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What Does Home Look Like to You?

July 30, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

What does home look like to you?  How does it feel?  How many generations of your family have lived in the place you call home or in the place where your soul feels at home?  What is the history of your family?  Is your home tied to the land?  Or is home about the people you are with at any given place or time?

We visited Mille Lacs Kathio State Park last weekend—over 10,000 acres near the mammoth Mille Lacs Lake.  The park is a National Historic Landmark District.  The early French explorer known as Duluth was the first European to accurately record a visit to this area in 1679.  He found permanent established villages of the greater Dakota nation band known as the Mdewakanon who lived near Mdewakan, the Spiritual or Sacred Lake, now known as Mille Lacs.  This area known as Kathio has been home to the Dakota and later to the Ojibwe people for over 9,000 years.  (Stone tools and spear points were found at a site that was radiocarbon tested.)  9,000 years—how many generations of Dakota and Ojibwe people have lived here?!  It has been the site for archaeological digs for over a century with 30 separate sites identified thus far.  It was the perfect place to call home with forests, lakes, rivers, plentiful food sources and other natural resources.

We began our day by climbing the observation tower to get a bird’s eye view of the park and surrounding lakes.

Loggers removed most of the red and white pine forest in the mid 1800’s, and now most of the trees are oaks, maples, aspen, and birch.

Three large lakes connected by the Rum River could be seen from the tower, the largest being Mille Lacs Lake.

It was a beautiful day for hiking—not too hot or buggy.  We saw interesting fungi, five-foot-tall ferns, and delicate wildflowers.

While driving through the park in all its wildness, I commented to Chris that it looks like a good home for bears, thinking we weren’t in bear territory.  But when we walked through the interpretive center, one of the displays explained that indeed black bears live in the park!  Then we came across this tree on one of the hiking trails—looks like bear activity to me!

The swimming beach at the picnic area was a man-made pool not far from the banks of the Rum River.  The only one wading in it was a Great Blue Heron!

In 1965, Leland Cooper of Hamline Universary was sent to survey areas of Mille Lacs Kathio State Park.  The site that was later named after him was excavated a year later by Elden Johnson of the University of Minnesota.  The Cooper site showed that the ancient Native people lived there from about 500 to the 1700’s.  Summer and winter homes, a log pallisade wall, and ricing pits were discovered along with arrow points, stone tools, pottery, and trade goods, including glass beads and Jesuit rings–metal finger rings that French missionaries of the late 1600’s gave to the villagers.  This is what the Cooper site looks like today:

Ogechie Lake is a long, narrow, shallow lake that for thousands of years has produced wild rice for waterfowl and the people who made their home along its shores.  In the mid 1950’s a dam was built at the south end of the lake to keep the water levels high in Mille Lacs Lake for fishermen.  This basically flooded the Ogechie rice crop for decades with little to no production.  Two years ago, a new, lower dam was built, and the wild rice or manoomin is coming back so the present day Ojibwe can once again harvest the ancient food.

 

The land my grandparents called home in South Dakota has been in the family for three and four generations now—it seems like such a long time.  But consider the 360 or more generations of Dakota and Ojibwe who have called the Mille Lacs Kathio region home!  Home to me is the prairie, rolling hills of pasture, sloughs full of geese, memories of my family.  But there is also a connection to Scandinavia where all my ‘native’ ancestors lived.  Home to the Ojibwe of Mille Lacs is ‘thousands of lakes’ with fish and wild rice, forests of hard woods and conifers, wild animals and birds, traditions and stories of their ancestors.  When we look from a bird’s eye view at our own lives in the long history of our ancestors, what do we see?  Were there huge changes to where or what home was?  If we are the descendants of immigrants, refugees, or slaves, that would be true.  What is the ‘river’ that runs through all those generations, connecting them and us?  How do we wade through new waters to make our home?  We each have our own definition of what home looks like to us, but this I know: The land matters.  History matters.  People matter.

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Filed Under: Summer Tagged With: birds, home, lakes, Mille Lacs Kathio State Park, trees, wildflowers, woods

Gleanings from June—How the Time has Flewn

July 2, 2017 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

How did it get so late so soon?  It’s night before it’s afternoon.  December is here before it’s June.  My goodness how the time has flewn.  How did it get so late so soon?                   –Dr. Seuss

This is how I feel about the month of June.  It’s one of my favorite months, made all the better this year by the fact that we spent the beginning of the month in Kansas City with our daughter Anna and the other Brake relatives, had our daughter Emily home for vacation and work days, and had SD relatives, Aaron, friends, Emily and Shawn together for celebration days.  How the time has flewn, as Dr. Seuss said!

June is the most precious month of the summer—here in Minnesota the temperature is summer perfect–warm days and still-cool nights, few bugs and mosquitoes impede outdoor work and fun, and there is plenty of sunshine with abundant rain to keep things growing, blooming, and thriving.  Sooo good!  June is when my favorite Perennial Blue Flax blooms—so very lovely.  Do we take the time to appreciate the incredible beauty of a single flower?

Fuzzy, thick-leaved Mullein unfolds like a rosebud—how do we unfold the many layers of our gifts and talents so we can stand tall with our brilliant display of color?

Prairie grasses bloom in June and wave in the wind, while prairie wildflowers begin their complementary display.  How do we stand out in the crowd and love and accept the very things that make us unique?

Talk about fleeting time!  The exquisite poppy, so delicate yet strong, blooms for such a short time before the crinkly petals fall off, leaving the bulbous seed head.  How do we cultivate strength of body, character, mind, and soul?

The blooming Mock Orange shrub with its sweet fragrance was a magnet for Swallowtail Butterflies, both yellow and black.  How do we gather the sweetness of life and share it with others?

A June evening on the lake with good friends is made even better when we see or hear the resident loons.  I believe the ‘bumpy’ feathers towards the tail are hiding a young chick, enabling travel and protection for the offspring.  Do we protect and nourish our offspring and all the ‘children of the Lord?’

Some ingenious spider built its web on the dock, basically over the water—a construction feat for food and shelter.  How do we work to build a safe home and provide food while also maintaining creativity and inventiveness?

Water, lily pads, greens and blues—this Monet-like work of art is a reflection of a birch tree in the lake!  I love it!  How do our actions reflect our true inner self?  What work of art are we creating?

I also love this photograph of a Yellow Pond-lily—the floating leaves, the yellow sphere of flower, the reflection of the blossom, and the spill of water on top of the leaf.  How do we keep our heads above water with poise, beauty, and peace?

And finally, June in the Land of 10,000 Lakes—a couple of people and their dog, out on a boat, fishing at sundown.  How do we relax in this hurried, harried world?  How do we embrace silence and our own thoughts and feelings?

 

June slipped away far too fast—I wanted to hold it steady, keep it close, prevent it from moving on.  I wanted to do the same thing with the time I spent with my kids.  Instead, in the moments I was with them, I was intentional about looking into their faces, not only to see their beauty and uniqueness, but to notice the outward reflection of their inner state.  Are they happy, at peace, using their gifts and talents?  I quietly noticed their strengths of body, character, mind, and soul.  I fretted silently that they may have learned some of my qualities of being hard on myself, of not loving myself quite enough.  I also confirmed my intention and commitment I had from day one as a parent to protect and nourish them in the best way I could, to show them the sweetness of life, to instill in them a love for God, for Nature, for creating and learning.  And here they are—two and a half to three decades later!  How I love being in their presence!  And here I am—throwing out a line in the peaceful silence of my own thoughts and feelings.  “My goodness how the time has flewn.”

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Filed Under: Summer Tagged With: butterflies, Common Loons, flowers, lakes, love, sunsets

Transitions of Spring and Life

May 7, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

One of the most poignant and difficult transitions in my life was moving from a household of five to gradually becoming a household of two again.  It was much more difficult than transitioning from two to five.  But it certainly followed the flow of Life, the reason for parenthood—to raise up offspring in loving care so they would become independent adults living their own lives.

Here in Central Minnesota, we are still in the Spring transition.  Signs of the old—winter dormancy and fall foliage—still are apparent even as the new green grows up around the old.  Most of the deciduous trees now have small, unfolding leaves, though still looking more bare than there.  The Wild Plum tree is white with blossoms, small pink flowers buds are scattered on the Apple trees, and the Daffodils are blooming in their fragrant, cheery yellow beauty.  Within a mile of our place are a number of small ponds and wetlands—some only hold water in the spring and dry up during the heat of summer.  Others are large enough or fed by springs and creeks that they are the habitat for many different animals all year round.  The first small pond had many cattails—old and new—and not much water.  But it was home to a solo-singing frog who was later joined by two other voices as I stood nearby taking pictures.

The next body of water I walked by was a small lake populated by waterfowl, turtles, and muskrats.  A pair of Canadian Geese swam together at the far side of the lake, dipping their heads into the shallow water, sometimes going bottoms-up in their search for food.

Like the bottoms-up goose, the Lily Pads uncurl by sticking up in the air before laying flat on the water’s surface.

A line-up of turtles were sunning themselves on a mud barge, happy for warmth after a winter of hibernating.

On the other side of the road from the lake was a small pond and wetlands where the new green grass was becoming dominant.

An old nest rested among the new leaves.

Pine-cone Willow galls, made last year, house pink, grubby larvae that pupate in the spring and hatch as adult gnats.  The old cone ‘houses’ and the new lime green flowers and leaves are the epitome of this Spring transition.

 

Transitions are always a little tough, whether going from Winter to Spring or Autumn to Winter, from health to sickness or injury to healing, from a busy, vibrant household to a quieter, calmer environment or from a carefree, me-and-you life to baby makes three or four or more.  With each transition of our lives, it’s good to take some time to appreciate the old way, to have gratitude for the things that served us well, and to learn from the difficulties that wrenched our hearts in sorrow or pain.  Perhaps that is why Spring is slow in its unfurling.  As the old way slips away, we make room for the new.  We are happy for the warmth.  We shed another layer of our childish ways to become more adult-like.  We build a new nest.  We join with other voices who know the song we’re singing.  With peace and renewed energy, we merge once again with the flow of Life.

 

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Filed Under: Spring Tagged With: geese, lakes, lily pads, nests, transitions, turtles, water

Standing in the Middle of a Lake

February 12, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Having courage does not mean we are unafraid.  –Maya Angelou

Fear has been my worst friend most of my life—my friend because there has rarely been a day when it hasn’t been by my side—and worst because friends are supposed to be fun, encouraging, and loving, and fear is none of those.  We know each other well, inevitable after so many decades together, but it still surprises me at times when fear takes the bit and bolts at a dead run.  I’m learning how to gather the reins, loosen the bit from its teeth, and get control again.

One of the things I’m afraid of is deep water.  I can swim enough to get from point A to point B if they aren’t very far apart, if one has no judgement on my ‘technique,’ and oh, if I can just about touch bottom.  When canoeing I prefer to stay close to the shore, and my temporary best friend is the aptly named life jacket.  Larger boats are more enjoyable—if I don’t think about how deep the water is below us.  The only thing worse than deep water in the summer is the thought of falling through the ice in the middle of a lake—uncommon, but not unheard of in Minnesota.  My mind had come up with this blog post title a number of weeks ago, so I knew I couldn’t write about it unless I did it.  Okay.  So here I am, standing in the middle of a lake…

Chris and I traveled to Eden Lake, a 263 acre oval-shaped lake to the south of us.  It’s 77 feet deep at the deepest point. (yikes)  The temperature was a chilly twelve degrees, but the sun was bright and the sky a beautiful blue.  We walked out on the lake as I reassured myself that the ice was safe—after all, there were plenty of pick-ups out there.

The ice was mostly snow-covered in interesting patterns crafted by the wind.  It made walking easier.

There were places where the ice was topped with a lacy white frosting that shattered like glass when we stepped on it.

Truck tracks ran in many directions, but one ‘road’ seemed to get the most traffic.

Cracks appeared in the ice, and there was evidence that melting water had seeped up from them during the January thaw but once again were frozen over and slick.

Ice chunks lifted from holes cut for spearing fish made it look like a moonscape.

Cedar branches marked the holes that had been cut, warning drivers to stay clear.

Ice houses were scattered in three different areas of the lake…

with a little village of them at the far end of the lake, at the end of the ice road.

I peered down through the ice where it was clear, unable to ascertain the thickness.  I wondered about the large cracks, like center-lines down a highway.  The ice landscape was so unfamiliar to me, though the fishermen must know how to ‘read’ it after years of experience.  Probably only the foolish end up falling through the ice—maybe the ones with no fear.

 

As I was leaving the lake, I stopped to ask a man how deep the ice was—he had just drilled some new holes and said the ice was about sixteen inches thick, more than enough for a pick-up truck to drive on according to the MN Department of Natural Resources.  How much is recommended for safe activities on foot?  Four inches!  Though the DNR clearly states that ice is never 100% safe.  Fear is not something I need to get rid of completely—it serves a purpose in keeping me safe in many situations.  And like walking on ice, I am never 100% safe.  But I really had nothing to fear standing in the middle of Eden Lake on that day.  John Berryman, a poet who lived and died a tragic life, wrote, “We must travel in the direction of our fear.”  Maybe my mind, by coming up with a title, was urging me towards my fear.  Maybe the center-line cracks illustrate that the highway of life has perils to be navigated.  We just have to make certain that fear does not completely envelop us, like it did poor John Berryman.  Maybe it’s the village at the end of the road that will dissipate the fear and bring us back to safety.  Maybe fear is not my worst friend, after all.

 

Thanks to Sterling for answers to my ice questions.

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Filed Under: Winter Tagged With: fear, ice, lakes

Gleanings from October—A Reflection

October 30, 2016 by Denise Brake 5 Comments

There have been days in my life when a glorious mixture of Light and Love from a combination of earthly wonder and heavenly grace has shone upon me.  The brightest of them all were the days in which I married my partner for life and I bore our three children.  Each of those days is etched in my body, mind, and soul as a reflection of everything that is good and holy.  Each of those days included mundane tasks, messy happenings, and marvelous emotions.

October is a reflection of those kinds of days—bright and beautiful, colorful and chaotic, yet peaceful and priceless!  It seems like October days pass by too quickly, as the vibrant-colored leaves fall and dry to brown, and the warm days fade to cool nights.  Maples of all species are the shining stars of autumn color in our yard…

Maple tree

and in the woods at St. John’s Arboretum, where a Sunday hike on the trail is like walking through a grand, gilded cathedral.

Woods at St. John's Arboretum

The stillness of the beautiful Lake Sagatagan reflected the autumn colors and housed a community of lily pads with only the stems remaining of their exquisite flowers.

Lake Sagatagan

The reflection in a pond along the trail seemed sharper and more realistic than the actual trees in the woods…

Woods pond at St. John's Arboretum

until the focus changed to the individual leaves floating on the stained glass water.

Leaves on a pond

Our destination for our Sunday hike at Saint John’s was Stella Maris chapel which sits on an island-like peninsula across Lake ‘Sag’ from the campus.  Stella Maris is Latin for ‘Star of the Sea’ and ‘Our Lady Star of the Sea’ is an ancient title for the Blessed Virgin Mary.  The original chapel was built in 1872 but was struck by lightning and burnt down in 1903.  It was rebuilt in 1915 and has had three renovations since that time.

Stella Maris Chapel

The beautiful stained-glass star window and pregnant Mary statue simply adorn the inside of the chapel.

Stella Maris Chapel window

Moving on through October, another celestial body displayed its beauty—the full moon.

Full moon rise

A hazy reflection of the Sun’s light illuminates the darkness.

Full moon

And then a foggy morning diminished visibility and gave the changing leaves a muted glow.  Such a changeable month this October!

Foggy fall morning

A clear, crisp night frosted the blades of grass and tipped the outlines of fallen leaves with white.

Frost on an oak leaf

The bright sunlight soon melted away the frost and shone on these robins who grabbed a bite of crabapples.

Robins in the Crabapple tree

By the end of the month, the gloriously colored leaves are gone, and the silhouettes of the trees are lined against gray skies.  We move into our late fall landscape.

End of October

 

October reflections of light, color, and brilliance are gone before we are ready for them to leave.  Once again we are reminded that Nature’s time schedule doesn’t bend to our wishes and wants.  But those days of illumination stay with us and quietly and stealthily renovate our hearts.  We build our lives with the stones we have available to us, and sometimes the fires of life tear down those walls in order for us to rebuild something new and better, all while retaining what is good and holy.  At any given moment, we believe we see the reflections of our lives clearly—but what happens when we change the focus?  Hindsight has a way of honing in on what matters most and of illuminating the flaws of our thoughts and actions.  And the best thing we can forgivingly say to ourselves is ‘Live and Learn.’  We move into a new landscape of life, our eyes see differently, and we receive new wonders from our earth and new graces from the heavens.

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Filed Under: Fall Tagged With: birds, grace, illumination, lakes, leaves, reflections, trees, woods

Don’t Know Much About Geology

August 21, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

My knowledge of geology is simple and child-like–rocks are pretty and interesting; I like to pick them up and take them home.  Most every room in our house has rocks in glass Mason jars or lying around on tables or shelves.  Some are from Canada, some from Texas, and some from West River South Dakota.  I’m pretty sure there are still some in boxes that remain in waiting for the next geological discovery–“I love this rock!  I forgot I had it!”

Chris and I traveled west an hour or so to Glacial Lakes State Park to a geological area commonly known as the Leaf Hills.  The hills, valleys, and ridges were formed by the last glaciers more than 10,000 years ago.  The park has some of the greatest depth of glacial till–rocks, gravel, and dirt the glacial ice scraped off as it moved southward, then deposited when the ice retreated.

Kettle Lake at Glacial Lakes State Park

The information provided by the State Park introduced me to geology terms I had never heard before: kames, kettles, eskers, moraines, and erratics.  “Kames are conical-shaped hills formed by glacial debris deposited by meltwaters flowing into and down holes in the ice mass.  A kettle is a depression (which usually becomes a lake or marsh) that formed when a block of ice melts after being separated from the glacier and covered by glacial debris.  An esker is a worm-like ridge that forms beneath a glacier as debris-laden meltwater runs under the ice.  When the ice melts, the stream bed, formed by the running meltwater, shows up as a winding ridge.  End moraines are areas where the leading or “resting” edge of a glacier “dumped” a load of debris that it carried like a conveyer belt transports material, or where two lobes of advancing ice cross over each other.”  And this is my favorite, “An erratic is any boulder carried and deposited by a glacier.”  The park contains rocks that have ferrous oxide (iron ore) from northeastern Minnesota and Canada, granite, possibly from the St. Cloud area, and basalt, probably originating from northeast Minnesota.  The erratics help trace the movement of the glaciers.

Kettles and Kames at Glacial Lakes State Park

Glacial Lakes State Park is located where the prairie of the west and south meets the hardwood and conifer forests to the east and north.  Only about .1 of 1% of the original Minnesota prairie remains, and the park preserves a portion of that native prairie.  It has a spring-fed, crystal clear Signalness Lake that is surrounded by oak-covered hills for camping, boating, swimming, and fishing.  The park also has a horse camp area and riding trails through the prairie.

Signalness Lake at Glacial Lakes State Park

We hiked through mosquito-thick woods and prairie trails to reach the highest point in the park that overlooked the rolling prairie.  Our only animal companion was a 13-lined ground squirrel who had a burrow right in the middle of the trail.

13-lined Ground Squirrel

Bent, spiky seedheads of Mullein rose like saguaros of the prairie.

Mullein seedheads

Tall Goldenrod and other late summer wildflowers bloomed on the hillside by the wild plums that were already wearing their fall colors.

Goldenrod at Glacial Lakes State Park

I finally identified the feather-leafed prairie plant I first saw in La Crosse two years ago!  (Below is the photo I took then and here’s the link to Great-Grandaddy Cottonwood Tree.)

Unidentified prairie perennial

The prairie trail was lined with green leaved versions of the feather-leafed plant that were just beginning to flower.  It is called Stiff Goldenrod–tall, rough-leaved, and deep-rooted–one of many Goldenrods blooming at this time of year.

Stiff Goldenrod

Stiff Goldenrod

Indiangrass and Big Bluestem bloomed golden-brown and bluish-purple….

Indian Grass at Glacial Lakes State Park

…making a patchwork quilt of colors with the other prairie plants.

The Prairie at Glacial Lakes State Park

 

Don’t know much about Geology, but I do know that I love rocks and I love the Prairie.  Coming to a place like Glacial Lakes State Park makes one appreciate the enormous history of our beautiful green Earth and realize the teeny-tiny part our lifetimes play in that history.  I wish we could all be human erratics–carried and deposited in all areas of our country and world, so that we can trace the movement of the people who stand up for clean water, clean air, and preserved wilderness, forests, and prairie.  In so doing, we can make sure that our children’s grandchildren will be able to stand underneath the Great-Grandaddy Cottonwood tree and profess their vows to love and to cherish.  What a wonderful world this would be!

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Filed Under: Summer Tagged With: geology, lakes, prairie, wildflowers

Spend Time at the Lake

August 16, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

Advice from a Loon

Spend time at the lake

Enjoy a good swim

Call your friends

A little color goes a long way

Surround yourself with beauty

Enjoy time alone

Dive into life!

–Ilan Shamir, Your True Nature

We were fortunate to spend time at the lake not long ago.  Our friends Rick and Lynda called asking for the favor of a little bit of our time and muscle, and in return we got a delicious supper, wonderful company, and a beautiful evening with the Loons.  As we pontooned from the dock, puffy white thunderheads were forming behind the trees.

Goodner Lake

We cruised along the shore where reeds and Yellow Pond Lilies grew and where the evening sun lit up the skeleton bones of an old fallen tree limb.

Goodner Lake shore

The lake and sky were calm, the temperature just right, as we floated along discussing the tornado that had torn a path through the trees by the lake a few weeks prior.

Goodners Lake

We enjoyed the beauty of the billowing clouds and the rippling reflections in the blue lake.

Evening clouds on Goodners Lake

Goodners Lake

We saw the resident Loons gliding through the water.  Minnesotans love their Loons, naming them the State Bird and emblazoning their image on countless souvenirs.  They have distinctive black and white summer feathers and red eyes which help them see underwater.  They have four distinct calls that are used to communicate–tremolo, wail, hoot, and yodel.  (Listen here.)

Mama loon on Goodners Lake

Loons, unlike most birds, have solid bones to help them dive deeply into the water to search for food.  They are amazing swimmers, torpedo-like when underwater as they chase and capture their favorite sunfish and perch.  They can stay underwater for up to five minutes and will emerge far from their diving point.

Young loon

Nests are built by the male and female in a quiet, protected area of reeds and grasses.  Their legs are set far back on their bodies, making them awkward on land, so nests are situated very close to the water.  One or two eggs are laid and incubated for 28-30 days.  The chicks are ready to swim almost immediately and will ride on their parents’ backs to stay safe from turtles and fish.  Loon parents and two chicks can eat about half a ton of fish over a 15-week period!

Mama loon and two young ones

In September the adults travel to their winter homes along the southern Atlantic coast or Gulf of Mexico.  The juveniles will gather together and fly to wintering grounds a month or so later.  Loons need 100-600 feet of runway in order to take off from a lake, but once in the air, they can fly 75 miles per hour.  The Loons of Goodners Lake were undisturbed by our boating close by them as they floated in the placid water.

Mama loon and young ones

As the Loons swam off into the brilliant sunset, we headed for the dock.  With the water reflecting and amplifying the sunset sky, a little color does indeed go a long way.

Sunset on Goodners Lake

 

Many of Minnesota’s ten thousand lakes are home to the uncommon beauty of the Common Loon.  Their haunting calls, like a wolf’s howl, invoke a peaceful wildness in one’s soul.  It is a privilege to spend time at the lake with friends, a privilege to witness so much beauty in such a short time and in one snapshot of space on this abundantly beautiful Earth.  Take advice from a Loon–call your friends, spend time at the lake, surround yourself with beauty, and dive into life! 

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Filed Under: Summer Tagged With: Common Loons, lakes, sunsets, water

Journey into Nature and Parenthood

May 12, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order.                                            –John Burroughs

There is a connection between the generations, a sinew of code that we receive from our parents and ancestors and pass on to our offspring.  Our chromosomes determine eye color, hair and skin color, and many other physical and personality characteristics–our Nature.  When we celebrate Mother’s and Father’s Days, however, it is mainly about our Nurture–how we were raised and nurtured and how we raised and nurtured our children.  The nine months of carrying and growing a child, the months and years of nursing them, caring for their every need, teaching them, guiding them, providing for them, cherishing them, and allowing them to become the persons they were meant to be.  A difficult, joyous, incredible, honorable journey.

Our journey into nature this past weekend was to Birch Lakes State Forest, one of the smallest state forests in Minnesota, situated between two lakes on hilly, forested land created by glacial depositions.  It is in the transition zone between the southwest prairie and northeast forested regions.  It is mainly a deciduous forest with aspens, maples, basswoods, and oaks.

Birch Lakes State Forest trail

Spring wildflowers were blooming on the trail by the lake: Large-flowered Bellwort and Wood Anemone.

Large-flowered Bellwort

Wood Anemone

We hiked the trail with no map, not knowing where we were going, around shallow ponds filled with cattails and surrounded by white-barked birches.

Pond at Birch Lakes State Forest

Wild Calla Lilies or Waterdragons bloomed in one of the shallow ponds.

Wild Calla Lilies

Jack-in-the-Pulpits and Ferns were abundant along the trail.

Jack-in-the-Pulpits

Fern by birch log

One of the most interesting plants in the forest was a small shrub.  It was shaped like a petite tree with a singular trunk and symmetrical branches.  The bark was smooth and brownish-gray, and the branches were pliable and bent without breaking.

Leatherwood shrub

Neither of us knew what kind of shrub it was, and on closer inspection, we saw that it had already bloomed and was producing fruit.

Leatherwood shrub close up

After a fairly long search when we returned home, I found the shrub on the Minnesota DNR field guide to native plants.  ‘Dirca palustris’ or Leatherwood grows in part to full shade and likes a boggy habitat.  It blooms in March or April, before its leaves emerge, with a bell-shaped pale yellow flower.  The fruit will be red by fall, and the leaves have a yellow fall color.  I remembered that I had taken a picture of a blooming shrub during our early spring hike at St. John’s Arboretum.  It was the blooming Leatherwood!  The Native Americans used the tough, leathery twigs and bark for bow strings, baskets, fishing line, and rope.

Leatherwood shrub blooming

The only critters we saw were a loon on Birch Lake when we arrived and a camouflaged tree frog on the leafy trail towards the end of our hike.

Loon on Birch Lake

Tree frog at Birch Lakes State Forest

Going to a place we had never been before and walking through Nature’s incredible gifts soothed my soul and got my senses in order.  Connection with Nature–in all its glories–is something we nurtured and passed on to our children.  The journey of parenthood takes a sharp turn when children are adults and living in places far from their parents, but the road never ends.  Losing a parent of my own in these last months brings that reality home.  Remember to whom we belong.  That sinew of code–tough, flexible, unbreakable–that we receive from our parents, grandparents, and ancestors and the years of nurturing from resilient, flawed parents make us who we are.  Follow the trail of life.  We may not know where we’re going all the time, but we can find beauty and interesting things along the way.  Find our own way.  We choose our paths, sometimes turn around when we find we’re on the wrong trail, and at other times blaze our own trail with intuition and spirit.  May Goodness and Mercy follow us all the days of our precious lives.

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Filed Under: Spring Tagged With: Birch Lakes State Forest, lakes, wildflowers, woods

The Wilderness Trail

August 20, 2015 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

In wilderness is the preservation of the world.  –Henry David Thoreau

The trail to Aaron’s house for the summer veers from an old, non-traveled road.  It winds through rocks and blueberry patches to a huge white pine.  There, on a platform of wood is his tent, partially covered by a blue tarp.  Clothes hang from a line that stretches under the tarp, a canoe paddle leans on the platform, and a couple of plastic totes house his clothes and possessions for the summer.

Trail to Aaron's tent at SWC

Aaron's campsite

This is not his first summer in a tent–he has spent parts or all of six previous summers living in a canvas tent and guiding people through the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA).  The BWCA has over a million acres of wilderness with over 1,000 lakes and streams within Superior National Forest.  This preserved wilderness was established in 1964 under the administration of the US Forest Service.

Wilderness is a relative term.  Any of us who live in a house with running water and electricity would most certainly agree that Aaron lives in the wilderness.  But Aaron says the true wilderness is deep in the BWCA where you can paddle for days and not see another person, a building, or a road.  Where you take shelter in the tent you carry and set up, cook your packed-in food on a fire after gathering the wood, and where your companions are the wild things all around you.

Nonetheless, I believe if the trail to your house is the same trail a bear travels, that is wilderness enough for me.  Earlier this summer Aaron and his friend Jake were walking back to their tents when they saw a black bear on the trail ahead of them.  After looking at the two-legged creatures for a minute, he lumbered away.  Aaron and Jake followed–yep, followed, to see where he was going.  The trail leads to a high ridge above an open marsh area.  (read about the firefly phenomenon in the marsh)

Firefly marsh

Now I say, ‘Luckily’ they saw the bear down below them in the marsh and not on the ridge.  The bear did look up at them again but wandered off into the forest.

Rock outcrop above the marsh

When we visited Steger Wilderness Center at the beginning of August, we didn’t see a bear, but we noticed evidence of one when we were on a morning hike.  Along the trail, a large log had been rolled over a young sapling, exposing grubs and insects underneath.  A little farther along the trail were two large ant hills that had the tops scraped off–bears love Thatching ant eggs and larvae.  After seeing this ‘evidence’, Aaron did mention that one of the other interns had seen a black bear on this trail earlier in the week!  Okay, keep your eyes peeled!

photo by LAn

photo by LAn

Our hike that morning was mainly for two reasons–to see a remote lake where the guys go fishing and to pick wild blueberries along the way.  The trail led deep into the forest and was beautiful and serene in the morning air.  For some reason, the mosquitoes didn’t bother us, making the hike all the more pleasant.  The conifer forest was filled with flora that we don’t normally see, even in Central Minnesota.

Wintergreen crept along the rocks.  Gaultheria Procumbens produces oil of wintergreen, a flavoring for chewing gum, mints, and toothpaste.  We chewed leaves to taste the minty flavor.

photo by LAn

photo by LAn

Bunchberry (or Creeping Dogwood) is a woodland ground cover that loves cool, acidic soil.  The berries are edible and rich in pectin, making them good additions to thicken puddings and jellies.

photo by LAn

photo by LAn

Sweet fern was the most intriguing plant I saw but had no idea of what it was at the time.  It’s a small, woody deciduous shrub with scalloped foliage that resembles ferns.  The leaves are fragrant and can be used to make tea or as a seasoning. Sweet fern leaves can also be used to repel insects, as an infusion in water to treat poison ivy and stings, and as a lining for a container for picking berries to keep them fresh longer. 

photo by LAn

photo by LAn

Ground cedar is an evergreen perennial club moss that has been used for Christmas decorations.

photo by LAn

photo by LAn

Along with these interesting plants and many types of moss, we trekked by patches and patches of blueberries.  At first, we didn’t see any blueberries on the tiny bushes, and I blamed that bear who had left his mark at the beginning of the trail!  Finally we came to a large patch that was loaded with berries, so we filled our containers with the small, delicious fruit.

photo by LAn

photo by LAn

photo by LAn

photo by LAn

After more than an hour of slowly making our way through the woods, we arrived at the lake.  Overlooking this beautiful lake was a one-room log cabin, and I hastily exclaimed that I would live there!  We sat on the rock outcropping for a few minutes, taking in the peace and exquisite beauty of this wilderness paradise.

photo by LAn

photo by LAn

Aaron is a summer intern at the Steger Wilderness Center.  The older Homestead is the hub of activity where the interns gather from their tent outposts.  An old lodge houses the kitchen, library, and office space powered only by solar.  Dishes are washed like the interns’ grandparents or great-grandparents did it, since there is no running water.  Food is stored in an ice house and cooked on a gas stove.  The ice house is a large cellar built into the hill.  Behind three thick, wooden doors is a room filled with huge ice chunks gathered from the lake in February and covered with saw dust to insulate.  An adjacent room is where the food is stored at a very refrigerator-respectful 42 degrees F.

The ice house

Twice a week, the sod-roofed log cabin sauna is fired up for the hard-working interns, stone mason apprentices, and others who want to heat up before jumping into the lake.

Sauna at SWC

The center of attraction at the Steger Wilderness Center is the amazing building that Will Steger envisioned and sketched on his trans-Antarctic expedition.  It’s situated high on a hill overlooking the lake, the Homestead, and the surrounding forest. It is a work in progress as materials, labor, and money is made available.  It is truly a labor of vision and love. 

In the words of Will Steger: My mission for the Center is to make a lasting positive impact for the future by bringing small groups of leaders, educators, and policy makers seeking to re-imagine solutions to the world’s most intractable problems. It is designed to activate our understanding of what it means to be interdependent—with each other, with our earth and as a society—to inspire clarity and break-through innovation that sparks the synergy, inspiration and fresh thinking essential to developing innovative and workable approaches to protecting our planet and creating a better world.

Steger Wilderness Center

 

But why the Wilderness?  Couldn’t all of this be done at a more populated, ‘civilized’ place that is more convenient to get to, more conventional?  The answer to that question is revealed when a person spends time in the wilderness.  And it’s hard to explain, yet you know it when you experience it.

All three of our children have lived for at least two summers of their lives in wilderness areas.  Our oldest daughter Emily, like Aaron, lived near and guided people through the BWCA.  She lived in a very small community of people where it was essential to work together and problem solve.  She also spent quite a bit of her time alone and became self-aware that if anything happened, there was nobody else there to help.  (She had one summer of a frequently visiting bear also.)  She discovered a peace in the wilderness, a feeling of unity, and a strong knowing of her place in the world.  Aaron believes the wilderness has grown his confidence in his abilities and has shown him that mental limitations, not physical limitations hold people back most often.  He also mentioned how the wilderness has helped him maintain a larger perspective on life, while focusing on the simple, yet important things–food, water, shelter, and more.

The challenge of the Wilderness-minded people–the ones who know first hand what interdependence with our earth means on a daily basis–is to carry that feeling, that knowledge, that wisdom to the larger population.  In essence, it is to straddle both worlds.  My kids do that in small ways every day of their lives, and Will Steger does that in a big way with his mission and legacy of the Steger Wilderness Center and Climate Generation.  Each of us has a wilderness place in our lives–perhaps it’s Central Park in New York City or a neighborhood creek in Missouri or a favorite camping place in South Dakota.  Allow that wilderness place to challenge you and lead you on a trail to self-awareness, a world-wide perspective (we’re all in this together), and a sense of unity and peace within yourself.

 

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Filed Under: Summer Tagged With: bears, lakes, Steger Wilderness Center, trees, wilderness

Living on the Water–Part II

August 12, 2015 by Denise Brake 3 Comments

We left the beautiful waters of Lake Superior and traveled ‘inland’ through Superior National Forest to our destination–the Steger Wilderness Center outside of Ely, Minnesota.  The washboarded and potholed gravel road of six miles seemed much longer than that, but finally we turned into the fire number-marked driveway.  After another mile or so of forest-lined trail, we rounded a corner and spotted the smiling face of Aaron Brake, at the Homestead.  Even though our youngest will soon be twenty-three and it had only been a little over two months since we watched him drive away, my heart beat with joy when I saw him.  (A mother’s heart for her beloveds.)  Aaron introduced us to Will as he walked down the hill to his next destination.  I have to admit, I was a bit star-struck by the meeting and greeting of this man.  While I was raising babies in the late 80’s, early 90’s, Will Steger was leading teams of explorers by dogsled to the North Pole, across Greenland, and in the epic 7-month, 3,741-mile traverse of Antarctica!  It puts nighttime feedings and endless diaper changes in clear perspective.  And now, in this remote wilderness, he is leading a team of young interns, apprentices, volunteers and guests in an even bigger quest–to inspire solutions to the issues of climate change that are now affecting everyone on the planet and to be a living, working example of ecological stewardship.

Picket Lake at dusk

Aaron led us to our accommodations for the next three nights and days–a boat house on the lake–we would literally be living on the water!

Boat house on Lake Picket

That night as I lay in the comfy bed cove of the cabin with a full moon shining through the many windows, I heard rain and wind marching across the lake in another squall, like the ones we had driven through all day.  The boat house rocked ever-so-gently in the wind as waves lapped against the floats.  I was amazed at how steady it was.  What a place this is, I thought, as sleep finally overcame me.

The next morning, I discovered we were sharing our living on the lake with a couple (hundred) creatures.  As the sunrise painted the sky and water pink, we heard the eerie, echoing call of a Common Loon.

Sunrise on Picket Lake

He swam slowly past the boat house, singing the song of northern Minnesota. (If you are unfamiliar with the song of the loon, click here.)

Loon on Picket LakeOur other lake dwellers shared the boat house with us.  On the outside of a window was a triangular web, an egg sac, a huge mama spider and hundreds of babies!  The Nursery Web Spider resembles a Wolf Spider in size and color.  Wolf Spiders carry their newly hatched spiderlings on their abdomen, while the Nursery Web Spider builds a nursery tent web, puts her egg sac into it, and stands guard over the nest and hatchlings until they are old enough to disperse.

Nursery web spider

Nursery Web Spiders live and hunt on the water!  They can walk on the surface of still water and will dive to catch their prey.  The females ferociously guard their nests–they can jump 5-6 inches and will bite an invader.

Nursery Web Spider egg sac and hatchlings

The water in the lake was clear but dark in color, probably due to the mineral content of the rocks and soil.  In late afternoon, the shore water glowed an amber color, like fire dancing beneath the surface.

Shore water of Picket Lake

That evening, the blue moon–the second full moon of the month–rose over the trees.  The lake reflected a stream of white light.

Blue Moon over Picket Lake

In the early morning hours of our last night at the Wilderness Center, Lightning presented a dramatic show, accompanied by Thunder and Rain.  As I lay awake watching the flashes and hearing the pelting of the drops against the windows, I realized that living on the water makes one feel like an integral part of Nature.

Chris shook me awake a few hours later to witness a rainbow of the sunrise.

Sunrise rainbow

And like everything else, the colors of the rainbow were mirrored back by the water.

Sunrise rainbow over Picket Lake

The lake was calm and still after the stormy night, quietly reflecting the world around it.

Rocky shore of Picket Lake

 The abstract reflections encouraged a closer look at reality on shore.

Yellow leaves on shore of Picket Lake

 

Living on the water in this remote northern wilderness, even for a few days, changes the way one sees the world.  The water tells the stories of the shore, of the sky, of the creatures and humans who reside there.  Reflections–mirror images to our sight, echos to our ears, and contemplations for our minds and souls.  Are we brave enough to really see the belovedness of this Earth we call Home?  Are we strong enough to listen and look closely at our own roles and responsibilities?  Do we have the courage to stand guard over that which we love and hold dear and for that which sustains us?  Whether your journey in life is by dog sled across the Arctic or by walking through parenthood, listen closely to the steady Song of Mother Nature.  She will tell you what you need to do.

 

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Filed Under: Summer Tagged With: lakes, loon, nursery web spider, Steger Wilderness Center

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I love Nature! I love its beauty, its constancy, its adaptiveness, its intricacies, and its surprises. I think Nature can teach us about ourselves and make us better people. Read More…

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