A little fall color for you

Those are "my" crabapple trees, which technically aren't mine. Some farmer planted this row of them a long time ago, when they still had hopes of making a life here. While the giant spruce still remains, the house, the barn, are long gone. Aspens are growing through the blown-off roof of a tin shed. Our neighbors still hay some of the 120 acres, but it is otherwise vacant. I still may harvest some of the abundant fruit for jelly. In my spare time. Which I have so much of these days.

The colors are changing by the hour as leaves fall. Maples and birches have pretty much given up, while aspens are glowing gold and tamaracks are starting to turn.

In a couple of weeks, too soon, it will be stark gray branches. But the crabapples will hang on to feed Bohemian waxwings in the middle of winter.

more Banning photos

Here's the view from underneath a rock ledge, looking upstream into the Kettle River.


When I asked Mr. Attitude what he liked best about this hike, the first thing he thought of was "the trees growing on the rock. How do they do that?"

I don't know. Life is amazing.


And this is my attempt to show you that we were looking down 100 foot steep slopes to the river. Do you see that little bit of silver among the tree branches? That's it. And it made me nervous, with my offspring. :)

Banning State Park hike

I re-found out today that I live about fifteen miles from one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Just look at that photo; that is the Kettle River, as it flows through a narrow sandstone gorge. And that sky...definitely September in Minnesota.

The entrance to this gem in our state park system is a few hundred yards down the road from the entrance to my kids' school. I pass by it every day. So why is it that I have not hiked these trails in 1 or 2 years?

The salon where I get my hair cut is also very close to the park entrance. So when I made appointments for me and Starflower for this morning, I had an idea. The leaves should be pretty, it's supposed to be a gorgeous day, so why not go for a walk in the park? Mr. Attitude was in, but Calvin decided to go on errands with Dad. Starflower and I got similar, shorter than usual haircuts, then we were off to the park.

We took a trail loop that took us past 100 year old abandoned sandstone quarries, which have grown over with new vegetation; in the woods you could hardly imagine you were standing in an old mine. We passed sheer cliffs of sandstone, with the parallel marks of drills, where miners drilled down and then sent explosives down the small holes, shooting slabs of sandstone away from the formation, so they could be cut and sent away on rail cars.

The whole operation was pretty much through by the 1920's. Buildings were being made by structural steel, not rock (although there is a classic look to a stone building!) so the market collapsed for sandstone. Fortunately, the state acquired the land surrounding these former quarries in the 1970's so it could be preserved as a state park.

We were not alone. There were many people hiking the trails, and I was surprised to encounter a Chinese speaking party, as well as a couple who looked maybe Indian, or Tibetan. Everyone looked like they were enjoying the weather, the river, and the spectacular leaf color.

Geology lesson for the day: This photo was taken looking upward through an elliptical hole in the rock. This kind of hole is called a pothole or kettle, hence the name Kettle River, and is formed due to the actions of a river that was once much larger. Somehow, as the glacial melt river was cutting through this geological fault, which made this sheer canyon of ancient sandstone, some rocks got caught in eddy currents. They spun around and around...and in doing so, cut deep holes in the sandstone. This park is full of evidence of how water acts on stone, in geological time. And how humans act on stone, in less than geological time.

I had forgotten how deeply the river cut through the bedrock in this small area. There were parts of the trail where one side dropped off in a steep hill a hundred feet or more. Which is really fun to hike with an impulsive 5 year old...I kept telling him "Keep on the left side of the trail! The left side!" I think the canyon must approach 200 feet in some areas. I am perhaps over sensitive to heights, so in some parts of the trail I was actually getting dizzy. Again, I had fogotten what geological wonders lurked so close to home.

I have made a sort of goal for myself, since I sprung for the $25 State Park sticker that will allow me entrance to any state park for one year. I would like to hike in Banning State Park, or in slightly more distant Jay Cooke State Park, or cross country ski, once a month. I really have no excuse to not stop by Banning once in a while. Hope it's a good snow year too; I really miss skiing.

high water on Sand Creek

At pablo's request, I took this picture of Sand Creek from the road while walking Togo this afternoon. (It is very difficult to take a clear photo, in low light, when you have a very strong husky pulling at the leash!) When the water is this high, we can hear it rushing over a big beaver dam way back in the swamp.

About halfway up in the photo if you look to the left of the creek you can see the remains of an old logging railroad crossing. The logging railroad was in operation for a short time in the 1890's when there were still vast acreages of white pine around here. We have a friend who has found many artifacts of the railroad with his metal detector.

In front of the railroad crossing, which is much steeper than it looks in the photo, is the swimmin' hole. Twelve feet deep or more, with spring fed, cold water in the middle of summer. I'm sure a brook trout or two find refuge there. We have not been swimming there recently; we want to be confident that the kids can handle the deep, cold water. But if you have a big inner tube, there is a nice eddy current that will take you in lazy circles as long as you want.

At normal water levels, the nearest part of the creek would be about half that width, and run in two almost distinct channels.

I think this is as high as it will get; most of the snow has melted and run off. Our cabin and new house site are located on somewhat higher ground, a hundred yards or more away from the creek, which is mostly confined by old ditch banks. In other words, flooding has never been a concern.

It was incredibly quiet today as I walked with Togo. I think the frozen ground amplifies every sound, while the damp, thawing ground mutes sounds.

old house

I wonder what stories this house has to tell.

I pass by this abandoned house just about every day. It sits there, its empty windows gazing into the sunrise, brush growing all around. I can't tell how many years it has been empty, but it looks like it was a nice, cozy house in its day.

The land around here was logged off around 1880-1900, then the cleared land was sold off mainly to immigrant farmers. The 1915 plat map, from a local history book, shows that this land was owned by a Nielsen; Scandinavian, most likely Danish, as the township of Partridge was settled by Danes. The town of Askov holds its Danish tradition proudly, even in this age of homogeneity. A note for you Prairie Home Companion fans: Garrison Keillor's brother resides in the area.

Askov used to pride itself in being the "rutabaga capital" of the state, or maybe even the nation. If you like rutabagas, they were grown here. There was a major rutabaga processing plant, right by the tracks in Askov. They still hold a Rutabaga Festival every year, although probably very few rutabagas are still grown in scattered family gardens. I don't think rutabagas are on the menu at the school or local restaurants.

The post-war policies of the USDA, coupled with the relatively low yield of the land when farmed by "modern" practices, spelled the demise of many family farms in the area. There is still a dairy farm here and there, or a beef operation, or scattered cornfield, but most of the agricultural land is in hay or pasture. Much of the land is tax forfeited, managed for timber harvest by the county, who is not really qualified to know how to do such things. Private land is generally owned by people from the cities, who come up to their cabins for deer season in November.

For some reason, this little house still stands, a remembrance of a time of hope and growth in this area.

UPDATE, 2/07: The house is gone. It was torn down last summer when developers bought the land and subdivided it into ten or twenty acre hunting cabin plots. I miss it.

John Barleycorn and Jack Frost

Here's a tragic but interesting account of life (and death) in the lumber camps that operated around Sand Creek in the 1890's. From the Pine County Courier, December 3rd, 1897:

John Barleycorn and Jack Frost conspired last Friday and took the life of Joe Fitzpatrick, a cook in McGraw’s lumber camp near Mansfield (Bruno). Joe had been to a neighboring camp where, in company with a few companions, he looked long up the bowl of cheers, the fiery liquid having been brought to camp by visitors. After spending some time at camp, he started back to his own quarters. About two miles from McGraw’s camp he laid down, or fell, and arose no more. He froze to death. He was found by the lumbermen the next day. To all appearances, the effect of the liquor made him drowsy and he laid down to sleep. His remains were sent to Stillwater for burial. He was well known in lumber circles in this district where he had been employed as cook for several winters by William O’Brien and other lumbermen.

Local newspapers must have been so much more entertaining to read in those days! I found this in a recently published local history: Courage in a Rugged Land: Bruno MN Old Settlers' Memories and Newspaper Stories, compiled by Edna Bjorkman and Robert David Olson.

Magic, alive evening

It is just after sunset, and the air is alive with the sound of Western chorus frogs, wood frogs, and spring peepers. The woodcock are making their amazing display of skydancing, landing in the vicinity of my garden, where today I planted my first seeds: various lettuce, spinach, mizuna, tatsoi, arugula, orach. The thermometer hit 70 degrees today, and I spent most of my time outdoors, abandoning washing the dishes when a friend from church, Richard, showed up with his metal detector. Our property contains part of the old St. Croix logging railroad right of way, which operated from 1890-1896 (approximate), and Richard is the local authority on logging railroad history. He found several artifacts today, including the best Peavey hook he's ever found. And a pair of ox shoes, like horseshoes except made in two pieces for the hooves of oxen.

The air outside is just full of music, dancing, life. What a wonderful time of year.