Come walk with me in the peak Autumn beauty of the Northwoods. To say that I love this time of year is an understatement. Most everyone can appreciate the colorful falling leaves---it reveals the 'true self' of a tree when its leaves are no longer producing chlorophyll. Their true colors are revealed, and there is something simple … [Read More...]
Archives for June 2022
Big View, Small Water
It was a house with a view. I noticed the potholes in the driveway, the old sheds tucked into the trees, the railroad tracks just below the hill of the house, and why is there an old semi truck parked by the garage shed?! But all I could look at was the view—it was spectacular! Our Airbnb house for the Duluth wedding weekend sat on a hill overlooking miles and miles of Minnesota and Wisconsin forests. Somewhere below our sight line was the St. Louis River we had followed at Jay Cooke State Park earlier in the day. The Superior Hiking Trail and the Willard Munger State Trail wound through the trees in our view. The evening colors were rich and dusky as I stood on the deck and the sun dropped below the horizon. There was much to see and nothing to see in the vast forest that lay below us—much like the far-reaching prairies of the Dakotas that I love.
The house was compact yet roomy, comfortable, and nicely laid out, with seven large windows that allowed the big view to dominate the inside space. The color of the sky and trees had changed and brightened in the morning light. I couldn’t help but feel it was going to be a very good day!
We left Chris with the sunshine and the view—gratifying manna in its own right, and all one has to do is sit there, let it in, and allow it to heal and feed the body and soul. Passive rejuvenation. The rest of us walked down the gravel driveway lined with brilliant white Trillium flowers I had not noticed the day before. Had I missed their beauty as I noticed the potholes?
Fifty yards or so from the driveway was the parking lot and entrance for Mission Creek Parkway hiking and mountain biking trail. We crossed a bridge over the railroad, then another over the state bike trail and were soon on the path down a long, gradual slope. We had stepped backwards into Spring—the ferns were freshly unfurled and the trees were newly-leaved, casting a yellowish–green glow from the sparse canopy.
We continued down the slight slope until we reached a creek—Mission Creek—that meandered across and alongside the trail. After the big waters of the Mississippi and St. Louis Rivers and of course the almost infinite waters of Lake Superior, this small body of water seemed insignificant. Boulders and large rocks were scattered along the waterway creating its own tiny twist of bubbly rapids—trivial compared to the churning, voluminous rapids of the St. Louis River.
The water was brown with tannins, just like the big waters, but shallow and transparent. Waterplants lazily floated with the current, and minnows darted about, their shadows darkening the sienna mud bottom.
Wispy yellow-green beards of Meadow Rue flowers shook in the breeze, scattering the pollen in the hopes of germinating another woodland plant. Tender Blue Violets surrounded the spikey ball flowers of Wild Sarsaparilla (said with a cowboy’s western drawl, of course.)
The longer we followed and crossed the little creek, the more it became evident that it was a life-giving and life-supporting body of water, no matter how small. River Otter tracks led down from an old stone bridge through the mud to the water.
Thimbleberry bushes with their bright green palmate leaves grew along a sunny path, and in a couple of months, will produce ruby red domed berries.
Mosses remind us of how small things are important in the big view of life.
We left the small waters of Mission Creek and returned to the big view of our weekend dwelling. I saw a huge log building that I didn’t notice among the trees in the miles and miles of forest, and later found out it was a resort in Wisconsin. (Hidden in plain sight.)
On our last morning, a deer grazed around the railroad tracks as I watched from the windows—and soon she saw me. She lived in the big forest and was a patron of the small water of Mission Creek.
There are so many small things in life that we often overlook, deeming them trivial or insignificant. There are other things that are in plain sight, and we never even notice them. And while our brains cannot possibly register and keep track of ‘everything,’ I wonder what we miss or dismiss that is actually substantial and meaningful. The small water of Mission Creek was actually the water of life for the forest valley and all its inhabitants—all a part of the big view. Often when we think there is ‘nothing to see,’ there is actually much to see, and it is gratifying manna for our lives. And that makes for a very good day!
Follow the River
They met on the River—the great Mississippi River—while on the rowing teams at University of St. Thomas. Anne had taken a circuitous route to St. Thomas after being accepted at another school and with other obstacles that reasonably would have steered her away. But something compelled her to pursue it. And to those of us who know her, she is a force. It was there she met her friend Erik who was introduced to us via Facetime when Anne was visiting—by then, more than just a friend. Anne worked at Star Lake wilderness camp with our kids—always ready for an adventure with Nature or with people and preferably with both.
Anne and Erik were married last weekend at a ceremony overlooking Lake Superior in Duluth. They had just returned to Minnesota after a long stint at Berkeley where Erik had gotten his doctorate and Anne had advocated for women in sports—planning and participating in marathons, triathlons, hiking, and most unbelievable to me, she had swum from the island of Alcatraz to the California shore! She is a force!
On our way to Duluth for the weekend, we stopped at Jay Cooke State Park where the tumultuous St. Louis River winds through the Northwoods towards Lake Superior. We crossed the Swinging Bridge—the 5th iteration since the original was built in 1924. Floodwaters have destroyed the bridge numerous times—the Civilian Conservation Corps rebuilt it in 1934 and again in 1940. The last damaging flood occurred in 2012 at the highest level ever recorded, and once again the bridge was restored.
The water was brown with tannins and white-capped with the furious flow over rocks, a raucous rootbeer float of a river. Standing on the Swinging Bridge was exhilarating with the cacophonous water ringing in our ears and flowing under our feet!
Emily and I left the bridge and followed the River trail, a vestige of the canoe portage that had been used by Native Americans, fur traders, explorers, and missionaries for centuries past. The St. Louis River was a critical link between the Mississippi River waterways to the west and Lake Superior and the other Great Lakes to the east. We were walking on history.
And while the River continued to tumble over the rocks on one side of us, the forest brought calm and quiet. In Spring form, as Winter was not long departed from this area, the ferns were just unfurling their ‘fiddleheads.’
Sustaining food for animals and people alike—Wild Strawberries and Blueberries—were blooming and will soon produce fruit.
The water was calmer in areas between the large rock formations that had pooled from the Spring flood waters, but the piles of logs and debris on top of the rocks and even up on our trail were evidence of the power and might of the rushing water.
Delicate beauty that curves on stems of nodding Yellow Trout Lilies and Yellow Lady’s Slippers is sometimes overlooked or unseen on the bustling path of adventure and advancement. Looking closely, one sees the light and the shadow.
The rocks have a billion-years-old story to tell, complete with sand and seas, faults and heaves, volcano lava, and icy glaciers. The tilted rocks are slate and were quarried near this location in the late 1800’s, early 1900’s.
Stripes of a hidden Jack-in-the-Pulpit flower mimic the stripy leaves of the plant behind it—all a story of light and shadow, design and texture.
Following the River can be rough at times and navigating it impossible, but if you keep at it, you find a bridge that is high above the rough waters and will connect the two sides.
Anne and Erik found one another on the Mississippi River and have rowed and flowed with the river ever since. They have already weathered the rough waters of graduate school and cross-country moves, yet they have many more obstacles in front of them. I know they will design an interesting life for themselves, cognizant of the light and the shadows in themselves, one another, and the people surrounding them. May they always remember and be able to count on the family who came before them. May they stop and notice the delicate beauty in one another and in the world around them. May they be nourished by good food, knowledge, great friends, and much love. May they find the bridges necessary to get over the rough waters and to connect with one another. And if a bridge is washed out, rebuild and restore. An old adage advises that if one is lost, find and follow a river. It will bring you back to safety, to people who love you, and to the place you need to be. I think Anne already knew that.