could call it “Hikers in Boots Getting Tired.” It has potential, don’t you think?

We came to a sign that directed us to Hell’s Gate Rapids – it would take us off the official hiking club trail but seemed well worth it, considering we’d finally be right down by the river. Plus, the name “Hell’s Gate Rapids” arouses a certain amount of curiosity. The pamphlet told us that it was named by loggers who “struggled with many log jams in the narrow passageway.” It’s also supposed to be one of the state’s most challenging and dangerous river experiences for kayaks and canoes. We stopped along the way to sit on a rock by the riverside and partake of a trail bar (an important tip we picked up from Dave and Julie last time).

The hike to Hell’s Gate Rapids was definitely more rugged and challenging and when we finally got there, it didn’t seem like the rapids in front of us could possible be considered a hell’s gate. We either didn’t go far enough, or it’s a lot more hellish at other times of the year. Both might be true, actually.

Back to the regular trail and more sandstone production and transportation trivia. It was rather fascinating to think of the bustle of activity at this site back in its heyday. One of the last places we passed was the old power house in which was the generator that powered the jack hammers. Kris thought Power House would be a good name for a church. I can almost hear Captain Jean-Luc Picard saying to someone “Make it so!”

At the end of the trail we had to climb up some steep stairs to get back to the parking lot and there ran into another hiker who was also looking for the parking lot, unsuccessfully. We stood around looking at the map, trying to guess which way to go, but then a young couple ambled by and pointed us in the right direction. We were up on a ridge by this time and heard and saw the roaring and roiling of Dragon’s Tooth Rapids below. If Hell’s Gate was worse than that, I had a new respect for it. And by the way, the rapids naming people really stepped up to the plate here at Banning, didn’t they?

Lest you think all we saw was the river and the old sandstone works, I want to note officially that there were lots and lots of trees as well (red and white pines and aspen). And boulders. And some plants and mushrooms. You get the idea.

I need to make an announcement that will surely cause wails of sorrow and denial from my loyal readers: I’m giving up on the Flora and Fauna collage. No amount of begging will change my mind (although I would be delighted if there was some). The only fauna photo I snagged at Banning was this one:

Those of you with small screens are probably wondering what this photo has to do with fauna, but if you look very carefully, you’ll see a small silhouette of a bird alighting on a branch. A bit of a step down after that deer photo at Whitewater. I’m admitting defeat and moving on.

We’ve now done 14.2 cumulative miles toward our first 25-mile patch!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

P.S. Thanks again to my B-I-L Rich for doing the traditional “Us By the Park Sign” photo editing. Too bad for him I’m not giving up on that one. 😉

Next Hike: Gooseberry Falls State Park

I can’t seem to resist taking photos of the birds on our bird feeder. At least you can see the eyes and beak on this one (see my earlier post “Face Off” if you want to know the backstory on that comment). Goldfinches are so strikingly handsome, aren’t they? At times there’s been a whole party of them on the feed sock:

I like how the bird on the bottom is looking right at the camera. If there was a thought bubble by her head, I think it would say “Sheesh – the paparazzi are here again.”

I’m actually a very poor bird caretaker, or should I say, a fair weather one. At the beginning of winter, I make vague promises to the bird world in general that I’ll keep their feeders filled during the long cold months when food is scarce. Then it gets really cold and all bets are off. They seem to survive my periodic neglect and don’t hold it against me. And God provides for them, even when I am forgetful and faithless. It’s hard to imagine a bird sitting in a tree fretting about where the next meal is going to come from.

Random meanderings on birds has been brought to you by…

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Somebody gave me a framed quote a long time ago: “To share with a friend is to see twice the beauty.” I’m here to tell you that’s not just a schmaltzy poster sentiment; it’s absolutely true. Our good friends, Dave and Julie, came along with us on our latest hike since we were going to be in their neck o’ the woods and they turned out to be wonderful hiking companions. We saw a double dose of beauty through their observant eyes. Come along with us and I’ll show you what I mean.

Photo editing: Rich Doll (again – he’s been infernally kind with my requests to stitch photos together). Dave and Julie came equipped with old ski poles for hiking sticks, clearly demonstrating that this was not their first rodeo. This was another 2.2 mile hike, but appearances, as we were to find out, are deceiving. When the description of the hike contains the phrases “climb to the bluff top” and “hike to the valley floor,” you know you’re going to be in for a workout.

I stopped to get a photo of a lovely flower and Julie said, “Oh, that’s called “Touch Me Not,” or “jewel weed.” She explained how the seed pods become engorged when mature and if you touch them, they explode. It turned out that hiking with Dave and Julie was like being with nature guides sharing actual wood lore. We took more frequent stops to investigate and identify things, but at my age the prospect of more frequent stops is a blessing. Bring it on.

Early on we came to a “bridge.” It looked somewhat unstable and perhaps would have been if the water were high and rushing, but it was a tranquil stream and we crossed over without incident.

I think if I’d been holding a ski pole, however, I would not have been able to resist the temptation to strike the bridge, calling out in stentorian tones “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!”

The path from there led us straight uphill for a time (imagine a lot of heavy breathing and you’ll get a good idea of the sounds above my boots). A bench appeared in the wilderness inviting us to stop for a spell. Dave wandered off through the high grass and found some deer beds – areas of flattened grass.

We entered back into a woodsy area and before long, someone spotted a deer or two. We froze in our tracks, reduced our voices to whispers and Dave got out his binoculars to get a closer look (does it surprise anyone that they brought binoculars?). I had my Nikon with me (finally!) and with the zoom lens managed to get a fairly decent photo of his head. Fauna picture: check.

Someone had built a charming tent out of branches – just my kind of thing. If we’d had time, I would love to have stopped there awhile sitting in the enclosure, reading, praying, thinking, taking photos, drawing… Maybe next time.

We did see a two-legged creature peering out from the branches at us, but he looked fairly harmless.

We came at last to the pinnacle of the hike: Coyote Point, a beautiful place to stand and look over the Whitewater River Valley. Glory to God in the highest!

After a learned discussion between Kris and Dave about different types of oak trees, it was time to start back down to the valley from whence we began. The trip down started with a narrow and steep stairway, one of those that you have to turn around to go down. Why did this make me nervous?

The rest of the downward path wasn’t nearly as steep and had a wooden stairway for much of the way, so let us pause and applaud the Herculean efforts of those who built steps into the side of a hill so that the rest of us could saunter down with relative ease.

As we walk downhill,
Boots clattering on wood,
The present blurs with the past
And I see them alongside us,
Hands from long ago
Cutting trees, moving stones
Digging dirt, placing boards.
And though they see me not,
I make mental salute.
Thank you.

We’d already seen so much on this hike that it hardly seemed possible there could be more, but on our way down, we went by a cave, which definitely needed investigating. Caves are so mysterious, aren’t they? A black, yawning hole whose depths cannot be penetrated with the eye. In my imagination, that blackness is inhabited by either a human skeleton or a wild beast whose eyes glow menacingly at you in the dark. I stayed back and took photos (imagination has made a coward of me more than once).

At the end of the trail, Julie fished a few yummy trail bars out of her pack and shared them, thus establishing herself as a Hiking Companion Extraordinaire. We still had some distance to walk to get back to the cars, but good conversation made the rest of the journey short and sweet. We loved this hike, not only for the beauty and diversity of the trail, but also for the company we kept.

“The works of the Lord are great, studied by all who have pleasure in them.” Psalm 111:2. I am learning how to study with pleasure instead of just plodding through with my eyes on the finish line.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Next Hike: Banning State Park

We pass by this park every Sunday on the way to church, so why not just leave a couple hours early and sneak a hike in? And lo, it came to pass.

We’ve been impressed with the quality of the state park signs. Once again, my esteemed and talented brother-in-law has taken two photos and made them one. He assures me this isn’t rocket science, but as far as I’m concerned it might as well be. Photo editing: Rich Doll.

Things got off to a great start, since the very first thing I saw when we pulled in was a group of wild turkeys. The elusive fauna at last!! No need to rely on photos of beetles or dead animals. What I should have done was rolled down the window verrryyyy quietly and taken the photo. Instead, I got out of the car and they all fled for the brush.

The office was closed, the park quiet and seemingly deserted, although we saw signs saying all the campsites were full. We set out on the Hiking Club trail, which was a Play in Three Acts: Hidden Pond Trail, Oak Tree Trail and Sumac Trail. Kind of gives you an idea of what to expect along the way, doesn’t it? It was overcast and the dense tree coverage made the air very close indeed, yet it was a mild 70 degrees, cloudy with a chance of mosquitos.

After passing several ersatz hidden ponds, we came across the real hidden pond (helpfully designated with a sign).

We tried to imagine what this area was like when the Wahpekuta people were the only ones living here. As we walked, the constant hum of insects lent a musical background to our conversation. Sakatah means “singing hills,” and what few little hills we trod up and down were certainly alive with the sound of music.

In no time at all, we were on the Oak Tree Trail, littered with acorns as a testament to its name.

We crunched along right over them and one of us said, “These acorns remind me of…” and the other one finished “…the skulls from the Paths of the Dead.” Great minds, right? When you’ve been married as long as we have, you no longer have to bother with finishing sentences. Kris thought the idea of acorns being the skulls of oak trees was poetry just waiting to happen, so I offer this up as a possibility:

We walked in heavy hiking boots,
The air was close, but sweet.
Acorns, the skulls of oak trees,
Lay strewn beneath our feet.

Needs work, but let’s not tarry. The transition to the Sumac Trail was subtle; the sumac didn’t jump out at us. By this time, we’d started speculating about why the Hiking Club wasn’t more “club-ish,” with group meetings, snacks and secret handshakes. Kris said, “Maybe there’s some cat poop out there,” which startled me out of my stupor. “Cat poop?” I inquired, vaguely shocked. “I said, ‘chat rooms,‘ not ‘cat poop.'” Well, shoot – that kind of thing also happens when you’ve been married as long as we have. It makes for very confusing (and amusing) conversation sometimes.

And now it’s time for the traditional flora and fauna collage. Ta da!

I’ve been a wee bit lazy about actually identifying the flora. Those brown blobs in the bottom photo are the turkeys. Sigh. Poor quality photos look even worse when cropped and enlarged, don’t they? That’s what I get for depending on my iPhone for every photo. Next time, I’m bringing the Nikon.

We finished the 2.2 mile hike in 45 minutes, record time.

But where was the lake of Sakatah Lake State Park? Hidden ponds will not suffice, and reasoning that there must be a lake, we drove around until we found it. Ahh…

We sat on a bench on the floating dock for awhile; a motor boat had just gone by and the resulting waves made the dock move gently up and down while the rhythmic sound of those waves hitting the shore provided the perfect soundtrack. “Let’s come down here every week before church and have a quiet time on the dock,” said one of us. The other agreed. And our boots made it unanimous.

Have you not known? Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. – Isaiah 40:28

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Next Hike: Whitewater State Park

My Grandma Lois died when I was just 11 years old and my entire knowledge of her at that time was that she wore glasses that made her eyes look huge, and every time she came over, she brought lemon drops. That’s a pretty slim biography, but in the way of 11 year olds, my horizons were small and I was still at the center of the universe.

When I was 35 years old I gave birth to twins and to commemorate this grand event, my mom gave me Lois’s old watch, one that she received probably when she was 18, over 100 years ago now. With the watch, she also gave me a photo of Lois wearing it on her wrist.

She’s on the right, standing with two people whom she undoubtedly knew well, but are not labeled in the photo (although I suspect that the gentleman is my Grandpa Harry’s cousin Ben). I was given the original wrist strap that came with it and the watch itself still works, an old fashioned wind-up contraption of delicate beauty.

When I received the watch, my life was in a special era of delightful chaos and I didn’t have a lot of time to reflect on the woman who wore it first. More’s the pity.

Five years ago, my mom sold the house I grew up in and moved to a small apartment. I inherited all the family history documents and photos that she had collected during her years of genealogical zeal. Down the basement it went, a heap of treasure that went unappreciated and uninvestigated. I’m amazed at my appalling lack of curiosity.

Last year I was finally roused from my stupor and began sorting through and organizing the family data and discovered real people lurking in the pages, looking out from the photos. I have original letters written to and from Lois when she was in college. The shadowy lemon-drop lady began to take on more definition.

By far my favorite story about Grandma Lois was this one that my mother wrote down: “One story that Dad told me about Mom, he told with undisguised delight, I assume because it concerned a rival for Lois’s affections, a boy called ‘Dad’ M________. He was a football player and bragged to Mom of his fitness by encouraging her to punch him in the stomach. She didn’t want to but he insisted (never dare Lois!) so she did, and knocked him out cold.

Oh Lois, I hardly knew ye…

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

The adventure continues…or at least it did three weeks ago. I’ve been on a writing hiatus due to traveling halfway across the nation and back (this sounds way better than the truth: I had plenty of time to write whilst we were on vacation but didn’t feel like it). We went to Nerstrand Big Woods State Park this time and I’ve got great news for those of you who thought that we were never going to get this right: we arrived at the park in the cool of the morning, around 8:30 a.m. ‘Twas sunny and 63 degrees – very inviting.

On our way there, a doe and two fawns crossed the road in front of us, which would have made for a great “fauna” photo, wouldn’t it? Use your imagination – that’s all the picture you’re going to get.

My photographer brother-in-law worked his magic on the two photos I sent him and produced this photo which looks for all the world like we asked someone to take a picture of us together in front of the sign. This is how I solved my technological problems from last time: asking someone else to do it. Thanks, Rich!

At 2.2 miles, this was our shortest hike yet. The play area at the beginning brought out my husband’s inner child, as you can see below.

Mere seconds after taking that photo, his inner child fell off the log, but he sprang up with alacrity, wiped the dust off his clothes and was just like new. If I hadn’t mentioned it on a public blog, we could just pretend it never happened, but this was probably the most exciting part of the hike, so I had to include it.

Big Woods Park has what they call a “hidden falls,” which certainly adds to the mystique of the place. In actuality, the path leads you right to it and you’d have to be blind not to see it, but kudos to the PR team at Big Woods for coming up with that description. I suppose back in the early days, the falls (without handy paths leading to it) truly was hidden. At any rate, we came, we saw and we conquered those falls.

Along the way, we came up with a new form of selfie (like the world really needed one, right?). Behold, the shadow selfie, or “shadow-ie!”

I’ve challenged myself to get a Flora/Fauna photo on each hike, but man, the fauna stay well hidden at these parks. I suspect it has something to do with the amount of noise we make as we hike. Nevertheless, I persist.

By including this unassuming beetle as a legitimate representation of fauna, I submit that this one small step for a beetle, one giant leap for beetle-kind.

After we’d walked for quite a while, I figured we were close to the end and it was at that time that we saw a marker which indicated the halfway point. This seems to be a habit with me. One of my favorite signs, however, was this one:

This would be a fine addition to my relationships if I could just find a way to post a sign like this as a warning on those days when I’m feeling like a sensitive plant. It really says everything that needs to be said, doesn’t it? On the other hand, perhaps it would be better for me to remember these fine words from the pen of Solomon: “A man’s wisdom gives him patience; it is to his glory to overlook an offense.” That’s definitely better for my sanctification than making people stay on the boardwalk in my emotional landscape. I’m glad we got that settled.

I saw a glint of sunlight catching on something that seemed to be in midair and when we investigated, we saw a huge spiderweb that went between two trees, perhaps 15 feet long. This photo doesn’t tell the whole story but if you extrapolate in your mind, you might be able to see the whole thing (it’s an imagination IQ test):

We landed back at the beginning about an hour after we started and have now accumulated 7.2 miles. Further up and further in!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Next Hike: Sakatah Lake State Park

It’s not often we get invited to a beheading event, so when friends of ours asked us if we wanted to observe the process of butchering chickens, we jumped at the chance. Wouldn’t you? Years ago, Kris and I had been interested in growing our own chickens, but we were growing so many children, it seemed a little overwhelming (to me) to add livestock into the mix. However, there was a lingering appeal to raising chickens the Joel Salatin way (https://youtu.be/TfT49gaiktg) and we recently found out that we had friends who were living the Salatin dream, albeit on a small scale. We’re both city slickers, so this was a great opportunity to find out how it’s done.

Don’t read any more of this if you don’t want to know all the gory details, which involves both blood AND guts. I’m giving you fair warning: if you’re the squeamish type, find the nearest exit. The rest of you can follow me around for the tour.

On the Day of Execution, we showed up at the appointed time wearing clothes that we wouldn’t mind getting blood spattered if it came to that. I only had one notion tucked into my brain about killing chickens and it involved a chopping block and chickens running around with their heads cut off. Silly me. Actually, I had two notions, the other one being that I didn’t intend being the one to deliver the short, sharp shock (a little Gilbert and Sullivan reference for those of you in the know).

The chickens were clucking contentedly in their little chicken tractor when we arrived. One of them was a rogue male who had accidentally been part of their chick shipment. He was a beauty, but scrawny and not destined for the dinner table.

We found out that it takes about 8 weeks to go from chick to chopping block. In that time, they had all become fat little buffers living on chicken feed, grass, water, sunshine and good animal husbandry practices.

When the scalding water got up to temperature, the moment of truth had arrived. One of these plump little hens was chosen, placed upside down in the chicken hopper, its head firmly grasped and the throat deftly cut. The whole process was very quick and humane. It took a couple minutes to allow the blood to drain out into a bucket and for the chicken to settle (the post-death convulsions are a real thing).

On to the scalding pot! Chickens come with these great little handles with which to hold them upside down. The scalding process is to loosen the feathers.

Once a wing feather can be easily plucked off without resistance (this usually takes less than a minute in the hot water), the bird can go into the de-feathering thingy, which is the slickest piece of machinery you can imagine. It’s filled with little rubber “fingers” that essentially pluck the feathers off while the chicken is bounced around and in 20-30 seconds, you have a naked bird, ready for gutting. Take a moment to appreciate the sheer genius of this labor-saving device. You can bet our friends appreciated it.

Okay, how much of this do you want to see? In for a penny, in for a pound, right? Those handles that came in so handy had served their purpose and were the first things to go. I’ve seen jars of chicken feet at the grocery store, so I know that it must be a delicacy for some people, but when we were offered some, I declined. They probably would have been good for making broth, but I don’t think I’m ready for the sight of chicken feet floating around in my pan. City slicker.

The head and tailbone are cut off and then you’ve gotta be willing to get your hands dirty and pull the guts and lungs out. The whole process took about 10 minutes from hopper to cooler. If you’re a meat eater (and I definitely am), it’s actually a good idea to know from whence it comes and how it got to your table.

Before we left, Kris took a turn at being Lord High Executioner (more Gilbert and Sullivan), so if we decide to do the thing, that’s been added to his skill set. And I’ve established that I can stand around taking photos, so we’re all set!

All in all, it was a good educational experience and my hat’s off to our friends who have decided to strengthen their connection between the farm and the table and to exercise good stewardship in the process. And not only that, they’re giving us a chicken for our table – that’s an exceedingly good gift!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

We’re making great strides (ha ha) on our hiking club adventures. I’m thinking about blogging through each hike we do so that you, dear reader, can live a life of hiking vicariously through us. You’re welcome. The challenge is to make boring stuff interesting – you can let me know if I succeed.

This time we went to Rice Lake State Park, where the hike of 2.4 miles was going to bring us through “diverse areas,” and “along the lakeshore.” This sounded promising. There were even hints of being able to see waterfowl – the elusive fauna! You may recall that last time I said we had learned a lesson about doing these mid-summer hikes early in the morning before it got too hot. I lied about that – we did not learn. In spite of fairly good intentions laced with vague goals, we didn’t arrive at the park until 1:15 p.m. – it was 80 degrees and Minnesota humid. Go ahead and groan and shake your heads. We deserve it. We did bring our water bottles with us, though.

I was going to stitch those two photos together so it would look like we were in front of the sign at the same time, but it involved technology and I wasn’t motivated enough.

We both brought knapsacks but I didn’t end up using mine, since it occurred to me that there was no reason for BOTH of us to carry one. Fortunately, this also occurred to my husband, who valiantly offered to be my beast of burden. I’m pretty sure that had we met in our high school years, he would have been the boy who offered to carry my books. I love that chivalry still exists and Kris has got the full measure of it.

Off we went, along the aforementioned lake shore, which was visible through the trees and swampy areas with cattails. We saw boxes with numbers stamped on them nailed to some of the trees. Could these be for wood duck nests?

We had seen plaques showing the different kinds of ducks we might see on the lake, one of which carried the captivating name of “bufflehead.”

I really wanted to see these fat little buffers which were supposed to bob to the surface of the water like a cork, but we were denied this experience. More’s the pity, since instead of an award winning photo of a bufflehead, my flora and fauna photo this time is one that will make you want to avert your eyes. I do beg your pardon, but a tiny butterfly feasting on a carcass of unknown nature was the only fauna that stood still long enough for me to capture it.

There were plenty of Mosquitos of Evil Intent in our vicinity, but neither of us received a single bite. And do you know why? Because this time we brought the Right Stuff. Let me pause for a moment to give an ode to DEET:

Oh, DEET, though you do not smell sweet,
Your chemicals are wondrous to behold
The blood-sucking insects which like to tease,
You vanquish with apparent ease.
I’ll never again leave your fold.

We passed a lovely bench which looked like a wonderful place to rest and think deep thoughts while looking out on the lake. However, the deepest thought I was having was to keep moving so the mosquitos wouldn’t have a fighting chance to pierce the veil of DEET on my skin.

The path was well-groomed and, most importantly, completely level. None of this torturous up and down stuff. Other than this confusing array of signs (see below),

we had no trouble following the path for the hiking club and readily found the important sign with the password on it (you have to record these in your booklet as proof that you did the hike). We have been a little disappointed in the lack of imagination in the Password Making Department of the State Parks.

Apparently, it was too much to hope for something like “The wild goose flies at dawn,” or “Buffleheads have a corking good time.” Alas.

Just when I was starting to get crabby from the heat, we came full circle and the hike was done. We now have an accumulated 5 miles toward our first reward: a little patch that says 25 Miles (20 miles to go!). Most of the hikes are 2-3 miles, but there are probably a half dozen or so that are 6+ miles, which would have seemed like a leisurely stroll 30 years ago, but now seems a little daunting to me and my knees. You may have detected by now that I am somewhat wimpy. I’m not proud of it, but there it is. Time to remember the glorious words found in Isaiah: “They who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings as eagles. They shall run and not grow weary; they shall walk and not faint.” If it were up to me, that would be on the last Hiking Club sign at every park.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

Next Hike: Nerstrand State Park

I went outside the other evening, leaving the air-conditioned comfort of my living room to take my chances with the Great Outdoors (GO). I planted myself on the front porch swing, started a Spotify playlist called “Evening Acoustic,” picked up my book (Alone by Richard Byrd) and began reading. Funny thing is though, I kept getting interrupted by the GO. First I noticed that it was getting towards sunset – the golden hour for photography. Time to get the camera! Click, click, click, click…

There, that’s gotten that out of my system, I thought. I picked up the book again. But no, now my ears picked up a conversation that interfered with my ability to concentrate on reading. It began with the susurrus of the wind moving through the tree branches. Then the cicadas, always rude party guests, started in with their whining, punctuated with perfectly timed silences. How do they all know how to start and stop at the same time? Maybe it’s just one really loud cicada?? Back to Richard Byrd and his experiences in the Antartctic. But who can resist a sunset? Byrd would have to wait while I watched the sunset and took a couple more photos.

Finally the sun was below the horizon and I could return by the glow of twilight to good old Richard Byrd. The cicadas had toddled off to bed as soon as the sun went down and had nothing more to say. Something caught my eye, a little twinkle. Fireflies! I was totally captivated by the GO Show at this point and put down the book for good. Bye, bye Byrdie. The wind had picked up and the gentle whisper was now a lively chatter. Our front yard was a field of flickering winged stars. Bats began their crazy flight patterns in search of (and hopefully finding) mosquitos. A lone burst of late fireworks went off over the horizon. One brilliant star crept up into the night sky right behind a tree, so I could only get glimpses now and again as the wind moved the branches. I knew that more of them would appear as the night deepened. As plots go, this was pretty good stuff. This kind of impressive story with well-written dialogue has been going on every day and night, but I’ve been settling for much smaller screens. Back in the day when people weren’t beset by our modern distractions, a keen observer wrote:

The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.
Day unto day uttereth speech and night unto night sheweth knowledge.

I’d been schooled by the Master.

Eventually I went back inside, but was haunted by all that I would miss of the ongoing show.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

P.S. Full disclosure: I started this essay partly because I finally had an opportunity to use the word “susurrus!” Can you blame me?