While going through my mother’s things after her death, I came across a beautifully intricate pencil drawing of Olcott Hall in Duluth. Olcott Hall was the music conservatory of the Duluth’s State Teacher’s College (now UMD) when my parents were there. It was donated to the college in 1941, having been the private home of the Olcott family originally.
I spent some time admiring the drawing and saw that my mom had written on the back that the artist, Nan Yager, had been an acquaintance of hers since junior high band – a flutist, I believe. I put my digital servants to work finding out more about the artist and learned her married name, where she was living when she died, the names of her two adult children and where they were living. Wouldn’t the old-fashioned gumshoes have loved the internet? I suppose our current day detectives make much use of it.
It will not surprise you to learn that water fountains attract toads the way lights attract moths. At night when it’s quiet we can hear the hum of frogs and toads making their nighttime music. It seems sometimes like they’re everywhere around us, but in truth, we don’t see them very often. So today was a banner day, a two-toad rescue day.
I could see from our window upstairs that two of the little fellas had jumped into our “pond” and discovered (as they all do) that they couldn’t get out again. Toads have died in our fountain before and they probably will again, but not this day. The Lord had appointed unto me this small task of stewardship and I was not going to neglect it.
Other than insects, the only other victims that have fallen prey to our fountain have been mice, probably two of them over all the years. Would I rescue a mouse if it was still swimming along instead of belly up? Gosh, that’s a hard question. I hope I never have to answer it.
In other yard-related news, the deer have expressed a great delight in the hollyhock salad bar we’ve set out for them. We had protected our two hollyhocks for awhile, but there seemed to be no point in keeping them caged up, so the cages came off and the deer said, “Thank you very much!” I don’t think hollyhocks are destined to be a part of our perennial garden, sadly.
I also took the cage off of our sunflower this morning. Will it suffer the same fate as the hollyhocks tonight? I took a parting photo just in case. If we remember we’ll put some deer scram over and around it to see if that helps. If not, that’s the way the sunflower gets eaten, I guess. Next year we plan to put black-eyed Susans and purple coneflowers in that spot. We want to have the kind of garden that says to any deer that are passing by, “Keep going – there’s nothing to eat here.”
If this blog post doesn’t survive the night, that’s the way the post gets deleted, I guess.
Commenters take note: If you are a subscriber you will get my post via email. If you’d like to comment, press on the comment link and you’ll be taken (magically!) to a page where you can write it down. You’ll be asked to fill in a name and an email address (which will be private – no one else will see it) before you can post your comment. The email address allows you to get notification of my reply to your comment. If you have a WordPress account, you’ll be directed to input your user name and password. You do NOT need to open a WordPress account to comment on this blog. If things don’t work, let me know. Thank you!
I’m going to admit that this is rather clumsy watercolor work. It looked better in my mind than in the actual execution of the idea.
Whenever I read the phrase “Be of good courage,” in the Bible, it reminds of Aslan. In the form of an albatross, he whispered the words, “Courage, dear heart,” to Lucy when the the ship Dawn Treader was stuck in a terrible place. I like to think that Jesus would say the same to me when I am in need. “Courage, dear heart.”
Blog posts are meant to be deleted in the morning. Courage, dear post.
In our continuing quest to visit one attraction in Minnesota per month in 2024, we made our way to the Great Lakes Aquarium in Duluth for the month of July. If you’d like to check out previous Minnesota Meanderings, here you go: Spam Museum, Bell Museum of Natural History, Como Park Zoo and Conservatory and Fort Snelling.
Our daughter and son-in-law were visiting in July, so we obliged them to go to Duluth with us to visit the Great Lakes Aquarium. ‘Twas raining heavily as we left town, but about halfway there, the sky wiped the tears from its face and said, “You should go to Tobie’s for rolls and pastries,” which we did. If you haven’t heard that same thing on the way to Duluth, you just haven’t been listening.
The Great Lakes Aquarium is situated right on Lake Superior, or at least a bay of it, not too far from the Aerial Bridge as you come into town from the south.
How many photos of coneflowers will my readers be able to tolerate? This is a question I pondered while trying to decide how many to share here. Only you can answer that question, really, but I decided upon seven.
Seven is quite a significant number in the Bible, of course – one source that I consulted claimed that there are over 700 appearances of the number seven throughout the Old and New Testaments. It symbolizes completion or perfection.
I set before you a complete and perfect set of coneflower photos: not too few, not too many. And I’ve thrown in a few with a red admiral butterfly as well. Or perhaps I should give credit where credit is due: the Lord saw me out there with my camera and in His kindness sent a butterfly for good measure. Positively extravagant!
Ahh…they’re a feast for the eyes, aren’t they?
I’ve heard from at least one person that her comments are not making their way to my blog – is anyone else having that problem? Let me know, please. I love getting your comments and it pains me to think that I might be missing any. I will always respond if you comment. Always – even if it’s only an emoji. But usually with words.
I’ll delete this seven times at seven in the morning on the seventh of the month. That ought to do it.
I just can’t stoppy Talkin’ ‘bout the poppy Neat on its feet Pink with a wink Still on the hill Wide as the tide Soft and aloft Free as a bee. Not flippy Nor floppy. Not hippy Nor hoppy. Not slippy Nor sloppy. I just can’t stoppy Talkin’ ‘bout the poppy!
I give fair warning to delete this in the morning.
Do you ever take time in your life to sit and think? No podcasts, no radio, no books or audiobooks, no music…just the silence and you. I’ve been doing that while sitting on our bench in the garden lately. It’s quite nourishing. Give it a try! What, you don’t have a garden? Here ya go. Pretend you’re sitting on a bench looking at these garden glories and think about the One who made them. It’s bound to be fruitful for you.
Have you ever deleted a blog post without any background noise? I’m going to give it a try.
This is the last in the series, although we certainly hope to visit more national parks. For the beginning of our Southwest Tour, start here: Arches National Park
We got an early start in the morning, hoping to get to Zion NP before it got crowded. We reached the park around 8:00 a.m. and the parking lot was already full. We had to turn around and find a parking spot in Springdale, the prosperous town that makes a lot of money off tourists, no doubt. The first place we found was $30, so we rejected that and drove further away, finally find a roadside spot for $15. The shuttle buses come along every 10-15 minutes and pick up tourists (for free) to drive them into the park, so we did that.
Once in the park, we stopped at the Visitor Center to get our passport and book stamped and then hopped on a shuttle bus to go to one of the stops along the way. The buses were all super crowded.
Up until now we haven’t seen huge crowds at the parks we’ve gone to, but Zion was packed. The first stop was “Court of the Patriarchs,” where very few people got off, making us wonder if we were chumps. The patriarchs are three distinct stone cliffs that a Methodist pastor named “Abraham, Isaac and Jacob,” back in the early 1900’s. The names have stuck. Photos were taken. There was a smaller formation that was named “Moroni.” The Christians won that round over the Mormons. We walked around a little bit – went down to the Virgin River, but quickly realized that there wasn’t much to see there. Chumps.
Left to right: Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Moroni is in there somewhere.
The next shuttle took us to Zion Lodge, where the bus driver gave directions for finding the hike to see the “Emerald Pool.” We set off across the street and wondered why we were the only ones interested in the hike, especially in view of the numbers of people there. When we got up to the bridge over the river, it was closed. Chumps.
Back to the lodge, we waited for another shuttle to take us up to the Sinawava Temple area, which is the last stop on the shuttle bus tour. A shuttle bus came, passed our little group waiting for the bus and parked ahead of us. And it was nearly empty, which was a plus – but no one in the group went to go get on. One couple meandered over and got on, so we finally went over as well. Once on the bus, Kris asked why this shuttle parked so far ahead of the other bus stop – was there a difference? Yes, this one was going back down the road to the Visitor Center. We got off and went back to the other line. Chumps.
The shuttle to Sinawava Temple was super crowded – standing room only. We never did find out why the area was named Sinawava Temple, but Kris guessed that it was because the surrounding stone cliffs were so high and close and surrounded us, which gave a feeling of being in a church. I’ll buy that. There was a hike up to the Narrows that we walked for part of the way. We took photos, but the surroundings were so immense that photos will never tell the whole story.
Cute little fella!The lounging lizardI was using a filter so it doesn’t really look like that (cheater!)
We decided that we didn’t need to take the hike all the way to the Narrows – we could sort of see it from where we were, so we headed back and took the next shuttle down as far as the museum. The shuttle wasn’t very crowded so I sat up by the front. Kris seemed to want to sit farther back, but I told him this way he could chat up the bus driver. He looked dubious about this prospect, but of course he did chat him up, asking all sorts of questions about the electric buses and how long the batteries on those last. The electric buses each cost $1 million dollars!
The museum was minimally interesting – little bits of information about the early inhabitants of the area: the Native Americans and the Mormans. We strolled around and got on the next shuttle to go back to the Visitor Center. Amazingly, it was noon by the time we left. From the Visitor Center we took a shuttle back to our car and ate our familiar lunch of Wheat Thins, Swiss cheese, and grapes. Kris wanted to drive the road to the east entrance through the park so we did that after we finished eating.
That drive (Highway 9) was stunning and spectacular – I wish I could have enjoyed it more. I felt a little uneasy about the drop offs along the way. I mean, I did enjoy the drive, but with some degree of nervousness. There were a few hairpin turns at the beginning and the road went steadily up from around 3900 feet of elevation to almost 6000 feet at the top. Fairly early on there’s a a couple tunnels, the first one being 1.1 mile long.
Fat cars had to pay an extra $15 to drive on this road because the park personnel have to restrict the cars to one lane going through at a time when the fatties go through. The first time through the tunnel, we whizzed on through, but on the way back, we had to wait close to 10 minutes for fatties coming through from the other way. It took us about an hour to do the round trip of going to the top and coming back. We stopped a couple times to enjoy the view and take a couple photos. The feature near the top is called “Checkerboard Mesa,” and you could see a large sandstone hill with markings on the side that looked similar to a checkerboard pattern. More photos were taken.
Checkerboard Mesa
Now you know what to expect if you go there, which you definitely should!
I’ll probably take this on the crowded electric blog bus in the morning.
I’m still wending my way through the family photos, documents and records. Last year I finally finished assembling my mother’s side of the family, and this year I’ve decided to tackle – AND FINISH – my dad’s side of the family. I need all caps for that statement for the days when it seems like an impossible task.
My grandmother was born in Norway in 1900 and emigrated to the United States with her parents and younger sister when she was six years old. As I’ve sorted through the family things, I’ve come across several of her journals, letters and essays, as well as about a dozen poems she wrote in her later years. The earliest one I have was written when she was 63 – two years younger than I am now. I wasn’t quite four years old at that time.
Morning Worship In the hushed, sweet stillness of the dawn I feel Thy presence near. I see Thy wonders In the twinkling radiance of the morning star, In the miracles of nature and the universe, In the purple haze of distant hills, And I pause to give thanks for all Thy blessings.
How sweet to think of her looking out on the world and giving thanks to God for her blessings.
Young Grandma with my Dad when he was a baby
Old Memories Old memories of by-gone days When love was new and life was sweet, As time went on, came tribulations, Doubts and fears and desperation, But that was oh, so long ago. Now we are old, time’s running out And memories are growing dim. So lower the shades and close the door Upon the past which is no more.
She was 70 years old when she wrote that one and seemed to be anticipating the end coming soon. As it turns out, she became widowed at age 72, the end having come for her husband first. What a shock that was for her. One of the journals she left behind is essentially a grief journal, the things she wrote after her husband died: the anguish, loneliness and anger she felt. I was 14 when he died and it barely registered in my emotional life. I was sad he was gone, but gave no thought to the impact it had on my grandma.
Mystery The profound mystery of life, and death, The two extremes of our existence. We know not where we come from Nor where we go from here. All mankind is born to die. From the very moment of birth We are preparing for death, In another time, another place, Another life in the great unknown.
She wrote that one just six months after her husband died. I don’t think she ever imagined she would live so long without him, but she didn’t pass away until she was nearly 96 years old. Think of it – almost 24 years as a widow! She depended heavily upon her two sons, my dad and his younger brother, my Uncle Roger. The following poem isn’t dated, but I like to think that it was written years after she was widowed, as she was learning to face life on her own.
A New Day This is the dawn of a new day With new thoughts and ideas, And inspiration in my mind. I live to learn about life and people. Loved ones who have done so much for me, Give me new strength, new power, And faith to believe that I can conquer.
It’s not award-winning stuff, but it gives me a window into the woman she was, a woman I didn’t really get to know very well as anyone other than just “Grandma.”
Rest in peace, Grandma.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning. I said “probably.”
Over ten years ago I went through a phase of taking “artsy” sermon notes. I’ve always had a hard time concentrating on auditory content, so it helps to take notes or even just do random doodling while listening. I know I’m not the only one – raise your hand if you’ve ever doodled during sermons.
The artsy sermon note taking was an attempt to marry art with note taking. I’d do some general background painting on watercolor papers and then bring those to church to take preliminary notes on during the sermon. Back at home afterward, I’d write over my penciled notes with ink and then do some illustrating and coloring in. It was a fun endeavor, but rather time consuming, so I eventually quit and went back to regular note taking and/or doodling. It all helps my mind to focus. Otherwise my mind goes quite far afield!
And next is an entry from my “daily cartoon” phase when I first got on Instagram. That lasted about a month. Again, fun while it lasted, but hard to keep going. Some of them were watercolors, and others were of the stick-figure variety, which is my specialty (ha ha!)
I still feel that way about stretching. Ow! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!
I’m going through a phase of deleting these in the morning – it probably won’t last.
Lynniebeemuseoday 