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Walking Where Bears Tread

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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 and shimmering about that. But many people dread the coming cold and snow and how the days are short on sunshine and light. I have learned to appreciate the gray clouds of a Winter’s day and how the light has shifted from peeking into the north windows of the house to the full, long gaze through the southern windows. It’s a warm gift from the tilt of the Earth. Receive it with an open heart. And the invigorating cold and the beautiful snow…but I’m getting ahead of myself!

Before our trip to Mille Lacs Kathio State Park a couple weeks ago, I checked the website for alerts and notices, and at the top of the list was this: “The bears are active! Please practice bear safety and plan accordingly.” Good to know. The DNR has a couple of dedicated pages to bear safety—what to do, what not to do, and reassurance that bears (like so many wild animals) are not ‘out to get you.’ So we were well aware that we were walking into bear territory as we packed our snacks, but we soon had Fall’s colorful changes in our eyes and on our minds. The perennials—ferns, grasses, and flowers—go through their own color transformations that add interest to the forest floor. The greens of mosses and ‘evergreen’ plants are the rich outliers in the Autumn palette.

I loved how some little creature had tucked an acorn into the thick moss that was growing up a rough-barked Pine!

An amber wetland with spikes of dead trees was surrounded with the rust and red glory of Oak trees. A water trail through the cattails made by a beaver connected him to the forest trees.

The woods were quiet except for our rustling through the fallen leaves.

Then I recognized and remembered a Grandfather Pine ahead of us on the trail. Old darkened claw marks from a bear had scarred the tree from year’s past with beads of hardened sap like amber rings on the claw print. And on the other side of the tree, there were much newer claw marks with whitened, sugary sap dripping from them. (Not so new that the sap was still wet!) Mad respect for claws that can do that to an old tree.

The backpack camp site where we were hoping to eat our snacks was occupied with tenters—lucky them to be camping on that beautiful place overlooking the lake! So we curved back through the glorious Maple trees towards a bog, one of dozens in the 10,000-acre park.

The bog was ethereal as the sun lit up the golden Tamarack trees. They weren’t quite in their full glory, as some were still tinged with green, but there is hardly anything more beautiful than a stand of golden-yellow Tamaracks before they drop their deciduous needles!

Bogs are fascinating ecosystems! Peat moss looks like a solid substrate from which all the trees and plants grow, but with only one step into the bog from the forest floor, my boot sank into the water just under the surface. That’s why only certain trees will grow there, those adapted to wet feet and acidic environments. So even while the colorful Oak seedlings germinated in the mossy bog, they don’t stand a chance of maturing there.

We circled around the bog, often walking on boardwalks over the low spots. Orange mushrooms, green moss, gray lichens, and a scattering of leaves decorated the fallen logs and ground.

All I could do was peer into the bog, into its mystery. I wondered if a bear would cross a bog. What creatures live in the floating fantasyland? These places where we cannot go capture our attention and imagination.

Colorful leaves camouflaged a colorful Fly Agaric mushroom popping from the ground in its Autumn season. This one is pretty but toxic.

The trail veered away from the bog and was covered with a golden blanket of Big-toothed Aspen leaves. Old logs, like troughs, held the shimmering leaves. Drink in the beauty.

Claw marks from a smaller-than-a-bear animal were etched into a mushroom on the trail, but soon we passed another large Pine tree that had the head-high scratches from a bear.

Another sign was a torn apart rotten log where a bear had been on a quest to find ants, grubs, or rodents.

One tree gone back to the Earth, a new one to take its place.

Towards the end of the trail, there was a wetland of rushes and grasses carving out a space in the forest of Oaks and Aspens. The most beautiful part was a ring of young Paper Birch trees standing in a singing circle close to the edge of the wetland.

There is mystery and intrigue with bears and bogs. Both are natural and necessary parts of Northern Minnesota. The water-laden peat moss is an unsteady anchor for most trees, yet others have adapted their root systems to splay out in order to stand tall. The bog plants are unique in the same way—adapting to the sometimes harsh conditions in order to thrive. The bog and the bears stand apart from passers-by (usually), even as we are in their midst. We know on whose ground we tread (or tread around.)

Autumn is a glorious time—perhaps to fill our hearts with goodness and appreciation in order for us to traverse our more difficult Winter. Life is like that—we have goodness-filled glorious moments to sustain us through our hard times. Through it all, we are walking the trail of our Life’s journey towards our true self. We begin to see our own true colors and those of the people around us. And there is always a place, a part, a piece of us that seems like a place we cannot go, a place we fear to go. It nags at us, consciously or unconsciously, and intrigues us in some wistful way. That’s where we need to go—it’s an invitation and a map. There may be bears and bogs that frighten us and deter us, but our true self is brave. Our hearts are open to receive it. Drink in the Beauty of it.

Thank you, readers! I am grateful for all of you who have joined me on this glorious Autumn walk. This post marks my 500th post of North Star Nature! I began this venture almost ten years ago (March of 2014) to share Nature’s beauty and wisdom, never dreaming I’d write 500 posts and share over 7500 photographs! A special thank you to those of you who have been with me from the beginning. If you love the great outdoors, be sure to like and share North Star Nature!

Awe All Over Again

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I love details. Details are up-close things to be noticed and examined. All the tiny nuances and changes, colors and shapes, normality or pathology. When I was in graduate school, I could spend hours with my eyes to a microscope looking at chromosomes of triticale, histological specimens of mouse testes, and morphological characteristics of sheep sperm. So fascinating! When I lifted my eyes from the microscopic world, I tended to look closely at details of the people around me. What was different? Why was it different? What’s going on with you? There are certainly situations where noticing details and questioning changes are super-powers—it works well for scientific research, but it can have its limitations when it comes to certain aspects of interpersonal relationships. Just ask Chris. This literal ‘short-sighted’ attention to details can bog me down in the minutiae of life—I am not thinking about the future or the ramifications of my inquiries; I’m just gathering facts and information. And I can get stuck there. Perhaps that’s why I’m extremely near-sighted. But I would hate life without my ‘corrective lenses’—I also want to clearly see what lies beyond my armlength! There is a world of wonder in the whole spectrum of near to far! Just like most things in life, it comes down to balancing the details with the big picture. While Chris has had many annoying moments with my detailed fact-gathering, I am fortunate that he has balanced me out with his foresight or far-sightedness. I am literally speechless when he asks me a question about how I envision something in the future. “I have never thought about that,” is usually my answer after realizing the void in my brain. So while I try to sing the praises of details, he challenges me to move my eyes to the horizon.

Last weekend we encountered Autumn in its full glory at Mille Lacs Kathio State Park. The first thing on my list was to climb the 100-foot fire tower to see the big picture! But I had to wait my turn! Cars were parked along the narrow road, and a line of people waited for their opportunity to climb to the top. Each section of stairs brought me closer to the tree-tops, then far above them until I could see, on the horizon, the shining blue water of Mille Lacs Lake, Indian Point peninsula, and Rainbow Island. It was glorious to get a 360 degree view of the beautiful Fall forest. The Oaks and Aspens were brilliant in all colors of rust and red and golden yellow. The clouds were thick and moving, so at times the sun would burst through and brighten and lighten the colors. I felt like I could touch the sky!

When my feet were back on the ground, we drove to the interpretive center overlooking Ogechie Lake, a historical producer of wild rice. The conical-shaped Tamarack trees that lined the wetland of the lake were not quite to their peak golden-yellow. Then we hiked the Touch the Earth trail that led to the bog boardwalk.

Big-toothed Aspen leaves were falling to the ground and the red and rust of Oaks shocked us from the yellow-of-it-all.

The bog was beautiful despite the toll of the summer drought. The leaning Birch trees were golden along with the Tamaracks while the Black Spruce trees and Labrador Tea maintained their constant green.

Most colorful in the bog were the Wild Blueberries in shades of red and pink.

It takes time and intention to notice the details. One has to put aside the compulsion to hurry, make every second count, and get in the recommended number of steps in a personal best time. Letting go of that compulsion, as hard as it may be, releases something inside yourself and allows a different dimension of time and success to flow through you.

The new-brick color, the number and shape of the leaflets, the environment of sticks and leaves, how it touches moss, the wear and tear on the leaves, and most extraordinarily, the veining of the leaflets and how a heart shape is formed—those are the details of an Autumn Wild Geranium leaf.

A Wild Cherry tree wears a unique Fall color that draws our attention to it—not quite yellow, not quite orange, not quite rose, but a combination of them all.

The beautifully barked Pine trees are a constant through all the seasons, though they, like the other trees in Autumn, drop some of their needles to create the fragrant carpet of rich brown.

The source of the Rum River is Mille Lacs Lake. It runs through Ogechie Lake, meanders to and through Shakopee and Onamia Lakes, and joins the Mississippi River at Anoka in its 154 mile run. It is a State Water Trail, a designated Wild and Scenic River, and was originally called Mde Wakan or Spirit Lake River by the Dakota people. It is a venue that encourages paddlers to see life from the River’s point of view, up close and personal.

I have traveled through decades of Autumns, and with each passing year I experience awe all over again. Isn’t that wonderful?! Nature has so much power and beauty, uniqueness and wonder that each season of each year is like new again! It allows us to touch the sky in order to see the big picture and to touch the earth and see the amazing details. I think we each have a tendency towards one or the other of ‘the pictures,’ so it helps to surround ourselves with people who can see things differently than we can. It is also a personal challenge to do that within ourselves when we know we can get stuck in always striving towards that future big picture or we are bogged down in the details of the moment. Nature helps us see the whole spectrum, from near to far—in the world and in ourselves.

Courage of an Explorer

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Imagine your life as a lake. There’s a trail around the life lake that allows us to explore, day after day, this gift we are given. There is mystery, uncertainty, beauty, sustenance, and a calling of spirit that keeps us moving onward. Our lives are the ultimate exploration!

Our fourth hike at Savanna Portage State Park encircled Lake Shumway, the lake adjacent to the campground. Curious about the name, I found out ‘Shumway’ is the Americanized form of the French name ‘Chamois,’ which is a metonymic occupational name. In essence, it names a person by what that person does for a living—in this case, a person closely associated with the mountain goat ‘chamois’ or the leather produced from it. Interesting!

The beginning—of our lives or of the day—is pristine and fresh, misty and mysterious as to what lies before us. The colloquial saying “Today is the first day of the rest of your life” is true! Each dawn of a new day reminds us of that.

After our morning Continental Divide Trail hike and lunch, we began the loop around Lake Shumway. The lake reflected the early afternoon sky—a different look from the sunrise sky and water.

Much of the trail was covered in Pine needles which gave rise to the heady, comforting scent of glorious Pine with each step. We passed by the impressive work of a beaver who had felled a large Pine and removed a chunk of it from the trunk—his work was ongoing.

As with many places along the trails of life, we came to a divergence—one trail continued around the lake, another veered off into the forest towards a bog. We took the bog trail, knowing we would need to backtrack to continue around the lake. How many times do we have a choice in life, take a path, have to backtrack, ‘lose’ time or money, and/or find a treasure?

The bog was in a sad state—our Summer drought had taken its toll on the wetland. The mosses were dried up and discolored; luckily the rhizomal roots of Labrador Tea provided enough water to have kept them green. We found a few Pitcher Plants near Bog Lake with red leaves and dried, nodding flowers. The environment matters as to the flourishing of the members in any ecosystem/community. Temporary droughts/setbacks can be overcome, but continued distresses often cause permanent damage.

Red leaves of Pitcher Plants
Spent flower of Pitcher Plant and seedhead of Cottongrass
Spent flowers of Pitcher Plants

We backtracked back to Lake Shumway trail and found the lodge of the busy beaver. He had a great place to live in the protection of a jutting peninsula.

We boardwalked over a stream and wetland that still had rosy blossoms of Joe Pye Weed and a bright array of yellow Sneezeweed. Beautiful ‘weeds’ in just the right places.

The trail rose in elevation where Maple trees lined the path. We crunched through red leaves that had fallen in the early Fall. Sunlight dappled the dotted trail.

A stand of Pines lined the shore about halfway around the Lake. It was a peaceful place to loiter, to stand back-to-trunk with a tree to breathe in the beauty.

Two-thirds around the Lake, we left the water’s edge to skirt a wetland area. Again, we climbed up into the forest hill until, again, we came to another fork in the trail. After examining the map, we decided to take the narrow, more rugged trail that would take us by the lakeshore. It would also lead us to a backpack/canoe-in campsite I wanted to see. The campsite was situated on a rounded peninsula, tucked into the cove side. It had a beautiful view of the Lake from a tent area closest to the water. A picnic table sat under the tall trees with a fire ring close by. A three-sided, rough-hewn Oak lean-to with a long bench and peg hooks offered protection for firewood and sun- or rain-drenched campers. I was really excited that the site had its own outhouse, not just a trail latrine! I could live here! I thought.

I didn’t take any pictures of the campsite, but I kind of want to go back and camp there sometime. It was an unexpected find with a special feel to it—that spirit of the wilderness that combines discovery, freedom, peace, and a satisfactory sense of being.

The white sign shows the campsite from the water’s view.

Tree roots made stair steps, ‘like a railroad track’ observed Chris—the ways we get where we’re going.

The bright berries of a Winterberry shrub that climbed close to an old Birch tree help us know that we can be fruitful during any season of life.

On the last part of the trail we passed another beaver lodge that was covered with Jewel Weeds, and beside the lodge was an old, fallen tree that seemed to be a practice log (or maybe a teeth-sharpening log)?

We also passed a random boulder that was at the edge of the Lake—out of place but purposeful, it seemed.

We finished our hike and found the campground had cleared out—it was only us and one other couple in this loop of the campground. Evening on Lake Shumway was peaceful and calm. We had circled the Lake—what more could we see and learn?

The random boulder from the water’s view.

The next morning after some rain and before more rain, we paddled a canoe onto Lake Shumway. There’s more to a lake than a person can see from the shore, and there’s more to life than walking the trail over the years. Our interior life is a whole new adventure to explore, and in most cases, takes even more courage to navigate.

Reflecting on the paths we have taken, the work we have done, the bridges we may have burned, and the special or not-so-special people and places we have encountered is the soul work of our lives. Asking ourselves questions and waiting patiently for the absolute truth of the answer—the answer that wells up tears in our eyes and resonates deep in our hearts and bodies. It takes so much courage to go there, to explore there, to be present there. But therein also lies the trail to freedom, peace, and satisfaction. We may have felt out of place in the world, but after exploring our interior life, we can be like the lake-side boulder and stand in our purpose and dignity. Our soul work is ongoing.

On a Quest for the Elusive Pitcher Plant

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Two years ago for my birthday we hiked at Mille Lacs Kathio State Park where I discovered the intriguing deep red flower of the Purple Pitcher Plant. But it was in the middle of a bog, unreachable, unattainable, elusive. So I was never able to see the actual plant—the ‘pitcher’ part, the insect-eating, carnivorous, cartoonishly-scary part of the plant. So a few days after my birthday, when I knew the Pitcher Plants would be blooming, we got up early in the morning and headed north to Lake Bemidji State Park. The boggy land between and among Lakes Bemidji, Big Bass, Timber, and Big Bog has been protected as a park since 1923. The bogs are a result of water-filled depressions formed by the receding glaciers that over the years has filled with partially decayed plant material or peat. Bogs contain decayed sphagnum peat moss which can hold water like a sponge and is used to enrich garden soil. The bog environment is cold, acidic, and low in oxygen, a rather challenging ecosystem for plants to thrive. So they have adapted by becoming efficient in the use of light, moisture, and nutrients. Many have evergreen leaves to extend the growing season, some have thick, fleshy leaves to store moisture, and many have showy flowers to attract pollinating insects, then produce huge numbers of seeds. We found our way to Bog Walk Trail, prepared for mosquito attacks, and walked through the upland woods to the bog boardwalk.

Bunchberry Dogwoods are a low-growing groundcover, a northern Dogwood with the iconic showy white flowers. A cluster of bright red berries forms after flowering.

Soon I spotted the elusive Purple Pitcher Plant flower among the Horsetails, its heavy head bent over, its stem buried in the abundant vegetation of the bog! I strained to see the base of the flower, the ‘pitcher,’ but could not see it.

My attention was drawn to a single purple flower on a smooth stem, a Dragon’s Mouth Orchid! This beautiful flower will produce up to a million seeds! That is mind bog-gling!

I did not have to walk far before I saw more Pitcher Plant flowers on their sturdy, curving stems, and this time I was just able to find the green-mouthed ‘pitcher’ at their base.

If one was walking the boardwalk even at a stroll, there are many plants and flowers that would be missed. This is a place that compels a person to look closely, to stop and peer into the green wonderland of this soft world. Twinflowers rise from a single stem, then a pair of pink, bell-shaped flowers opens above the creeping evergreen leaves. These tiny flowers (1/3″ to 1/2″) are fragrant for their diminutive size (almond scented), are part of the Honeysuckle family, and have the lovely Latin name of Linnaea borealis!

At the Mille Lacs Kathio bog, I was enthralled with the clumps of Tussock Cottongrass. At Lake Bemidji bog, a different species—Slender Cottongrass—grows. It is smaller, droopier, but no less stunning!

Large-leaved Showy Lady’s Slippers (Minnesota’s State Flower) were in the bud stage, just about to bloom. Another of the Orchid family species, the Stemless Lady’s Slipper or Moccasin Flower, was in full pink bloom.

Starflower, a type of Primrose, and Labrador Tea, a type of Heath, were abundant in the bog. Most of the Labrador Teas were past bloom, but we found some in shadier spots that were open and seemingly desirable to some insects. (Speaking of insects, we were amazingly not bothered by mosquitoes!)

I saw more and more of the nodding Purple Pitcher Plant flowers as we walked the boardwalk trail. Even when they were close to the trail and in relatively open vegetation, the Pitcher Plants were well-camouflaged. The ‘pitcher’ is a very specialized leaf in the shape of a cylinder. It is an engineering marvel with a ‘wing’ structure down the front to strengthen it when it is full of rainwater. The lip is densely covered with stiff downward-angled hairs that help glide the insects into the enzyme-rich rainwater where it drowns and is ‘digested’ so the nutrients can be used by the plant. The red-purple veining and nectar attract the insects to their demise.

We saw more bright Moccasin Flowers, a few other Dragon’s Mouth Orchids, and some Wild Lily of the Valley. The forest part of the bog was occupied by Tamarack (Larch) and Black Spruce trees who like wet feet and acidic conditions.

The Pitcher Plant flowers are in and of themselves a work of art. Their thick, waxy petals can be in all states of opening—from tight buds to open, expanded umbrellas. After the petals fall the seed capsule remains on the long stem into Fall.

The mossy floor of the bog is suspended above water and is the substrate from which the plants grow. The trees grow horizontal roots to help them stand in the wet conditions. Marsh Marigolds, with their veined round leaves, were at the end of their blooming season; we saw a few of the rich golden flowers.

As we got closer to Big Bog Lake, we began to see some cattails growing with the bog plants. Wild Calla Lilies, with their beautiful heart-shaped leaves, grew in the outlet of the lake.

Wild Blueberries were bountiful in the bog and were setting fruit.

Smaller even than the Twinflowers are the Bog Cranberry flowers (1/4″) with pinkish-white petals that curl back away from the stamens and pistil. They have viney evergreen leaves and produce a small, red fruit. Now look even more closely—at the bottom center of the photo below the small Cranberry flowers is another carnivorous plant of the bog—Round-leaved Sundew. The round, reddish tinged leaves have sticky hairs that trap and enfold insects that are digested for nutrients for the tiny plant.

The bog is a fascinating ecosystem with beautiful and interesting plants. The elusive Purple Pitcher Plants ended up being plentiful in the Bemidji bog! Their pitcher leaves turn more colorful with the sun and the progression of the season. They are a perfect example of evolutionary adaptability that all the plants of the bog display.

From my first encounter with the alluring Purple Pitcher Plant flower, I became kind of obsessed with them. I had heard of carnivorous plants, but did not realize they were right here in the wilds of Minnesota! And while they were elusive in the bogs I had visited, I was hardly a bog aficionada (well, I do have the enthusiasm and appreciation.) I had the desire to see more and learn more (a quest) and was happy to get up early to go to a place we had never been before. There are many desires in our lives that seem unreachable, unattainable, or elusive. How can we find these hard-to-catch yearnings? Being in the right place at the right time is more than just a cliché—some of our longings absolutely need to be timed correctly and situated in the right place—or the pursuit will be unreachable. It also helps to have the right people who are willing and able to walk beside us, be patient and encouraging, and who possess a kind heart and sense of humor. I’m grateful my bog boardwalking partner is all of that. Most every one of us have a bountiful life teeming with beauty, diversity, and goodness. Stop for a moment or two and peer into the wonderland that is your life on this amazing, great green Earth.

Nature’s Art Museum and the Art of Aging

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It’s a mystery to me how I can be as old as I am. I never think about my face having lines and sun spots; it’s just the opposite. From the inside, I’m pretty sure my face is only forty—a young forty, I’m thinking—so that’s a great set-up for some dismay and disappointment when I look in the mirror! Aging is a humorous mystery that we all endure when we are lucky enough to do so.

In celebration of my turning another year older (almost four weeks ago now), Chris and I hiked at Mille Lacs Kathio State Park. It was a beautiful, blue-sky day, warm but not too hot, with a breeze that made shade-dwelling just about perfect. We went to the bog boardwalk first—the Touch the Earth Trail. (I love that name.) I get a thrill seeing the blooming plants that inhabit the bog, and the mystical, long-stemmed Cottongrass was as spectacular as when I first saw it! What an unusual, awesome plant!

I was expecting to see a bed of white-blooming Labrador Tea in the bog (or bog azaleas, as I call them), but only a few were blooming. We had had a freeze those two nights before Memorial Day, so I thought that must be the reason. There were other signs that frost had damaged the mosses and leaves of other plants.

There is nary an insect as mystical as a dragonfly—their gossamer wings, their large, compound eyes, their quick, multi-directional flight, and how they light upon some object in peaceful repose.

Another insect crawling up a dead tree that his relatives likely caused the demise of—a Western Sculptured Pine Borer—had his own air of mystery and flair. With large copper-speckled eyes, artfully segmented legs, and textured, metallic and black body, the Pine Borer shimmered in the sunlight.

Large, vase-shaped Cinnamon Ferns were abundant in the bog. The fertile fronds are the namesake, like cinnamon sticks among the green.

Wild Blueberries were setting fruit, though I imagine the fruit buds were also nipped by the freeze, as fruit was scarce.

We drove to a parking area for a trail we hadn’t been on before that was described as hilly and rough terrain. I was surprised by how damp the trail was in areas, considering how drought-like our Spring had been. Soon we were in thick woods on a little-used trail, the undergrowth brushing our legs and arms as we walked through. I resigned myself to the fact that we were picking up ticks and vowed to enjoy the trail and deal with them later. It’s always a bit of a challenge to ‘watch’ my feet on a rocky or rooty trail and to watch for beautiful things around me, but I have gotten fairly good at it. So I was lucky enough to see this beautiful creature looking at us from behind a tree! His velvet-covered antlers were in the growth stage, when the fuzzy-looking skin supplies blood, oxygen, and nutrients to quickly grow the antlers for another season. When fully grown, depending on genetics, health, and age of the buck, the antlers harden, and the velvet is shed with the help of rubbing action on trees. We stood and looked at one another, both of us curious about the other.

The trail brought us to a wetland area that opened up in the middle of the forest. Crows cawed from the top of a dead tree, the self-appointed sentries for the woodland creatures. A board walk elevated our feet above the Wild Calla water plants and was a table for a crayfish-eating animal who didn’t clean up his leftovers.

Another dragonfly posed in the sunlight amidst the art of logs, sedge grass, duckweed, Wild Callas, and moss. We were in a museum of Nature’s Art.

We circled around the wetland on the trail that kept us guessing whether we were on the trail! Soon our elevated vantage point allowed us to see open water reflecting green vegetation and blue sky. An open waterway through the wetland plants and chewed trees indicated that we were visiting the home of a beaver family.

We passed a stately Pine that had a large, old wound scratched head-high into the bark. Dried amber droplets of sap had oozed from the wound, like healing tears to a wounded soul. They glistened in the sunlight.

Another board ferried us across a black, icky-looking swamp. A closer look revealed decaying leaves, Maple seeds, and a thick mat of green slime algae.

At the farthest point on the loop trail was a backpacking campsite overlooking the White Water Lily-covered pond. A breeze evaporated the heat and sweat we had generated to get there as we took a water and rest break. A pair of rusty-headed Trumpeter Swans flew in and settled into their peaceful, secluded home.

Back on the trail, we walked through Oak, Maple, and Birch trees until we came to a Tamarack bog. The wispy soft needles and craggy branches create an other-worldly effect in the bumpy bog, along with the bunches of four-foot-high ferns.

Deep in the bog, I caught sight of something red-colored. I left the trail and walked closer to get a better look. At one point I stepped from the firm forest floor into the squishy bog. I pulled my foot back from the wetness. The bog maintains its boundaries to protect the highly specialized plants and delicate ecosystem of sphagnum peat moss. From my dry footing, I zoomed in to see dark reddish-purple flowers with long stems and nodding heads. They were all pointed away from me, though I was able to get a slight sideways shot of one that showed a bright yellow center. What were these amazing flowers?! I had never seen anything like them before! I circled around the bog, hoping to see ‘the other side’ of the flower…but I never could. They were so deep into the center of the bog that I could not see more than their dark red backs.

It wasn’t until I was home with access to the computer that I discovered the amazing flower was that of a Purple Pitcher Plant, a carnivorous plant that grows in the acidic bog. The rain-catching ‘pitcher’ of the plant attracts flies, ants, spiders, and moths that drown in the water and are ‘digested’ by a certain species of mosquito and midge along with bacteria. The plant is able to use the digested nutrients to grow.

The edge of the bog was scattered with ferns, club mosses, and an occasional Pink Lady’s Slipper, a hardy orchid pollinated by bumblebees.

Another wetland flower that graced the early June trails was the Northern Blueflag Iris with their long, spear-like leaves and paper-thin lavender flower petals. They begin as dark purple conical buds, open to exquisite light-purple variegated blossoms, then curl and wither in the progression of age—the lifeline of us and all of Nature.

It was a happy birthday for me—I had discovered a ‘new’ flower and an amazing bog. I watched an elegant pair of swans and exchanged curious glances with a deer. I saw a black swamp and pristine white water lilies. I witnessed the progression and mystery of life and admired Nature’s art museum. My June birth flower is the Rose, and I appreciate and embrace the wild version for my flower. After our hike, we had a picnic by the roses alongside the Rum River. And even though I removed dozens of crawling ticks while we sat there, another mystical, magical dragonfly lighted on a stick nearby.

The mystery of aging—how we feel on the inside, how we look on the outside—spares no one lucky enough to struggle with their young-old identity. We grow with expectations—sky-high dreams and naïve aspirations. We are fresh, innocent, deep-colored buds of humans. We open to reality—our whole-hearted beautiful selves, shiny objects that can destroy, wounds that heal with amber tears forever embedded in our hearts, discoveries of muck and beauty. And then we fade, we wrinkle, and we attain a level of understanding that is only possible after staring into the wild eyes of Life. And through it all, we are the curators of Nature’s art museum. We choose how to look at, how to ‘see’ the world around us. If we’re lucky, we discover new things, we respect portraits of pain, we appreciate images of awesome beauty, and we imitate the mystery and magic of dragonflies.

A Blooming Bog During Rough Traveling

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This post is dedicated to my brother-in-law Paul, who has met some rough and rocky travelin’ with humor, positivity, and tenacity. Much love and respect.

“It’s been rough and rocky travelin’ / But I’m finally standing upright on the ground / After taking several readings / I’m surprised to find my mind’s still fairly sound” Willie Nelson from his song Me & Paul

The last couple of months have been like the first line of Willie’s song. Not literal traveling like Willie referred to, but travelin’ through life. We all know times like that. The day of celebrating my birth was also a bust, with the exception of text and FB greetings–grateful for those. But I didn’t feel very well, didn’t go anywhere, or do anything.

In August two years ago, we discovered a trail at Mille Lacs Kathio State Park called ‘Touch the Earth.’ The name was taken from a quote by Luther Standing Bear speaking of the Dakota people and how they loved ‘all things of the earth.’ That trail led us to a beautiful and surprising ecosystem called a bog forest. Since we came in the heat of August, I vowed to return when the bog was in bloom, particularly the Labrador Tea, a type of Rhododendron. So on the day after my rough day, when I noticed that our cultivated azaelas were blooming, I rallied my energy and we headed back to the bog. The ‘Touch the Earth’ trail was lined with blooming wildflowers—which I will showcase next week. I was so excited to (hopefully) see the blooming bog azaelas, that I wanted to skip past those others and get to the good stuff! I was more excited than a person should be about a shrub…in a bog…in bloom, but really, it was quite spectacular!

The bog has a layer of sphagnum moss over a wet area—it is a fragile environment and can even be dangerous to navigate, so there is a boardwalk that guides hikers through this beautiful and unusual ecosystem.

Along with the Labrador Tea, another abundant blooming plant was what I was describing as a ‘star lily.’ The stems of white star-bursts are actually called Three-leaf False Solomon’s Seal—a mouthful compared to my made-up name.

In the sea of green moss and white flowers, two pink blossoms stood out—Pink Lady’s-slipper and Bog Laurel, both delicate and scarce. I feel fortunate to see such creations.

The forest part of the bog forest is made up of Tamarack (or Larch) and Black Spruce that thrive in the wet, acidic moss-soil. They have shallow, horizontal roots that keep them upright, while the Birch trees in the bog, with their vertical roots, only get to a certain size before they tip over.

There were healthy shrubs of Wild Blueberries in certain places where sunlight was more prevalent, and the fruits were just starting to form from the spent blossoms.

Parts of the bog reminded me of a fairy’s world with dancing shadows and sunlight on mossy dales and fallen-log caverns.

Just when I couldn’t be more pleased with the generous offerings of the June bog, Chris pointed out a spectacular plant in a bed of moss! It looked like chives with cotton blooms! It was standing upright three feet tall, and the bright white blossoms swayed in the breeze. The cotton chives are actually called Tussock Cottongrass, a sedge that grows in wet, northern areas. I had never seen anything like it—it was like a gift from the earth’s spirit keepers.

I had been anticipating a return to the bog for almost two years. Timing was an issue. My calls to the State Park to inquire about the bog azaelas were unanswered (make that robo-unanswered.) But on that day, after the rough day before, during that rocky time, I rather desperately needed to see the blooming bog—for reasons only known by my soul and my God. Once we got there, I made a bee-line for the bog, to the ‘good stuff’ I was anticipating in my head and needing for my spirit. I was so dang happy when I saw the masses of white Rhododendrons blooming, and I know it’s strange, but I’m kind of happy that a person can be so happy about a blooming bog. Nature and its beauties do that for me—it can be something different for each of us. Perhaps it’s having something to fix our gaze upon when things are not going the way we want them to, when we don’t feel like we’re standing upright on the ground, when we feel fragile. And when we see that dancing glimmer of hope in the dancing shadows of Life, we may be surprised by a spectacular specimen of Cottongrass and a mind that’s still fairly sound.

A Bog Blog

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Has your mind, body, or spirit ever been stuck in a bog?  Twenty years after graduating from college I returned to that same college with a husband, three kids, and a desire to learn.  I took a molecular biology class in one of my first semesters of graduate school that amazed and inspired me with the information that had been discovered about DNA in the twenty years since I had taken science courses.  One of the most mind-bog-gling things I needed to learn was PCR or polymerase chain reaction, a laboratory technique that multiplies thousands to millions of copies of a segment of DNA or RNA.  This technique was so foreign to me that I just couldn’t wrap my head around the concept!  My mind was in a bog of old information that couldn’t process the new information because of how radically different it was.  It took months of reading, study, labs, talks with my professor, and plenty of frustration before I was finally able to grasp it.  I went on to do a special topics class with that professor using PCR and fluorescent tags, and my understanding and appreciation for the technique grew and became routine.

In our trip to Mille Lacs Kathio State Park, we hiked a short trail behind the Interpretive Center called the “Touch the Earth” trail.  We were equipped with a pamphlet that explained various trees and vegetation along the trail, most of which were very familiar to us.  And then we came to site #7—“You are entering an unusual and fragile plant community known as a bog.  There are trees in this area, so it is technically called a bog forest.”

The boardwalk was constructed because the ground surface of this area is covered with moss with a wet area below it and could easily be damaged by people walking on it—damage that would take years to regenerate.  It was like walking into another world!  A tree had fallen and exposed the layer of water underneath the shallow ‘ground’ of  sphagnum moss.

The trees in the bog forest are mainly Tamarack and Black Spruce with a number of young Birch trees.  Birch trees don’t survive long in the bog—their roots grow downward, suitable for other forest soil, but they cannot support a taller tree in the floating soil of the bog.  The wind blows them over.  Black Spruce and Tamarack trees send out many horizontal roots that keep them more stable in the bog conditions.

Black spruce have scaly bark, short needles, and small rounded cones.

Tamarack or Eastern Larch are deciduous conifers—they turn a brilliant yellow in the fall then drop their needles for the winter.  Tamarack is the Algonquian name for the tree, meaning ‘wood used for snowshoes,’ thus describing the tough and flexible characteristics of the wood.  Tamaracks are very cold tolerant, often live in boggy areas, and have dense clusters of needles on woody spurs.

Long ago the Mille Lacs area had a higher water level, and this bog was a small lake.  When water levels dropped, grass-like sedges grew in the shallow lake eventually making a mat of dead plant material where sphagnum moss grew.  This mat of sedge and moss becomes a slowly decaying peat, a cold, acidic, and oxygen-poor environment that is only compatible for certain plants.  One of the small shrubs that grows here is Labrador Tea, an evergreen Rhododendron.

Blueberries also grow in the acidic soil, along with Bog Laurel, Leatherleaf, and Pink Lady’s Slippers, all of which bloom in April and June.

The unusual, almost eerie landscape of the bog is beautiful in its uniqueness.  Moss, lichens, roots, and fallen trees create the floating ground above the tannin-stained dark water.  It’s a graveyard of sorts of slowly decaying plant material that nourishes and sustains the next generation of bog-tolerant flora.

 

Life in the bog, the mire, the quagmire…I’ve been there in mind, body, and spirit at various times in my life.  It’s when you can’t grasp a new way of thinking or doing things, try as you may.  It’s when you are so burdened with pain or fatigue that all you can do is slowly lift your feet in the next step, pulling each foot out of the muck as it tries to suck you back in, willing yourself forward as time slows to a sloth’s crawl.  It’s when your spirit feels so fragile, so exposed that normal life can easily damage it, when stalwart ideals are no longer stable and topple over in the wind of change.  It’s when your heart is broken, and you cross a bridge into another world that you never, ever wanted to go to.  And then what?!  Well, you stay there for a while.  The changing quality of time actually becomes your friend as it forces you to examine your inner ecosystem.  You start to put out horizontal roots of awareness, courage, strength, and integrity that stabilize you—you become more tough and flexible.  You begin to notice the ‘blueberries’—not only the things that sustain you, but those that are really good for you.  Eventually, with God’s grace and days, months, or years of time, your mind, body, spirit, and heart regenerate.  You realize you are no longer in the quagmire, and you can finally see the full beauty of the bog.