lonely beach in October

On Wednesday and Friday of last week I was out of the office and on the road for work. I don't mind a 100 mile drive by myself once in a while. It's a chance to turn on the public radio news channel, or sometimes turn the radio off and just enjoy the quiet and the scenery. In order to get to and from where I was going, I had to drive around the shore of Mille Lacs, one of Minnesota's largest lakes.

On Wednesday the wind was out of the southeast, creating waves that splashed against the shore. I listened to the soothing sound for a few minutes, and I was reminded of other shores, other waters.

This beach on the north shore of the lake is a state-owned Aquatic Management Area, open to public fishing, swimming, birding, walking, contemplating, or whatever. Mille Lacs is one of the few lakes in this part of Minnesota that is big enough to have the wave action to form a natural beach, and there are very few stretches of beach along the lake that are undeveloped, in a natural state.

On Friday I drove through light rain for the first part of the day. When I stopped at the beach, the sun was just beginning to break through the clouds and mist. After I had turned away from the lake and was headed east, the wind came up, sending a storm of oak leaves and tamarack needles through the sky.

I saw very few shorebirds or waterfowl, but I did get this photo. I was carrying only my camera, not my binoculars, so I did not even see the details of this gull until I downloaded the photos. Bonaparte's?

wordless wednesday: trumpeters

North Big Pine Lake, Minnesota

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.

A philosophical discussion with Mr. Attitude

Reposted from Facebook, for all you technophobes out there who think dial phones are still the standard of communication. ;) I still believe there is room for both Blogger and Facebook. Obviously the proprietor of The Ethereal Garage doesn't think so. Too bad for everyone. ;)

Son#2: Mom, what is real?

Me, getting philosophical: The present moment. The past is memory, the future is uncertain.

Son#2: So if I hit you in the head, a moment later it wouldn't be real?

Me: resolving to never have philosophical discussions with a kid whom even his piano teacher calls "Mr. Attitude." :)

ubiquitous attitude

Starflower informed me today that her and Mr. Attitude's piano teacher, the school band director, has, independent of any knowledge of this blog, dubbed him "Mr. Attitude!"

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.

owly

Yesterday may have been the first time ever that I bought a six pack of beer just for its label. I'm not normally a big fan of brown ale, but who could resist the saw whet owl?

I've been hearing barred and great horned owls lately, and even saw a great horned owl being mobbed by crows the other morning. Bald eagles must be migrating through; I have been seeing two or three of them a day! The sightings and sounds almost make up for the dismal dark wet snowy weather we've been having.

The kids have a mini break school yesterday and today for the annual Minnesota teachers' union convention. I wish I could be sleeping in this morning!

CORRECTION/UPDATE: OMG, I'm a pretty bad birder if I can't even properly identify an owl on a beer label! I checked my Sibley's tonight, just to be sure, and wouldn't you know it, that is a BOREAL owl, not a saw whet! Of course, I have seen neither of them in real life, but they are both pretty darn cute.

As long as I'm updating, I might as well say I saw a pair of trumpeter swans flying near the Kettle River this morning on my way to work. And stay tuned for sandhill cranes, lots of them...

Minnesota fall colors

I am so not ready for white. And if the behavior of the juvenile members of this household today is any indication, we're in for a LONG winter indoors. Sigh.

I did see some amazing sights today on my way home from some errands in town: a flock of 50+ ravens and one bald eagle (must have been some great road kill!), and a couple large flocks of sandhill cranes resting in a marsh and a pasture.

This snow has completely sucked out whatever motivation I had to do things today. I'm even thinking a nap sounds good right about now.

October-isms

This afternoon, after the nail-bitingly wonderful ball game last night, I wasn't quite ready to sit in the school parking lot and listen to the beginning of the Twins/Yankees playoff game. It was sunny and in the fifties and not raining, as it has so often lately, and part of me was missing engaging in any form of exercise for the last couple of weeks. So I drove to a trail I had been to once before, last spring or maybe even before that. It's a snowmobile trail on state park land that is not heavily advertised or used when there is no snow. It winds downhill, across a couple dry ravines leading to the Kettle River, then uphill again. Off the beaten trail I had heard there was a creek that cut through some rock outcrops, but the last time I was there I did not know where to get off the trail. I'm a sucker for water and rock outcrops, so I was determined to find the creek this time.

I had half an hour to wander, so I quickly covered the half mile or so of marked trail. The tree canopy, mostly aspen and birch with some maple, was a brilliant, other-worldly shade of gold. I saw a scattered pile of feathers that looked like they once belonged to a goshawk or Cooper's hawk. I saw a large mushroom being consumed by a slug.

When I got to where I had to leave the beaten trail, I briefly considered the wisdom of what I was about to do. There was a chance I could get lost in the woods. However, the sun was out, I could hear the freeway from where I was, so I had a pretty good sense of direction. That, and the slope of the river valley was a good landmark.

I wandered downhill through some light undergrowth, and soon I found the stream and some sandstone outcrops. Unfortunately, I checked my iPod clock and realized I had about ten minutes to get back to the car and get to the school, directly across the river from where I was, to pick up Calvin. So I reluctantly saved serious rock exploration and meditation for another day. And I found my way back to the trail easily.

I saw my first rough legged hawk of the fall on the way home. Once I was home I headed out to the garden to gather green tomatoes. It's supposed to get pretty cold tomorrow night and I hope to bring in what I can before it freezes too hard. On my way out to the garden I heard a great horned owl; I had heard one early this morning too. I had not heard one since maybe last spring.

I picked two buckets of tomatoes, but there are still plenty more out there. I also picked a box of tomatillos. Strangely enough, I had my best crop of them in several years. Even stranger, after I had brought them in, Calvin, who did not know I had been out picking them, asked me if I could make some salsa verde this year! He has developed quite a taste for salsa lately, and he told me he loves salsa verde. I should have enough for four or five pints, which I suspect will go quickly. :)

The air is crisp, the multicolored landscape beautiful, and I wish it could stay like this for about two months longer.

TWINS!!!

They did it!!! From 3 games back just 4 GAMES AGO, they won the AL Central Division title!!! And they did it in classic fashion, 12 innings in front of 54,000 loud fans in the Metrodome, where the last Twins game was supposed to have been yesterday. And they did it in twelve hard fought innings, which left me EXHAUSTED!

Nothing will ever surprise me, ever again. And I will NEVER give up!!!

rainy night ramblings

There's a fire in the wood stove, the rain is tapping (not pounding, not really tapping either...I can't find a good word for the sound rain makes) on the steel roof, supper is on the stove, and I have managed to find a time when the computer is not occupied by preteens. So I'm long overdue for one of my stream of consciousness, "thinking out loud" category posts, in which I attempt to say a little about a lot. Here goes.

The Hermit saw something that must have been hilarious today: Whiter Biter, our alpha tom cat, chasing an otter! Knowing Whiter Biter, he was probably trying to mate with it. Tomcats...

We closed out a record warm September with the season's first heavy frost Tuesday night. It got down to 29 degrees here, which is enough, we found out, to freeze tomatoes under mini hoop houses covered in plastic. The tomatoes that were directly under row cover fabric fared much better. Either way, we were blessed with an extra two weeks or so before frost, which wasn't quite enough to make up for the painfully slow growth and ripening of my tomatoes this year. As usual. I didn't get them in until the latter half of June, but still I was counting on varieties listed as under 80 days to actually produce ripe tomatoes within 90 days. I had some luck, with Stupice, Glacier, Yellow Pear, and a couple Black Cherry, but the rest were still in various stages of greenness. I really must look into a greenhouse if I expect to grow tomatoes here.

Growing tomatoes here is kind of like following Twins baseball. The odds are stacked against them (tomatoes and Twins), but still they show just enough promise in September to stay in the running. By the time the first hard frost (or late series with Detroit, the first place team) rolls around, you wish them the best, but are ready for them to just be out of playoff contention so you can relax a little and look forward to next year. Tonight the Twins still theoretically have a chance, but the stars have to be lined up perfectly. About the chance my tomatoes under the row covers have of ripening. Go Twins. Go Tomatoes.

Calvin is on his way home from an away football game tonight. I'm not that dedicated of a football parent that I would drive to a school 30 miles away to watch a game in the 50 degree rain. The Hermit is picking him up at the school. But last night Calvin casually asked me, "When do you think I'll have a girlfriend?" I stammered for a minute, thinking of what to say, then replied that when the time was ready, he was such a smart, fun, good looking guy I was sure the girls would be after him. Well, I guess they already are. Apparently he has been communicating with a girl, mostly via text messaging, who is a friend of a cousin of a girl in his class. Or something like that. Anyway, he wanted to know if he could go to her homecoming dance with her; her mom would drive. I asked what school she went to, and he wasn't really sure. He tried to put me on the phone with her mom last night, but I wasn't ready to be put on the spot like that. I have decided there are too many unknowns to even consider letting him go to the dance, not the least of which is the inherent nature of seventh graders to look unkindly on outsiders.

I am SO not ready for this!

Mr. Attitude is practicing his piano lesson now, and being interrupted by Whiter Biter (the otter chaser) who somehow sneaked inside. Mr. Attitude requested piano lessons this year because he wants to play drums in band when he gets to fifth grade, and you need at least two years of piano to be a percussionist (like Starflower). The piano teacher is the school band director, who is probably the best liked, most dedicated teacher in the whole school. I am glad my kids have these musical opportunities; after all, band was my big thing in high school, and music is a life long all around good thing. We can't live without it.

Speaking of music, I checked out Steve Martin's banjo album, The Crow, from the library. Yes, THAT Steve Martin, wild and crazy guy. Can he ever play the five string! Most of the songs on the album are original compositions, and his life long love of the banjo comes through in every one. Makes me want to sign off the computer and pick up my Deering Goodtime, if I can find the finger picks...kittens have been making them disappear from the table recently...

I was going to go further and deeper, covering topics like scientific skepticism, the meaning of life, and classical Western herbalism, but those all deserve their own posts soon when these ever lengthening nights find me with more time to ponder...that is, if I can get my preteens off the computer...

pond evening

This September has been incredible, weatherwise. Tonight was just another golden evening.

This girl was happy to finally have some pond time. Week nights are just too hectic.

I have more words somewhere. But I also have a cold and the urge to just crawl under flannel sheets after the sun goes down. The words will be there soon, I promise.

the crazy woman under the bridge

Here's the problem: I get off work at 4:30, and Calvin's 7th grade football practice is not over until 5:45. It' s a fifteen minute drive from work to school (which is on the way home) at best, and even if I kill time doing some grocery shopping along the way, I still have about a 45 minute wait. I don't want to drive home and back, even though I could, because that would use up a gallon of gas. Ah the price I pay for living in rural paradise. :) But I'll gladly pay it since Calvin seems to really like football, and band, and school in general so far this year. Seventh grade was hell for me, so I am happy he's having a better go of it.

I was considering running during the wait, since I could put in 3 miles or so in that time. But it's been an unseasonably hot September, and I just haven't been in the mood for it. I know, I'm a slacker. And there's reading; I have had some good books from the library on the topic of herbal medicine, which is another recent interest I need to blog about. That, and I can't believe I read and understood Ralph Waldo Emerson's essay, "Self Reliance", all during lunch and break times yesterday. But no, it's hard to read Emerson in a school parking lot when there are parents all around looking either like the definitive argument for the obesity epidemic, or parading around in designer clothes and big hair and Hummers. Ugh.

So I've been doing something, twice now, that makes me feel like I'm being utterly subversive and nonconformist. I drive my car to a river bridge and boat access about a half mile east of the school. Usually there's no one there that time on a week day. I take my flute, along with O'Neill's book of Irish tunes, and a beer, and sit under the bridge and play music! The acoustics are great, although interrupted at about one minute intervals by traffic passing over the bridge. And today right before I set up camp, two canoeists went by, paddling upstream. I made sure they were out of earshot before I began.

It has been wonderful for my soul. Today I just started improvising in D minor and G minor, and the sounds that echoed off the concrete were amazing. It still scares me, being there sending my music out to the world, and perhaps unwitting canoeists. But I'm feeling my inner crazy f'er, and that feels pretty damn good. :)

Greg Brown in Duluth

I have been listening to Greg Brown's Dream Cafe album lately. It was his newest album when I first came to know his music, and it remains as one of his best. Which is a difficult choice. One of the songs from that album, "Laughing River", is among my choices for Best Song Ever Written By Anyone, Ever. It says so much in so few words, about the heartache of giving up on a dream, but all the promise a new life offers. Well, way more than that. That is how Greg Brown writes. He gets it man, he really gets it. And I found out on short notice last week, he was coming to play in my favorite small city in Minnesota, a short 50 mile drive from my house, for a mere $4 entrance fee to the Harvest Festival and Renewable Energy Fair. What could be better?

It was a perfect evening for an outdoor concert. In case you haven't heard, summer has finally arrived in Minnesota, and for a few days at least, polarfleece and sweatshirts are optional outdoor attire. The setting was a park on the waterfront in Duluth, near the landmark Aerial Lift Bridge. As the sun edged towards the hills to the west, recreational boats, tour boats, and the occasional Great Lakes freighter sailed by. Greg remarked that one's horn was tuned in D. I have a thing for musician nerd jokes like that. :)

I have to say, of all the Greg Brown concerts I have been to, which is more than a few since I first saw him in Hastings, MN in 1992, this was my favorite. He seemed so relaxed up there on stage, so in his element, and I was equally relaxed and taking it all in. He started off with "Home In The Sky", which I think is from his earliest album Iowa Waltz. Looking up at the sky and the seagulls circling over the harbor, I could agree that heaven is just about a thousand feet high.

Greg has a real knack for between-songs banter. With some self proclaimed "singer-songwriters", the between the songs thing can get a bit tedious. Not with Greg. As a matter of fact, what I liked best was how he denounced how self-absorbed some singer-songwriters these days seem to be. Ironic, considering how I thought the opening act belonged in that category hands down.

He did all the best. "Canned Goods", "Laughing River", "You Drive Me Crazy", and a whole bunch I was nodding and laughing along with. I was surprised he included "Kokomo", his very dark but humorous elegy to one night stands:

"You know she was just my kind, middle aged and crude
Nipples the size of jack balls and a real bad attitude
She wore my ass out so damn fast and left me nowhere to go
Just a sticky wicket and a Greyhound ticket on the road to Kokomo"

So there you have it. The Iowan poet, married to another musical poet Iris DeMent, father to musical poet Pieta Brown, and just all around perceptive, beat poet musician Greg Brown. I hope to see him again real soon.

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.

of trout, and the aquatic mammals that eat them

I was in the midst of another adventurous day at work. Lately, due to a coworker's taking family leave, I have been out more than in, sampling one stream after another with electricity. And you know what, I'm enjoying it, more than I have enjoyed any other work I've done (at work that is) since I can remember. In the last couple of weeks I have seen some nice waters, gotten to know a lot more of the local plants, and even seen a few brook trout.

I heard my cell phone signal a new voice mail. 99 percent of the time my cell phone messages are anything but urgent, but even though I was not in a strong signal area I decided to check it.

"Mom! There's a family of otters in the pond!"

My battery was going low, or I would have called back just to make sure I heard right. Today indeed a family of four otters had taken over the pond and were frolicking wildly! I wish I could have been there to see them. New wildlife sighting at Sand Creek!

Of course, this probably explains why last Friday, when we finally got around to sampling the stretch of Sand Creek that flows through my land, there were no trout. Otters eat fish, and they can take down the population of a brook trout stream easily.

But it does not explain why today, in a shallow, alder choked stretch of stream about five miles south of here, we sampled thirteen small brook trout in about a 500 foot length of stream. By small I mean, you would not even think of taking them home for dinner, but they were there! We were totally not expecting to see them. I'm sure otters lurk there now and then, and yet brook trout survive against incredible odds.

Nature is wonderfully balanced that way.

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.

extreme gardening and running

It's the last night of August, and there are frost advisories out for the area. Considering this garden's history of being stricken by frost even when no advisories are present, I thought it would be prudent to cover up the tender stuff. I put so much work into growing tomatoes, I would like to see more than one ripe one yet this year. And my one watermelon is now softball size, can't give up now!

I had a strange but delightful run this morning. Usually in five miles or more, I will only see one or two vehicles at the most. And usually at least one of those is someone I know. But this morning when I turned east on the dead end road I know so well, I was passed by pickup truck after pickup truck, all late model and shiny, all towing trailers with dirt bikes or 4 wheelers. Great. Where on this little dead end road could they possibly be headed? I thought about turning around and taking a different route, but hey, this is MY road, my run, and I'm not going to let a bunch of city kids with their toys chase me off of it.

It turned out they were all headed to one property about two miles down the road. I don't know the details, but there were dozens of vehicles parked there, dirt bikes revving up, the smell of exhaust and cigarettes. I ran past the property, to the end of the road, when I realized something: I felt strong. Maybe it was my disgust at seeing all these gasoline powered playthings in my territory, or maybe it was the silent prayer I said at the beginning of my run, asking for strength. Whatever it was, I felt like I could go on and on. I ended up running down a little side dead end road a half mile and back, and going strong the rest of the way home for a total of seven miles.

I can't recall ever running seven miles, not even in my more youthful days. And I felt like I could have gone for at least ten.