Same scene, different year

I am thankful that, if I have to have a 30 minute commute to work, at least I get to do it in light traffic with some gorgeous scenery along the way, especially this time of year. According to my computer, this photo was taken October 6, 2006. The leaves looked about the same today as I crossed the Kettle River.

I savor my drives to and from work this time of year, the brilliance and ever changing hues of the leaves. I know that in just a few weeks, cold gray November will be upon us, which makes the beauty of the leaves and the blue sky even more precious.

November sunset

It is that time of year when sunset brings a rosy glow to the eastern sky. Cold morning temperatures this past week made small lakes freeze over with a skim of ice, but some unseasonably warm, sunny days yesterday and today will no doubt reverse that.

Nevertheless, cold winds from the northwest have been driving flocks of tundra swans southeast to their wintering grounds. On Monday, a day off from work, I counted no less than five flocks flying overhead. They were flying low enough, giving their eerie low whistling calls, that I could hear them from indoors. The larger trumpeter swans have also flown, leaving their breeding lakes in search of open water. The trumpeter swans do not travel as far as tundra swans; they spend the winter at various places along the Mississippi River in southeast Minnesota.

Some people find this time of year in Minnesota unsettling, with the onset of short days and freezing nights. Their thoughts turn to warmer, sunnier places. But I enjoy the stark beauty of bare trees, the green of pines and spruces that seems greener in the absence of brighter colors.

Roaring waters

The Kettle River, which is in the Upper St. Croix watershed in Minnesota, peaked at a record gauge height of 17.93 feet early in the morning of June 22. Normal height is probably around 6-7 feet. I had some time the evening before to check out the river at one of my favorite spots, the old Sandstone dam site. A hydroelectric dam created a reservoir upstream before it was removed in 1994. The removal of the dam revealed a waterfall, Big Spring Falls, which is shown in the first video. The second video shows the actual site of the old dam.

When the dam was removed, the sediment that had built up behind the dam for nearly a hundred years washed downstream. While dam removal is generally a good thing for river ecosystems, the sediment in this case filled up deep holes downstream that were once habitat for lake sturgeon, which is listed as a species of special concern in Minnesota. While this record river level was not a good thing for some people who lived near the river upstream (people who never had any reason to believe their homes would ever be threatened by the river), this surge of water just may wash out some of the fine sediment and restore some of the sturgeon holes.

At Big Spring Falls, I saw reminders of when water levels were even higher, thousands of years ago, creating cuts and kettles in the sandstone bedrock. The roar of water on rock drowned out every other sound and engulfed me, much like the roar of ocean waves. A dreadful and amazing sound.

More high water in Minnesota

Less than a month ago I was writing about the local flood we had here on Sand Creek. Now it seems like nothing; one road washed out in one place, and was fixed by noon the next day. Compare that with what happened last week in Duluth, MN, just fifty miles north of here. With up to ten inches of rain Tuesday night, the city's streets, creeks, and storm sewers were overwhelmed. If you are not familiar with Duluth, it is a beautiful city located at the westernmost point of Lake Superior. Much of the city is on a hillside that drops over 600 feet from the edge of the hill to the lakeshore. When you live on a hill with a marvelous lake view, you don't think about floods too much. Hardly anyone saw this coming. Streets are collapsed or washed away, houses are moved off foundations, and a couple of seals from the Duluth Zoo almost had the chance to make Lake Superior their home.

We go to Duluth once a month or more for shopping or more fun stuff. I have not been there since the flood; our main route into the city runs next to the St. Louis River and was under water for a while.






On Wednesday I was shocked to hear the news from Duluth. What I did not realize was that a lot of rain also fell on the headwaters of two local rivers, the Moose Horn and the Kettle. We "only" had about two inches of rain that night; Sand Creek was high but not nearly as high as it was three weeks ago. But there was a huge gradient in rainfall in less than thirty miles to the northwest, with six to eight inches falling in places with the ground already saturated from previous storms.

The Kettle River, pictured above at Highway 23 near the kids' school, crested Friday morning at a level that beat the previous record, set in 1972, by two feet. The bridge in the picture is the one I sit under sometimes and play flute, with the water a good six feet below me.






I have some friends who live on the shores of the Kettle River. I'm sure they never imagined water reaching the tops of their kitchen cabinets; after all, it had never even been close. While they will keep their house, they are faced with a long and expensive cleanup. There are people in the town of Moose Lake who are not so lucky; their homes are beyond repair. No one thought this would ever happen.

So many weird weather events, so little time, and lives are changed in an instant. Is this the new normal?

fall is happening

And I am doing my best to stay awake for it. Life seems more hectic here than ever; I haven't even had the time to stop at my refuge, Banning State Park, for over a week. These are photos from my last visit there, and my, things have changed in a few days.

It has been unseasonably warm and very dry here. The fall colors are beautiful, but I enjoy them more on a crisp, cool day.

My life mostly revolves around driving to work, and driving my kids to and from sports. My 2006 Subaru Outback just hit the 100,000 mile mark two days ago, which is not out of the question considering we live 15 miles from school and 30 miles from my job, but still it is a sobering reminder that I am, for now, dependent on driving. I love these fall days, but sometimes I wish the progression of the seasons, and the events in my life, would just slow down for once so I could enjoy them a little.

I mean, how in the heck did my kids end up so old already? :)

Annual exuberant pond opening post!

Today was the day. The pond is 99% ice free, and of course Sally had to celebrate. We humans will wait a while, at least until the water temperature is within 30 degrees of body temperature.

Spring is unfolding in the wondrous way it always does. Birds are returning, woodcock are doing their spectacular display, ruffed grouse are drumming, robins are singing, and in the last couple of days, frogs have started singing. It's a wonderful time here.

summer days

Days filled with work...which means cruising around on a boat in lakes sampling plants, but also seeing pelicans, hawks, eagles, ospreys, ducks, obscene shoreline landscaping, and everything in between.

Gardening...peas are peaking, everything else is looking great thanks to the abundant rain in June.

House- projects are moving ahead. Drywall is up and mudded, and if everything is on schedule I should be spending my Fourth of July long weekend painting. Not just primer white mind you, but colors like Earthenware Orange, Lemon Balm, and Daybreak Fern for the master bedroom. We are living in color now.

But if I get a break from painting, I hope to be launching our family pontoon boat in a nearby lake, where we were able to get a dock slip at the golf course. We still have plenty of summer left to enjoy it. Although cruising around a lake in a boat sounds a lot like work to me...I'll be watching the aquatic vegetation closely.

Tomorrow is the first of July, and I somehow lament that fact. I love the month of June, and I wish it would never end. June in Minnesota is paradise, if you can handle a few mosquitoes. And sunrises at 5:30. And sunsets at 9:00. And intense greenness everywhere, punctuated with wildflowers. The other day I saw fireweed starting to bloom. No way, it's a July flower!

Wherever you are, enjoy the moment. It is, after all, everything.

the summer look

I switched back to this header photo I used last year, because I think it captures a Minnesota summer better than any other photo I have ever taken.

Speaking of summer, it's coming by leaps and bounds here. The next three weeks or so will be the peak of daylight at 46 degrees north latitude, which means the last streaks of light disappear about five hours before they reappear in the eastern sky. I love June. I only wish I didn't feel so squeezed for time in my daily life.

springtime in the woods

This lovely island woods on a lake in east central Minnesota was where I spent my lunch break today. Alone. I like it that way.

The spring beauties and anemones were in bloom. Too bad the work camera wasn't focusing the best, but you get the idea.

And I found just what I had hoped to see. Trilliums were just coming out. I don't have any of these white trilliums in my woods, so it is nice when I can find one to photograph up close.

running on a carpet of golden needles

I went for a beautiful 5.2 mile run this morning. For various reasons, most of them probably no more than lame excuses, I had not run for more than a month. No time. Sick. Raining, cold weather. Snow. I know that physically I go through a very real transition from summer to fall. For a couple of weeks when temperatures get below freezing overnight, and especially if clouds dominate the day, the thought of going outside and subjecting myself to physical exertion seems, well...unthinkable. But this is much better than the state I was in a couple of years ago, where the thought of any physical exertion any time of year was, well...unthinkable. Can I tell you all of the wonderful things running has done for me?

My usual route goes from my driveway north on our road a half mile, then taking a right turn down a dead end road that continues a little over two miles east, then coming back. It's a gorgeous route any time of year, fairly level and covering mixed woods, wetlands, and open fields, with Sand Creek and a tributary along much of the way. But today my view was accented by the gold of tamaracks, which are in their full fall glory. One stretch of road has a dense tamarack forest on either side, and yesterday's wind had brought down a carpet of golden needles on the road.

The above photo is the view out my back door. Glorious! But back to my run...I was worried about the effects of not having run for a few weeks. But my legs just flew on their own, it seemed so effortless. So effortless, in fact, that on the way back I took my pulse and decided I must be getting too good at running at a snail's pace, I was barely in "the zone". I increased my pace off and on for the remainder of the run, pushing myself towards breathless. I returned home exhilarated.

The blue sky is fleeting. We are looking at more rain starting tonight. The tamarack gold will probably not last much longer, just as the birch, aspen, and even some of the oak leaves have quietly released to the forest floor. The nights are getting longer and darker, and a rocking chair and a wool blanket near the wood stove are looking better all the time.

sandhill staging

In a field about six miles south of my house, an amazing meeting is going on:

The sandhill cranes found this particular location desirable for all the reasons cranes like: plentiful food (from recently harvested corn fields), grassy fields, and marshes nearby.


It is worth noting that in my lifetime, sandhill cranes have gone from being a nearly extirpated oddity in Minnesota to a yearly spectacle. Kind of like bald eagles in that regard. I am so fortunate to have a pair of them nesting in the swamp near my home every year.

I left work early today and took a special drive just to see the cranes. On the way I noticed the tamaracks are turning golden, a sure sign of the end days of fall.

these are the colors I was talking about

A hastily taken picture about a half mile down the road. Maples are so dramatic, aren't they. They blush at the first sign of fall.

After I picked up a few necessities in town, I had about a half hour to spare before Calvin was done with football practice. So I drove around a little, and came upon this old barn. I am sure I have posted about it once before, but I cannot find it tonight. Anyway, it is still there, although I do not know for how long. Once it must have been an exciting thing, to build such a fine structure for the dairy herd you worked so hard to build. Somewhere along the line, expenses and farm programs did away with that dream.

autumn creeping in

I really need to bring the camera with me to work tomorrow so I can share all the brilliant fall colors that are starting to appear. It sure doesn't feel like fall, though, with daytime temps approaching 80 and a humid, still night tonight.

Now that I'm taxi mom again for after school activities, I'm not getting home until after 6, which means less than two hours of daylight at home. Which I would be glad to have two months from now.

subtle changes

early July

early September

I took these two photos of the same scene purely by chance. (Or did I? Maybe there is no such thing as chance). I thought it would be a study in changes, but I am more struck by the similarities.

Labor Day weekend is a time of transition, with the kids starting back to school on Tuesday. I have found I probably take the transition harder than they do.

last week of the summer

It's only the fourth inning of the Twins game, and it's getting dark. A waxing moon is rising, but still the kids are outside squeezing in another few pitches of homemade baseball.

I found a beautiful place today. Have you ever happened upon a place where you are immediately mesmerized, where you feel the need to come back and spend some time? I will, and I will bring a camera. Picture a stream cascading over ledges of sandstone in a small valley. I was there for work, but I will be back on my own time.

nighthawks are flying

And taking with them the last days of summer. They swoop down low over the asters and goldenrods, hanging in the stillness of the evening air.

blackbirds flying

We saw these red winged blackbirds flocked together and feasting on wild rice at a local lake on Friday.

summertime

It's that fireweed time of year, the time I first realize that summer is slipping by, the days are only going to get shorter. Best to savor every moment.





I think this photo is absolutely priceless. Calvin, on the right, is giving me the "okay Mom, I see you but I'm not supposed to look like I do" look. His two flag bearing friends in the middle had some 12 year old goofy look thing going on. And Floridacracker, this photo does not show it very well, but the flag at the right is indeed the banner of Florida. I guess because the band has played at Disney World, they earned it. :)

Marsh marigold

It is Spring in a big way, that week or two when everything bursts forth in green, the drab grays and tans of bare trees and dead grasses fade under new growth. It is the time while, as the everyday business of human life rushes forward, I just want to pause somewhere in a sunny meadow near a laughing brook and BE a part of this world that does not concern itself with human economies. I also see clearly, in stark contrast, the ideal life I want versus the present reality, lost in the details. But the renewal of spring gives me hope and courage to pursue that good life as I plant my garden and play the ancient music.

budding out

I have this wonderful place to stop and watch the Kettle River while I'm waiting for Calvin's baseball practice to be over. The school is just up the hill, but this land is all part of Banning State Park. Lovely. This willow was in a spring mood yesterday. We've had highs in the 60's and sunny weather all week. I have to remind myself that I'm not too busy to enjoy it, and the enjoyment is free.