2025 in review: "Better than picking dead rotting fish out of a gill net" or perhaps, "extricating snapping turtles from trap nets"

 Seasons greetings everyone!

If you do not know me very well, you may think (understandably so) that I am making outlandish comparisons. But, in 2024 I did pick dead rotting fish out of gill nets, as well as live young bullheads that stung like the devil, and I did extricate live snapping turtles from trap nets. I did that for my career, and I ended that career in 2025 for various reasons. Biggest leap of faith in my life, and on the brink of 2026 I have no regrets.

I had made the decision a long time ago. For one, even when I was in my twenties I did not envision myself doing this kind of work when I was over 60. My balance and strength aren't what they used to be, and I was one unfortunate moment away from disability. Hands dipped in frozen waters, gripping heavy nets, were giving me the signals of arthritis. I didn't want to lose the ability to play music.

And, a new supervisor. My first negative performance review in 31 years on the job, during the year my husband died. The day he sent me the "Performance Improvement Plan", a real gut punch, at 4:30 PM I announced my plans for retirement in April 2025, just before another cold miserable field season. 

No regrets whatsoever. I learned to plow the driveway with Debbie, my side by side that Joe had convinced me to buy the previous October. I don't remember much else. Grief and change do that. 

The week I retired I was invited to play music at Sandstone Arts in the Park, and was also invited to Root River Roundup, a cool gathering of alternative fisher people. A weekend earlier I went to see Air Supply at Mystic Lake Casino with my long time friends Jana and Val. Good vibes!

Root River was a blast, although I started out my journey with a flat tire and a car packed with camping equipment 4 miles from my house. I made it there just after dark, and some good people got my tent set up. I wasn't going to fish, but I ended up catching 3 species. On that Sunday after I left, I visited my uncle LeRoy and aunt Cindy in Winona. It had been many years!

At some point as I retired I had applied for a job on a whim, a Spongy Moth surveyor with the MN Department of Agriculture. Temporary, intermittent job but it sounded fun. At first I got the disappointing news that the job had been filled But the last week in May, I heard that the guy who was to take the job had had a knee injury and could not do it. Good luck on my part, bad luck on his. I also had someone intervene on my behalf and write an awesome letter of recommendation. 

That job was so fun! Driving around northern Pine and southern Carlton counties, setting moth traps at predetermined places in June-July, then removing them in September. My crew leader called me the "Moth Queen", I probably got more moths than anyone in the northern region. 

There were also...adventures. My brakes went out on the second week of the job, also needed new tires. Job mileage paid for that which I needed anyway, and I also became good friends with Jim at Complete Auto in Moose Lake. When I got a flat tire on the Soo Line Trail the second to last day of my job he fixed it for free.

(spongy moth traps)

Had some great times with the family at Vinny's cabin on East Lake by the Chippewa National Forest. Made it there 4 times this year (I think). That place is a refuge, a haven.

Music was my salvation in 2025. I had some great evenings playing with the House Band at SandRocks in Sandstone. I discovered how much fun it was to play fiddle with this these amazing people. I also had a good number of solo gigs I didn't even promote myself for, and the Vintage Pub reopened and I got a monthly gig there!

(my favorite picture from 2025- My daughter Nina and me)

Music...On August 9th I met my family to see Billy Strings play at Target Center in Minneapolis. As always, he was phenomenal (along with his band, all virtuosos). I am so glad I have this connection with my kids, that we can enjoy music together. 

So...here's wishing you all the best, and hoping I continue to build on this strange beautiful life in 2026. Peace and joy to all,

Deb Wolf

A poem for today

I have been making an effort to write lately. And, I have been reading Walt Whitman and the Tao the Ching. So here is the result. Shades of Wendell Berry too I think.

Perhaps the most rebellious act

Is to offer your wealth to those who need it more.

We cannot begin to fix anything

until we realize that all are one

and we treat each other that way

That which you have done unto the least of these

you have done unto me

Share all that you have

Abolish greed

Say no to war.

Quit treating the Bible as a set of rules to get to heaven

Quit thinking the solution to everything

Is more rules and more enforcement

The more the rules are enforced

The more the innocent will be judged.

Stop seeing "us" and "them"

Celebrate uniqueness and diversity

See the divine in all, humans and non humans

And the sacredness of every stone.

Know that water is life.

Say no to excess

Question your lifestyle

Live closer to the earth

And walk in her exquisite beauty.

Laugh, sing, play a musical instrument 

Make love under the full moon

Count the stars and plant seeds

Learn the woods and the rivers 

Quit being busy

Do nothing, and everything.

Quit watching the news

Make your own good news

In the small part of earth you can reach.

Love, music, and the wood stove

The thought of dating had not even crossed my mind yet.

They always say "you, and only you, will know when you are ready."

I was ready. Ready, that is, to sit back and contemplate what this new chapter of my life would bring, as a single person.

I wasn't ready to face winter in my unfinished, wood-heated house. As with dating, the logistics of that had not crossed my mind. Somehow, I had this feeling of trust that I would get the help I needed to get through the winter. Little did I know what trust and an open heart would bring.

I should have known it would be a musician. Music has always been a big part of my life, and in the past couple of years I had met some amazing people at a jam at a little bar in Nickerson. Or, should I say, the bar pretty much IS Nickerson. Located along scenic Highway 23 on the edge of the Nemadji State Forest, Nickerson is the last outpost between my house and Duluth, 30 miles to the northeast.

I had been going to the Tuesday night jam occasionally for about a year and a half, but that evening in May was the first time I had been there in a couple months. School sporting events and international travel had kept me busy, and I was happy to finally have an open Tuesday night. The usual folks were there, along with a guy I didn't know, who played dobro and a Gibson guitar. I played mandolin, and switched to guitar when it was my turn to sing. I don't remember much, except it was the usual fun, good-for-my-soul feeling I always get from playing with other people.

A couple days later I received a Facebook friend request from "John E Fingers". Unusual sounding name, I thought, but we had 8 mutual friends, musicians and others I had met through music. Which is to say, people I trust. "Must be that guy from Nickerson," I thought. I hit "accept".

We didn't have much Facebook contact through the summer. A few likes here, a few comments there, on music related posts. But, he did notice what was going on in my life. A few days after the memorial service, he messaged me. He was putting together a band for an art studio opening near me. If I felt up to playing, he asked, he would like to have me sit in. Did I feel up to playing? Of course! Because, music has always saved me.

The event was wonderful, and he must have approved of my playing and vocals. We chatted during setup and breaks. In the week that followed, we messaged back and forth. He told me how he had lost the love of his life years ago to cancer, and he had lost his dad a few months ago. So he was reaching out to me because he could relate to what I was going through. That blew my mind; in the preceding weeks I had heard all of the expressions of sympathy, the "if you need anything let me know" and such, but since the memorial service I had felt pretty much on my own. Now this one man, whom I barely knew, was genuinely concerned with my well being.

Okay, I did ask myself once or twice if he was hitting on me, but his messages were always so sincere...there was something about them I could not describe. I got the feeling that he needed some healing as well. He told me how, before Sunday's event, he was considering giving up playing music altogether. I told him we needed to get together and work on some songs, and help each other.

That next week, he was headed to Gunflint Lake, on the Minnesota/Canada border, to replace a toilet at a friend's cabin. He's a skilled carpenter, kind of a jack of all trades. So he messaged me, inviting me to drive up if I wanted to, to pick some tunes when the job was done.

I was not ready for that.

Well, yeah, part of me was saying a weekend up at Gunflint would be nice. But, with someone I barely knew, and his friends? That, and my car had a bad wheel bearing. I would hate to drive 200 miles only to be stranded 40 miles from civilization. So, I declined. He gave me the land line phone number up there anyhow, in case I wanted to talk. I gave him my land line... Let the record say, he called first.We talked for an hour. Then Saturday night, two hours.

I did not go looking for love, but I left my heart open and it came rolling in like a wave. Long story short, his friends dropped him and his tools and his Gibson off at my house that Monday night.

I had told him he could sleep in the Airstream that night, and after work the next day I would drive him wherever he needed to be. But, that's when the rain started. It rained 4 inches that night. Going out to the Airstream was not an option; I was actually nervous that we were in for the third 500 year flood in 5 years and Sand Creek would flood my driveway and the Airstream again. So I showed him around my house with the unfinished bathroom and kitchen with the sink still in a box, the maze of wiring and as-yet uninstalled outlets. He took it all in with a carpenter's eye, muttering mental notes like a contractor preparing a bid, complimenting the sturdy post and beam construction. We stayed up well past midnight, even though I had gotten less than four hours of sleep the night before.

The next morning, while I was at work, he messaged me: "I got that kitchen sink dropped down into the counter for you." The sink that had been sitting in the box for five years. I nearly cried. I did not drive him anywhere that night. Or the next. He said there was so much work to be done in my house, so much to do before winter set in, he would stay and work on it as long as I would have him.

It's been nearly four months, and he is still here. To be honest, I don't know what I would have done without him here this winter. The main source of heat in my house is the wood stove, with a propane wall furnace for backup. I guess I always took for granted what an enormous job it is to heat with wood. Not that I would not be up for it, if I had the time, but I work 30 miles from home, 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. In the dead of winter I leave before sunrise and come home after dark. I would need to spend every waking moment at home splitting wood, hauling it indoors, and managing the fire (with help from my son, of course). Now I have someone who is more than willing to tend to the hearth, to keep the fire burning warm.

There's a metaphor somewhere in that. And a song waiting to be written and sung, accompanied by a Gibson guitar.

Sifting through the layers

I've been sifting through the layers
Of dusty books and faded papers
They tell a story I used to know
It was one that happened, so long ago

-Kate Wolf, "Across the Great Divide"

A lot has happened since my last post. Actually, that is an understatement. My life has taken an amazing, unexpected, and positive turn. I can't wait to share more details, but first I need to go back and work through some of the stuff I thought I was going to have so much solo time to reflect upon. Because, that context is necessary to begin to comprehend the present. And if I am going to move forward with blogging, I need to address some parts of the story that were never told. Part of why I have not blogged consistently in the past few years can be summed up in these words from a post in January 2015:

So maybe my lack of blogging frequency in recent years has been due to a feeling that I am not completely expressing the truth about my existence. I'm not telling outright lies, nor do I have the need to, but there are truths out there that I am not comfortable putting in words for everyone to see. Is there anyone who can't say that? 

For example, when I started this blog, I (rather pompously) considered myself a "homesteader"--you know, the self sufficient lifestyle, to various degrees. I even included the term in my blog description. But over the years, the term has lost its meaning to me and I no longer identify with it. To tell the ongoing story, of how we built our own house and all that, means leaving out some truths that don't fit that "homesteader" image. The human fallibility. The stuff I don't want others to see, mostly.

 When you are married to a person for 25 years, naturally you know that person in ways no one else can. You are not the child, the sibling, the coworker, the friend, the neighbor. You are the spouse, and your knowledge of this person is more intimate than anyone else's can be. That can be a good thing, or a bad thing. Or maybe there's no good and bad. It just is.

I thought long and hard about what I was going to say at the memorial service. In the end, I decided to play Minnesota Nice and talk about the good times. Because there were some, and some of the musical events we shared together probably opened up the door to being where I am today. Memorials are not exactly about honesty; we are all feeling a bit vulnerable and needing to protect each other's feelings. So it's "He was such a nice guy" rather than "That sonofabitch still owes me money!" But now that time is over and it is no longer my job to protect anyone's feelings. I need to be true to myself.

My happy little eulogy did not include much from the last 15 years. Because, we did not come here to Sand Creek out of some grand dream to live closer to the land. We came here because we were broke and had no other options. We had spent the last few years moving from state to state, chasing jobs. Just after my daughter was born, we left Minnesota and the home we had made for seven years, so he could accept a job with a conservation organization in Missouri. I left my job, my family, my friends, and a landscape I loved to be a stay at home mom to two toddlers in a strange city. With a touch of postpartum depression to boot. That did not go so well, so we moved back to Minnesota so I could work, but it somehow wasn't good enough...so a couple moves later, we were high on a hill overlooking Anderson Valley in Mendocino County, this time with me being a stay at home mom to three young kids, while he worked for a "sustainable living" center. Oh the irony...I could see so clearly that this was definitely unsustainable, while he talked about what a wonderful place that was.

So it was, in early November 2002, we arrived back to our 40 acres and cabin, still on contract for deed. No electricity, no running water, three kids, one just starting kindergarten, in a tiny cabin with winter setting in. I was exhausted, and looking back, probably suffering from PTSD. Definitely not feeling in control of my life, or that I even had a say. We survived, and just over two years later I began this blog in the winter of the owl irruption. I believe the owls had a message for me: Wake up and start using your voice. This blog may have been a life saver for me; I found my voice, found some friends who shared my love of nature and the outdoors, and realized just how lonely and isolated I had been...

This blog tells the story of how a house was built. And I am grateful for the foundation that was laid, the walls and timbers and blue steel roof, sturdy and warm. But somewhere along the way, his motivation slowed down, the ability to take small steps each day to get something done diminished. Medical issues had a lot to do with it; diabetes takes its toll mentally and physically. Emotionally, he was not the same man I once thought I knew. If that ever existed. And, I found it harder and harder to keep blogging about our life here, with so many parts of the story I could not tell. As my blogging diminished, I immersed myself in the busyness of work, kids' activities, and eventually, running, yoga, and music. Which all have saved me.

In the last couple of years, our marriage could be best described as a "peaceful coexistence". We were in much better shape financially, the kids were more independent, and I think we both moved beyond any bitterness from the past. We went to concerts, or just drove around looking at wildlife. We talked about going fishing some time. But a peaceful coexistence can be lonely, and it leaves so much unfulfilled. For the sake of my peace of mind, it was probably better that I did not know how much that even was.

Now you know the rest of the story...but not all of it. Some things will remain unwritten.

A new journey

It has been a little over a year since I declared "this blog is not over". And I had not posted since then. I guess I had been a bit unsure about what the "new direction" was going to be.

Sometimes, life events make that decision for you when you least expect it. My husband of 25 years, whom I referred to as "The Hermit" on this blog, died suddenly in his sleep in the early hours of Thursday, September 7. He was 62 years old.

The events of the night still feel as if it were a dream. Waking up, not to snoring, but to strange gasps and gurgling, then nothing. Knowing unquestionably that something was not right. Tapping and then hitting him. Calling 911. Attempting CPR on him in bed. Yelling for Joe to drive out to the end of the driveway to let responders know this was the place. Feeling a bit surprised at how calm I was. Sitting on the floor holding a confused Labrador while paramedics worked. Knowing, before they told me, that he was gone. They said he was probably already gone when I first noticed him unresponsive.

One of the fire department first responders happened to be a friend of mine. She sat with me while we waited for the funeral director to show up. I poured myself a glass of wine, then another. The funeral director happened to be one of Vinny and Joe's baseball coaches. Small town life, I would find out in the next few days, is pretty amazing.

The days between then and the memorial service on the 12th are a blur. Neighbors bringing food. My brother driving up from Minneapolis to talk, perhaps our first talk alone in years. Nina, who had just moved to North Dakota, coming home. Vinny taking time from his job to come home. My dad, aunt, and uncle hunkering down in Palm Coast, Florida for Hurricane Irma. My friend in Duluth asked if I would like to go to a Charlie Parr concert Thursday night. I did. The next night, a friend was playing at the coffeehouse where I play occasionally. I was surrounded by friends there. And Saturday night I already had bought tickets to see a Swedish music group, Jaerv, in Minneapolis. Nina went with me. Music is powerfully healing. In between music, family, and friends, I found myself sleeping late, walking around the house not knowing what to do and not really feeling like doing anything, making lists. And starting to write. Many hours thinking about what I was going to say.

The service was more well attended than I thought it would be. It was very informal, as Russ would have wanted it. His older daughter and his sister shared memories, and in between a friend of mine played songs we had chosen, by Greg Brown and Townes Van Zandt. Then I got up, still not knowing exactly what it was I was going to say. But the words flowed from nowhere, stories of how we met, his passion for the environment, and our trips to music festivals--how he gave me the gift of music when I may not have done it on my own.

After the service and all the people, I needed to be alone for a while. I drove down to a park on the banks of the Kettle River. My musician friend from the service was there. So were some other friends who had been at the service, I found out later. We all needed the peace of the river I guess. I found a secluded picnic table, drank a beer or two, and started writing the next chapter of my life.

New directions

This blog is not over. Let's make that clear from the start. A lot of love has gone into this, and I will not leave it hanging.I will post about my latest half marathon, or whatever. But, new stuff is happening.

I have started a new blog on WordPress, and even sprung for a domain: singingtheriver.com . I am on iPad and Blogger app does not have all the fancy options WordPress does. So copy and paste to your browser and go there. That is where my writing soul will be. But the story of my life will be here, for a while.

Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon 2016

I wasn't so sure about this, going in. I was coming to dread the weekly long runs, I was worried about a dreadful 10K I had run in early May (hampered by a respiratory bug that would not go away). I was thinking I needed a break from running, for a while. But then, stuff like this happens. A great race when everything works out. This is the story of how it happened.

My daughter Nina and I set out for Duluth, a mere hour's drive from our house, at about 11:30 Friday morning. We had a place to stay, in a large suite in a converted warehouse building in Duluth's Canal Park, thanks to my long time friend Val. This was the second year we would be staying with this group of runners, and we knew it would be fun. But first, shopping. Race essentials, of course. We went to the mall and we both decided we needed Sanuk sandals for post race. It would turn out to be a great decision.

We arrived at the hotel, and I parked my car, not to be touched until Sunday. That was kind of nice. Driving in and out of Canal Park on marathon weekend is a hassle that is best avoided.

We then walked to the expo at the Duluth Entertainment and Convention Center (DECC) to pick up our race packets and get free samples of stuff. It was very crowded. This was the very same spot I had attended a Bernie Sanders rally a few months ago. I ended up buying the race belt I needed, and a few headbands that I thought were pretty cool. We went to the huge spaghetti dinner that is a Grandma's Marathon tradition. They had Ben and Jerry's ice cream for dessert. I had Cherry Garcia, one of my favorites. 

Our suite has strict pre race night rules: lights out at 9 PM, which is good, since half marathon runners have to wake up at 4 AM. Nina and I slept on a very luxurious queen air mattress that was provided by our new friend JoElle. I kept waking up because the refrigerator was making strange noises, but when my phone alarm rang I felt well rested.

We grabbed hotel breakfast, and weak coffee, on our way to the buses. I normally don't eat much before a run, so I had half a banana, and half a bagel with peanut butter. I watched the sun rise over Lake Superior on the school bus that took us to the start. We arrived approximately 45 minutes before starting time. Plenty of time, right? Actually, not Due to the very rural, small nature of the starting area, we had to walk about half a mile from where the bus dropped us off. There were portable toilets spaced along this route, and huge lines at each of them. Nina and I eventually chose one, and the line turned out to move exceptionally slow. I was in the bathroom when the starting horn sounded. No worries, chip timing. 

I finally crossed the starting line about 10 minutes after the official start. My plan was to run the first six miles conservatively, and I kept checking Map My Run for a pace. The first mile clocked in at 11:08. Perfect. I also wanted to remember something about each mile of the race, and for the first mile I remembered running by McQuade Harbor on Lake Superior. The second mile was something about lupines framing an incredible lake view. I almost wanted to stop and take a picture, but I had a half marathon to run. So I kept to my strategy of getting the first half of the race behind me without thinking too much. That worked. My mile paces were pretty consistent. 

The first six miles of the Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon are run along a two lane scenic highway along Lake Superior. Scenic, but not much for spectators. Still, there are the conversations among runners. I can't imagine chatting with people while running a half. Part of me wants to wear headphones and listen to music to drown it all out next time, the other part is intrigued.

My plan was to take a gel at 4 miles, but somehow I missed the water station, so I had to wait until 6 miles because I did not want to take a gel without water. Oh well, I felt fine and I was not stopping. At six miles the scenic road turns into London Road on the outskirts of Duluth, a residential highway where spectator participation increases. There was music. There were bacon stands. I noticed a guy running barefoot. Wow. 

After six miles, it was starting to get hot, and humid. I felt strong, but I started walking intervals to pace myself. Between seven and eight miles, I blessedly forgot if the next mile was seven or eight, so I was pleasantly surprised to find out it was indeed the eighth mile already. Between eight and nine miles, the course takes its steepest hill. I walked the hill, having nothing to prove and a lot to lose. Then the course turned on to Superior Street, the heart of downtown Duluth. The energy really picks up there, but the street is quaint cobblestone so you have to watch your step. The Superior Street portion seems to go on forever, but when you turn the corner and head towards the harbor that means there is only a mile left. And, I was feeling better that I remember feeling on this course last year at that point. I had taken another energy gel at mile 9. Good to go. 

This was taken by a race photographer on a bridge that goes over I-35 towards Duluth Harbor and the end of the race. I normally ignore race photographers, but I was feeling so good and having such a good time, I played along. 

The rest of the course winds around the DECC and two blocks to Canal Park Drive and a couple blocks to the finish. It seems to take forever. But I ran most of that last mile, and I was one of those runners who did the sprint thing in the last quarter mile and passed maybe five runners before the finish. It was over. And I didn't feel like I was about to die. I was full of life!

I can't fully say what this race did for me. It renewed my confidence as a runner. I did everything right, and I could have done it faster had it not been for the heat. I had the support of a suite full of running friends, and I enjoyed the rest of Saturday with a walk with Nina to the beach, and then reading and chilling out by the ship canal. Duluth is beautiful, I am so thankful I can run, and I am looking forward again to more races and maybe longer distances. 

A bad run, and a good run

I am coming off a respiratory infection. After boxes of tissues, and a strange feeling in my chest, I think I may be getting over a mild case of viral pneumonia. Confirmed by my run today.

I started out good. I parked at a wildlife management area just west of the town of Sturgeon Lake, and headed east on County Road 46, the paved road I had just driven on. There was very little traffic, except, as I would find out later, my son and his friend. They had camped out on the Kettle River, fishing into the night. I don't remember seeing Keith's truck, but I am glad they had a great fishing adventure. 

I ran my first mile in 10:30. Pretty good, but it was mostly downhill. I realized I would have to make up the altitude later. 

My plan was to run that county road to a gravel road that would take me to an ATV trail that would take me to an old railroad trestle over the Kettle River. Then over that, another mile or so, back to the county road. 7 miles or so. But, after mile 2, I realized I was struggling. I could no longer run more than a quarter mile or so without feeling short of breath. My legs were willing but my lungs were weak.

I found the trail and ran/walked to the river. It was there I had to confront another demon: fear of heights. I knew this run would lead me onto an old railroad trestle. I just didn't realize I would be at treetop height before I was actually over the river. Crazy fear I know, after all this bridge was built for trains, and now all terrain vehicles weighing much more than me cross it every day. But still. I did not make it across the bridge.

This is the lovely view I had from the bridge. I'm sure it would have been even better had I made it across the bridge. 

The rest of the run, if you could call it that, was hard. I ended up going back along the trail to a road that would take me back to my car. I tried to run when I could, but my snot loaded lungs would have no more. When I hit 5 miles I called it quits on Map My Run, even though it was about a half mile to the car. I gladly opened my Bell's Two Hearted Ale, about an hour and five minutes after I started. A measly five miles. With the Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon in two months. Oh well.

I was glad I ventured out to new territory for my run. And next time, I am going to cross that bridge.

The Journey

This poem, by Mary Oliver, says it all. One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice --

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voice behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do --

determined to save

the only life that you could save.

The road to 50

I turned 49 on Sunday. That means I'm counting down 361 days to a milestone age. And suddenly I'm thinking about where my life is, where I want it to be, etc. and, how I can make this one wild and precious life the best it can be. Not that I didn't think about it before, but face it: I will, for all practical purposes, have two kids in college next year (Nina will be full time Post Secondary Enrollment Opportunity, spending her senior year of high school at Lake Superior College; Vinny will be at University of Minnesota-Duluth). It's a time of letting them fly, but also a time to discover myself. 

A lot of good things have happened over the last few years. I've started practicing yoga, which has had great mental and physical benefits. I've started seriously running and completed two half marathons. I have played a few musical gigs and even developed a group of friends who come out to see me play. In short, I have become much more comfortable in my own skin. 

Still, there are things I want to be better at. Parts of myself that still scare me! I think one of the best ways of working these things out is by writing. I used to blog a lot, and I think the time has come once more. There is so much I have discovered that I want to share.

I don't have a plan for this. I don't want to commit myself to a post a day, because one day I'll break down and not post, and, seeing I have broken the commitment I'll say "What's the use?" And not post for months. So, let me just say, I want to share, regularly, stuff that makes me stand in awe. Stuff that makes me think. There's a lot of beauty that happens every single day, if we allow ourselves to see it.

So today I had some time between work and yoga class. I am fortunate to be able to take a yoga class in the small town/rural area where I live. I started with a class offered through Community Education, then a few classes with a circle of friends, and now I am taking advantage of the class at Anytime Fitness. Getting back to today, the sun was out, weather warm enough to go for a short hike along the Kettle River. The photo above is at Robinson Park, a former sandstone quarry from the 1900's, from which the town of Sandstone gets its name. The trees have grown up among the piles of rock, but the Kettle River flows on.

Something special about an eight mile run

So...my Big Goal for this year is to run a marathon. Yes. The part of me that said "a half marathon is all I want to ever run" is officially silenced. I have chosen the WhistleStop Marathon, October 15, from Iron River to Ashland, Wisconsin, along a beautiful old railroad grade. All downhill. Perfect!

I am also running the Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon in Duluth June 18th. Last year I was kind of disappointed in how I ran it, although I beat my previous half marathon time by one minute. But, I was not adequately prepared. I forgot to take an energy gel before the race, and there were none available during the race. And, I wore some stupid thin socks that resulted in ugly blisters. Oh well, a learning experience.

This year, I plan to be over prepared for the half marathon. If I am running 8 miles in February, I should be running at least 15 once a week by June 18. So, the half will be just another little training run! 

Anyway, I have noticed what happens when distance is increased. Anything up to 5 miles seems like small stuff these days. 6 miles seems to be the threshold. That is when your body starts asking "WTF???" And, starts reluctantly burning fat. Which is part of my plan. 

Today I had a goal of eight miles. And I did it in personal record time. I had to adjust my course, running on ice covered gravel roads was out of the question. So I had The Hermit drop me off at the nearest paved road. The plan was to run down to the end of the road and back. Eight miles. The first mile and a half was all downhill, with the wind at my back. I was fully aware that this would be a difficult last mile.

I felt strong, although I did ask myself more than once "Why am I doing this?" My phone, and Map My Run froze, so I didn't get any split times past 6.5 miles. Which was probably good. That last mile, uphill and against the 28 degree wind, was a challenge.

Now, six hours later, I am basking in a glow. Yes, I am moving slowly, and I will feel it in my legs tomorrow, but here it is: The feeling you get after running eight miles is a high! So much better than if I had not run eight miles, or only three. Like a good yoga session, only more intense. Running is meditation for me, and in eight miles I get to feel everything. And let it go. 

I have many longer runs ahead of me this year. Anything after eight is tough. But, doing eight in February is a good start!

My intentions for 2016

I sat down with the intention of writing intentions for 2016, with no single intention in mind. These statements came to me clearly and unexpectedly.

-GROW in art and music. Define my musical style. Define myself as an artist and musician with a message.

-CELEBRATE the abilities of my physical body, and work towards ever improving fitness. Cross the finish line of the Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon (and maybe another?) feeling GOOD! 

-MOVE deeper into self understanding through yoga, meditation, and writing.

-USE my gifts to help realize my vision of a human society aware of its connectedness with ALL. (I had a hard time phrasing this one; what I am trying to say is I believe there is no duality between human and nonhuman, living and inanimate, alive at this moment and alive in some past time; we are all the same infinite energy.)

HONOR my time as precious and fleeting.

GIVE THANKS in every moment.

Namaste and may you find happiness in 2016.

Why this blogger likes Facebook

I was a blogger when it was cool. From about 2005-2009, blogging had hit its stride, and I happened to start this blog in 2005. I thought it was the greatest thing. I shared details of my everyday life, and occasionally wrote in depth essays. I made more than a few friends from around the world. I was part of a book group, "Whorled Leaves", that led to some great discussions. I hosted "I and the Bird", an aggregation of birding blog posts, more than once. 

Then, Facebook happened. I joined in 2009, after some initial misgivings. I joined primarily to keep in touch with news from my high school class. By the way, I am not very close with my high school class of 650 people. I did not know more than half of them, and I have never been to a reunion of the Cooper Class of '85.

I found a lot of my blogging friends on Facebook. I also found family members, ones I was not close enough with to keep in touch with by phone (dinosaur) or email (antique). I started sharing more of the things I would have shared on this blog, on Facebook. I started blogging less. We moved the PC back to the cabin, which meant in order to blog, I had to go out there, which was not worth it. I got an iPad in 2011. It took Blogger a while to catch up with mobile devices. All of which contributed to the near demise, but not death, of this blog. I noticed a lot of my blogging friends had gone a similar route. 

Blogging, meanwhile, somehow became a commercial enterprise.

Now, for my defense of Facebook.

1. I have many more LOCAL friends because of Facebook. We may have met up by chance, face to face, but the majority of my local friends are ones with whom the initial contact was via Facebook. I suspect most of these good friends have a Myers-Briggs personality type that begins with "I". We have a hard time initiating conversation at face to face events, but on Facebook the awkward factor is way less. Most of the dear friends who come to see me when I play at the Chickadee are friends whom I've met via FB. 

2. I have blogging friends from California to Alberta to Nunavut to Vermont to Florida to Alabama to Kansas (I'm sure I missed a few locations), who I now keep up with via Facebook. I met up with one of them at a highway exit in Georgia this spring (yes you, Jayne! Finally finished off the Chattanooga whiskey, but still loving the long sleeved Georgia T shirt!) Our blogs were all so nature based, so unpretentious, that we connected, and I consider these people REAL friends. I mourned the loss of Jim from Big Bear Lake, California, as if he and I were neighbors.

3. I have connected with family. Facebook is now the official way to announce holiday get togethers. With the exception of a few cantankerous holdouts (Telstad clan, yes you), I now have daily reminders of the people I am related to. And yes, some of them are cooler than I ever imagined. :)

4. I hear big family news first hand. Like the passing, a few days ago, of my first cousin Brad. I had not seen him since my teens, but I recently got in touch with his sister, and his stepmother, through Facebook. My great aunt, his stepmother, is one of my dearest friends on FB, and in real life since our  Florida trip in March. She has shared all of the pain and sorrow with me, and I am grateful she trusts me with that.

5. Related to that, I just heard the great news that another of my first cousins will be moving from South Africa to Maine! I have not seen her since I was about seventeen, but we share so many interests. And I have never been to Maine. Road trip!

So, all in all, Facebook has been good to me. And it has been much better since I started using the "I don't want to see this" button. Shut out a lot of useless memes. :)

Roasted salsa verde

It was a great year for tomatillos in the garden. Above average year for everything, really, but the tomatillos outdid themselves. I planted four plants I bought from the garden center, but a few weeks after planting time I noticed a volunteer tomatillo or two among the cabbages. That's one good/bad thing about tomatillos; onnce you plant them, they will spring up everywhere the next year.

Tomatillos seem to have one purpose in life: salsa verde. This uniquely sweet, tangy salsa goes well with just about any white meat, eggs, or of course, tortilla chips. I used to make salsa verde by cooking the tomatillos in water, then pouring off some of the water, adding the rest of the ingredients, and whirling the whole thing in a blender. This made an acceptable salsa, but I think some of the flavor was compromised by adding water and pouring it off. So this year I decided to try something different: roasting.

Tomatillos are not as squishy as their ripe red tomato cousins, but their cells, like those of all living things, are made up of a high percentage of water. By roasting the tomatillos in the oven, the excess liquid cooks off, and some of the sugars start to caramelize, making for a unique, rich flavor.

I did some searching for a recipe for roasted salsa verde, but all of the recipes I came up with were for small quantities of tomatillos, not the full grocery bags I hauled in from the garden before the first hard freeze. I'm more of an improvisational cook anyway, so what I have here is a "guideline" recipe that can be adjusted for quantity and taste. One exception: for canning, you want to be sure the acidity is high enough, especially if you're doing a boiling water bath. I add one cup of vinegar per four pounds tomatillos.

Roasted salsa verde

Tomatillos, however many you have

Chopped onions, about a 1:4 ratio to the tomatillos

Hot peppers to taste

Garlic, to taste

Salt (use your judgment)

Vinegar (white distilled or apple cider, whatever you have on hand, or lime juice, which tastes pretty good in fresh salsa)

Cilantro, chopped, to taste

First, husk the tomatillos and wash away any dirt. If you have about three times this amount of tomatillos, as I did, I recommend putting some good music on and pouring a glass of something. This will take a while. And your fingers will get sticky.

Cut tomatillos in half; on the bigger ones, cut out the stem. Place on a roasting pan that has been drizzled with olive oil. 

Roast at about 400 degrees, until some liquid is cooked off and the tomatillos start to turn brown in spots. You want some liquid left; shoot for something like this:

Pour into a Dutch oven or stock pot. Add the rest of the ingredients, tasting often and cleansing your palate with a good IPA. for this batch I used some assorted hot peppers that were given to me by a friend; my hot peppers didn't do so well this year. 

Simmer for a while on low- medium heat. I suppose at this point if you want a smoother salsa with no skins you could run it through a food mill. I'm too lazy to do that.

At this point, it's time to can it. You can use either the boiling water or pressure method. Since my old boiling water bath canner sprung a leak, I will pressure can this batch. 15 minutes at 10 lbs, otherwise 40 minutes boiling. Some recipes call for adding a tablespoon of lemon juice per pint for acidity; since I add vinegar earlier this is not necessary.

What I'm thinking about right now (in no particular order)

I have not had the time (or, more accurately, made the time) for a coherent blog post lately. So many threads in the Dude's head.. So I'll fire some of them off here, more for a mental exercise for myself than for anyone's reading pleasure. So you're warned.

-It is getting green around here fast, and a couple weeks ahead of last year..

-First Ovenbird was heard this morning. 

-Pretty sure I heard an Eastern towhee here yesterday. That's a first.

-My son graduates in less than a month. Yes, I am freaking out about that. 

-My schedule this week is booked solid with baseball games and band concert.

-The band concert was emotional. A tribute to Colton. 

-I knew it would be, and I almost didn't want to go.

-But I did. 

-The East Central Eagles baseball team has won two games in a row. 

-I love watching high school baseball.

-I ran my first 10K last Saturday.

-Found out that people who run a 10 minute + mile do not generally run 10Ks. But I got my goal. 

-It hurts for longer than I thought after running a 10K. I have a bruise on the sole of my foot near a middle toe. 

Running the Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon next on June 20. Staying in a suite in Duluth's Canal Park with an old friend and a bunch of other runners. FUN! 

-My boss retired. I naturally applied for the job. We'll see. 

-Yoga felt really good tonight.

That is all. Namaste.

Thoughts for the day on writing

I came across this post by Parker J. Palmer on the On Being blog, via Facebook:

Three Eternal (So Far) Truths about Living and Writing

1. Care more about the process than the outcome.

2. Be generous in order to maximize the chances of dumb luck.

3. Dive deep, dwell in the dark, and value beginner's mind no matter how loudly your ego protests.

 ~and~ don't write about what you know. Write about what you want to know because it intrigues and baffles you.

Senior pictures

I am a delinquent mom. Don't most moms of high school seniors have the party all planned, announcements ordered, and senior portraits in a fancy box, ready for distribution by March? 

I admit, I don't know how to do this, and frankly I'm not ready. I can't believe my first born is graduating from high school. But, I am not one to worry about things prematurely. I come from a long line of worriers, and I guess it is my calling to break that chain. 

When I was in high school, we had senior portrait day in August, where a contract photographer would come in and take stiff indoor portraits. We could opt to have portraits taken by another studio, although they usually cost more. It was virtually unheard of to take your own. Of course, we did not have digital photography then. Nowadays I can take a higher resolution selfie than my senior portrait. 

I don't want to diss professional photographers either. They do a good job, and there are times when you don't want your memories left to you and a few friends. That said, I had my wedding photos taken by a couple cousins, and while they are not like the posed shots you see these days, they were fine for me. 

I never could see my son posing indoors wearing a suit. He did not own a suit until a month ago, when I had to buy one for his classmate's funeral. 

So, deadlines were approaching, and we did what had to be done. The first reasonably nice March day, Monday, it was sunny and 55 degrees. He and I had an unspoken agreement that pictures would be taken at Banning State Park, which in my opinion is one of the most beautiful spots on Earth. However, Banning is also the home to one of those adventures kids have that parents never want to hear about. It is part of Vinny's story, so I have to share it. 

One day in February 2014, Vinny and his friend Austin had some time to kill before catching the bus for an away basketball game. Since Banning State Park surrounds the school, and the park entrance is just down the road, they decided to check the ice on the Kettle River. Long story short: The ice was thin in places, as river ice is. Vinny had to explain to the coach why his pants were soaking wet on the bus. 

Anyway, the opportunity presented itself Monday, and we had a great time hiking around taking informal portraits. 

This captures Vinny more than any indoor portrait in a suit ever could. 

Meteorological spring

This does not look like spring. It certainly doesn't feel like spring. But today, March 1st, is the beginning of "meteorological spring". Hmm. At least it did not get below zero last night. I celebrated with a 4.5 mile run. This picture was at the halfway point, at the top of a hill on a dead end road.

I felt strong, I felt good, even though I have this theory that breathing freezing air into my lungs slows my pace down. And running on half iced roads is a challenge. But the main thing was that I was out there, moving, alive. Last year at this time, a 4.5 mile run would have been a big challenge for me.

Nina and I will be running the Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon June 20 in Duluth. And the Brookings, SD Half Marathon in May, once I get us registered. We plan to wear our "Eagles Strong #24" shirts. Such a great thing, to be able to run.

grieving

I am still dealing with the fact that my post about the basketball game is approaching 5,000 page views. I certainly did not think that what I wrote for myself, intended to share with a few friends, would reach that far. It made me nervous, in fact. I was editing the original post while I waited in line at JC Penneys to buy my son a suit for the funeral. I am nervous that so many people have read what was a heartfelt reaction to the untimely death of a friend, teammate, and classmate of my son. I hope I said everything right. I know I didn't, and there are places where I could have done better. I am sorry for that.

Healing has begun here. It can't ever get back to normal, but we're adjusting. Basketball season is over. It was heartbreaking, going to every game. But now there is baseball to look forward to.

There but for the grace of God go I. But where is the grace when a young man is gone? I don't know, and I guess I never will.

East Central Eagles basketball live stream

The East Central Eagles host the Moose Lake/Willow River Rebels tonight at approximately 7:15. This will be the first home game without #24, Colton. Here is a link to the live stream; you can create an account or sign in with Facebook.

Eagles vs Rebels

I'll be there in the bleachers!