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The Ancient Way

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I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins. My soul has grown deep like the rivers.   –Langston Hughes

The third leg of our exploration of the Saint Croix River at Interstate State Park was confined to a smaller area called the Glacial Potholes, adjacent to the turbulent rapids of the Dalles.

 

This area is a geologist’s delight—it contains more potholes in a smaller area than any other place in the world.  The word pothole reminds most of us of those annoying holes in the road at the end of winter, but these potholes were carved by the ancient Glacial River St. Croix into the even more ancient volcanic basalt rocks of the Dalles.  When the Glacial Lake Duluth melted and drained away, tremendous amounts of water flowed down the Glacial River St. Croix cutting through the sandstone rock that had been deposited above the basalt during the shallow sea era.  The speed and turbulence of the water and sandstone sediment carved the potholes into the hard, volcanic rock.  Whirlpools were created as the water pummeled against large rocks then swirled around behind it, grinding cylindrical holes into the basalt.

Some of the potholes have been excavated, including one called the Bottomless Pit that is nearly sixty feet deep.  Others are assumed to be even deeper.  Grindstones of various sizes have been found in the bottom of the pits.  Sediment and trash are removed from the potholes at certain times of the year.

Paths and bridges wove their way through the multi-level pothole area, and people climbed rocks and discovered yet another of the four hundred or so potholes.  Baby potholes lined a high rocky area with trees—small bowls in the rock, holding water, pine needles, and duckweed.

Water and rock—the ancient carver and the medium that it worked on.

My weary legs called an end to our Saint Croix exploring, and as we drove west towards home, the sky mirrored some of the colors we had seen in the rocks and water of the Dalles region.

 

It is awe-inspiring to realize the ground we walked on was once an ancient lava flow.  It was humbling to realize the land was once covered in an ancient sea.  Even the relatively ‘young’ glaciers of ten thousand years ago that melted and carved their way through this area seem ancient in terms of our short lifetimes.  Looking at the water and rocks of the Saint Croix River was beautiful in the present time and at face value, but knowing about the geological history deepened the story and beauty of the area.  It gave it soul.  We each have our own lives in present time and at face value—it can be beautiful or not so great.  When we excavate the history of our lives, we begin to know the truth, we have a greater understanding of why things look the way they do in the present, and we get in touch with our souls.  There is an unseen, ancient wisdom that flows like a river through our lives—let it expose the beauty.

The Hard Way

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It is a rough road that leads to the heights of greatness.  –Lucius Annaeus Seneca

After our easy way of exploring the Saint Croix River on a paddlewheel boat, we picnicked beside the River to renew our energy for the afternoon.  The paddleboat company, the town of Taylors Falls, and Interstate State Park seem to be intertwined.  In fact, we started our hike by walking up one of the hilly side streets after crossing the one, busy main street through town.  We passed an old railroad depot that I thought had been moved up there, but then I realized that we were hiking along the abandoned railroad way.

It soon became evident what a marvelous engineering feat it was to build a railroad through these bluffs!

We came to a place in the woods where the old railway had continued over a steep ravine on a bridge long gone except for some concrete pillars that now had colonies of wild ginger strewn at their feet.

We descended the wooded ravine, and at the bottom, the trail diverged—and we chose the hard way, the scenic way according to our guide Aaron Brake who had hiked here before.  And so we followed another ravine and began the winding ascent to the very top of the bluff.

In the creek bed at the bottom of the ravine were shiny, glistening rocks of basalt.

Fallen trees created bridges of varying size and structure.

We climbed and climbed and though we were in the shady woods, the warm, humid day and exertion caused me to sweat like crazy.  “I never sweat this much,” I exclaimed a number of times, and the only response I got from Emily was, “You need to up your workouts, Mom.”  Finally we got to the top of the bluff and saw the River way down below.

On the trail down we explored more of the sandstone bluffs.  One place was called Curtain Falls that now only flows after heavy rains and snow-melt.

Living on a steep, rocky bluff is a hard way for a tree to survive.  I was amazed at the survival strategies we saw from some of the plant life, like this tree root scaling the rocky cliff, clinging to any soil it could find.

The way down was ‘easier’ than climbing to the top but was in no way easy.  There were many places where wooden stairs helped us get down the steep rock faces.

We arrived at the campground of Interstate State Park—the parking lot and camping spots were full on this Labor Day weekend.  But our hike wasn’t over yet—the trail continued along the River, through trees and over rocks, back to the entrance of the park where we had boarded the boat earlier in the day.  Now we could see the River from the top of the rock cliffs adjacent to the water.

Rock climbers are welcome at the park, and we saw many ropes and climbers.  That’s a hard way of getting up and down the cliffs!

It was beautiful hiking along the rocky cliffs among stately pines, wild blueberries, and various types of ferns.  What a different perspective of the Saint Croix River we had from the edges of the huge rocks compared to floating down the middle of the River. 

 

By the time we returned to the entrance of the park, my feet hurt, my legs were sore, and I wanted to sit down for a while.  When I polled the young twenty and thirty-year-olds about the difficulty of the hike, they proclaimed it ‘moderate.’  I had the word ‘challenging’ in my mind, but chalked that up to our 30-year age difference and my need to ‘up my workouts.’  I’m glad we took the hard way, the rough road, the scenic way.  It really was so beautiful, and it impelled me to exert and sweat and do ‘the work.’  It led us to the heights of that scenic River and the greatness of Nature.  There are times in our lives when the hard way is presented to us, when we don’t have a choice, no matter how badly we want an easy option.  Marie Curie said, “I was taught that the way of progress was neither swift nor easy.”  So what do we do?  We anchor our support ropes, take it slow and easy, use the steps and bridges to get us down the steep parts and over the ravines, and we do the work.  We make progress, we do what is right, and in our own way, we are led to greatness.

After the easy way and the hard way, we ended our day with the ancient way…to be continued…

The Easy Way

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A ship in the harbor is safe. But that’s not what ships are built for.  –John A. Shedd

We got our tickets and were told the Taylors Falls Princess was docked in Interstate State Park, as the water was too rough and rushing over the rapids at the usual dock.  Up the hill, turn left, past the park entrance, and down the hill.  The Princess is a paddlewheel boat operated by Taylors Falls Scenic Boat Tours—a family owned and run business on the Saint Croix River since 1906.  The upper deck was already filled with site-seers, so we took our seats at the front of the lower deck to get the best standing spots once the gate was closed.  It was an easy way to explore the Saint Croix River, complete with a knowledgeable tour guide and seasoned captain.

This area of the river cutting through huge rock formations is called ‘dalles,’ a French word for rapids of a river through a narrow gorge.  The base rock is basalt, a dark, fine-grained volcanic rock that was later covered with a shallow sea that deposited sandstone above the basalt.  When glaciers began to melt, the St. Croix River was formed.  When the melting ice water intersected an old fracture in the basalt, it took the easy way, creating a sharp bend here at Angle Rock.

Our tour guide pointed out rock formations that looked like various things—Lion’s Head, Elephant’s Head, and the Old Man of the Dalles.

Supposedly, French fur traders of the 1600’s saw a cross in this rock face and named the river after the ‘Holy Cross,’ though the River was known by many different names before and after that time.

We paddled down the River on the Princess and saw many paddlers in colorful kayaks and Alumacraft canoes who weren’t taking it quite as easy as we were!  The Saint Croix River is part of the National Wild and Scenic Riverways system established in 1968.  

We saw an eagle and eagle’s nest…

…and a gaggle of geese taking it easy on the shore.

My favorite story by the tour guide was about the island that wasn’t supposed to be there.  When they were building the road on the Minnesota side of the River bluffs, the contractor told his assistant to order two tons of dynamite, and she mistakenly ordered twenty tons.  He blew the bluff into the River!  Is that an easy way to make an island or was the assistant an easy scapegoat to his big problem?

The Saint Croix River begins in Wisconsin about 20 miles south of Lake Superior, and the last 125 miles marks the border between Wisconsin and Minnesota where it then merges with the Mississippi.  The Interstate State Park is on both the Wisconsin side and Minnesota side around the Dalles area. 

The Saint Croix has been one of the cleanest rivers in the Midwest, but like most lakes and streams in the state, it has a problem with nutrient (phosphorus) overload in the summer.  The dark brownish-red color of the water is from tannins that come from decaying plant material that lines the shores of the River; tannins are not considered to be a pollutant, but we did wonder about the constant stream of white foam.  

 

Our easy eighty-minute excursion on the paddlewheel boat seemed to go fast—the River and the rocks were beautiful.  The history and stories by our tour guide were interesting and informative.  Our easy way of exploring the River and bluffs cost us money in order for other people and machines to do ‘the work.’  We were safe within the rails of the boat (never in their long history have they ever had to use the life vests.)  Franklin D. Roosevelt said, “A smooth sea never made a skillful sailor.”  The easy way doesn’t challenge us—it may keep us safe, be the way we’ve always done things, and be the most comfortable for us.  But is that what we’re built for?  Is that what we’re born for?  How do we build roads where once there were rocks and trees?  How do we make an island?  Our day at the Saint Croix River was just beginning.  The easy way was over. 

To be continued… 

Meet Me at the Bend in the River

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There are times in our lives when we are floating along—smoothly going in the direction we want to go, enjoying the scenery, life is good—when we come to a bend in the river.  If we follow the flow of Life, we are swept along in a changing direction; if we resist, we flail about trying to stop or turn around and go back to where Life was easy.  But it is no longer easy—we are going against the current.

Our oldest child left the 100-degree August heat of Austin, Texas to spend time with us in Minnesota.  On one of those beautiful days, my Mom came over from South Dakota.  We spent the afternoon at Bend in the River Regional Park north of Saint Cloud.  The Park is located at an old farmstead high up on the bluffs of the Mississippi River—at the bend in the River.  The old Red River Ox-cart Trail passed by a log cabin built on this site and later became the Point Douglas–Fort Ripley Military Road in 1851.  In 1912, Edgar Graves bought the farm and built a barn, then a house, and subsequent other out-buildings.  The house is formidable in structure, but closed to the public.  I kept saying that I would live in that house!

Around the house towered Bur Oak trees that were over 120 years old.  While the floodplain below the bluff always had fire-protected forests, the bluff was more prairie with sparse numbers of Bur Oak that could survive drought and wildfires.

We walked the trail from the farmstead along the high bluff overlooking the River.

The native Ojibways called this expanse of water “Misi-ziibi” or “great river.”  The French fur trappers in the 1600’s translated that to “Messipi,” which was later Anglo-cized to “Mississippi.”  That great river flows on.

Acorns crunched under our feet—it was an abundant year for Oak seeds.  A pair of Mourning Doves ignored us as they foraged the gravel trail for seeds.  A Garter Snake lay sunning itself on the soft moss between acorns.

At one of the overlooks, we saw two young men fishing on the Great River.  Meet me at the bend in the River—let’s catch some fish.  Let’s spend some time together.  Let’s slow the pace of our lives for a few hours.

We walked down a side trail that descended the bluff to the floodplain area beside the water.  The power of the water rushing around the bend in the River had pushed logs and debris up onto shore.  There were rusty wheels and tires and hardened, lost shoes.

And right at the bank of the River, a fine mossy grass grew and on that lush greenness lay a turkey feather, like a dropped handkerchief—personal and universal all at the same time.

The water reflected the sky, assuredly giving the weather report for the ones gathered at the bend in the River.

 

Three generations of our family met at the Bend in the River, slowing time as we walked and observed trees, animals, and the Mississippi.  We learned about the history of this place, how it progressed with time from ox-cart trail to military road to potato farm.  Why was I drawn to the old prairie farmhouse and the outbuildings for all the animals?  Why was I thrilled that Carlton Graves ran a veterinary practice out of the basement of the house?  Why was I so pleased that this place high above the bend in the River was turned into a Park for all to see and use?  The flow of Life moves us forward, even as we ache for things to be as they were when we perceived that life was smooth and good.  Life changes our direction for us—we need to be able to navigate the rough waters and the bends in the river.  We don’t want to end up like logs and hardened souls all piled up under the trees as Life moves on.  Let’s meet at the bend in the river.  Let’s meet where things change direction.  Let’s honor our history and slow down the pace of our lives for a few hours.  Right there, on the soft, transitional terrain, let’s pick up the lost feather, the lost handkerchief.  It is personal and universal, all at the same time.