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When I Wasn’t Looking

September 22, 2019 by Denise Brake 6 Comments

How much does the internet rule our lives? What would we actually do without it for a day, a week, or a month? (Maybe I should back that up to an hour also.) Even those of us old enough to remember that we had full, awesome lives before the internet, get caught up in the necessity of it. Like when we weren’t looking, it sort of took over our lives. This post began in my head more than a week ago and ended a week ago when I could not open my webpage to upload pictures and write. Not enough power or signal, or there was interference or disturbance. Whatever.

After Paul’s memorial service over Labor Day and sweet times of relaxation and mourning-tempered fun with the Brake family, we headed home to Minnesota. Our wrecked hearts were a little less wrecked, bandaged over with hugs, precious memories, and laughter. The healing had begun.

On the trip home, we stopped for a walk and a break at Sakatah Lake State Park near Waterville, Minnesota. It was a nourishing detour around the rush-hour Cities traffic. The first thing I noticed when we started walking were dark, leaping little toads all over the place. It had rained quite a bit while we were gone (and much of the summer), so the frog and toad populations were booming.

Upper Sakatah Lake was full to the rim and evidence of flooding was everywhere. Trees along the shore had toppled into the water, and debris was high in the lower spots. This area was named Sakatah by the Wahpekute tribe of the Dakota Nation. It means “the sights and sounds of children playing on the hill,” and sometimes translated to “Singing Hills.” Don’t you love that!?

Looking out over the lake, the most striking view was to the east where Double-crested Cormorants had perched and made nests in dead trees on tiny islands of Wildlife Management Areas. Cormorants are colonial nesters and often perceived to be messy, nuisance birds.

They are fish-eaters, so do not make good game birds, and their community living seems to make them messy and troublesome. (For whom?) But we saw much preening and cleaning going on as they perched in their alabaster tree-houses together.

The vegetation in the woods had decidedly turned to Fall. It seemed to happen when I wasn’t looking. Clusters of red-fruited seeds of the Jack-in-the-Pulpit, amid the tattered leaves, shouted out to passers-by after two seasons of discreetly hiding in the forest.

Sunflowers, Asters, and Goldenrods grew from every sunny spot along the edge of the woods, and juicy Wild Plums hung from the trees.

The forest gave way to wetlands and prairies as we hiked along the Singing Hills State Bike Trail that traversed the Park.

It was a short but welcome break to get into the woods after driving the Interstate for hours through the fields of Iowa. And when we were home again, our Fall visitors began to boldly traipse through the yard. The Wild Turkey population seems greatly diminished this year—only four babies with two, sometimes three females. Other years we have had twelve to eighteen young ones trailing behind their mamas.

The spotted baby fawns are now big enough to graze in the open and look for apples that have fallen to the ground.

Our surprise this year, is that there are triplets!

This Spring and Summer have slipped by me—when I wasn’t looking—when insidious, unseen influences sort of took over our lives. We blindly believe that all-or-nothing technology is in our best interest (all=good, nothing=bad). But what are we losing in the process when we are complicit to the ‘lifestyle’ of the internet and our ‘smart’ phones? How have we isolated ourselves from our community of people for the (and I don’t know the word for this exactly) thrill/ satisfaction/ seduction of all that the internet supplies? I spent many days in the last two weeks not looking at the internet. It was a relief. I’m not so attached to technology that it was uncomfortable for me to do so. In fact, it actually felt like I became more of myself. As the Brake family mourned the loss of a Dad/ brother/ uncle, we didn’t do so on social media—we did it in person. It was the face-to-face, the tears and laughter, and the hugs and stories that sustained us. When we weren’t looking for it, the healing had begun, and we were a little bit less wrecked, thank the Good Lord. So, where are the disturbances in our lives? What interferes with us feeling like ourselves in a grounded, nurturing way? I say don’t let the power in our lives be about the internet—it is unsustaining and in fact robs us of our energy and creativity in the long run. We need more Sakatah in our lives—the sights and sounds of children (and we are all children of God) playing and singing in the hills.

We The Spiritual People

July 28, 2019 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

One of the ways you know you’re on the prairie is the huge expanse of sky. Save for a lone tree or two, nothing impedes the view of the blue dome, the clouds, the sun and stars. Stretched out at your feet is a waving sea of grasses with golden seedheads, interspersed with a colorful variety of wildflowers.

On our way home from Missouri, we took old U.S. Highway 71 instead of the Interstate, and we navigated the old-fashioned way—by map. When we crossed the line from Iowa into Minnesota, I noticed a place on the map called Jeffers Petroglyphs. That sounds interesting! It was nearing seven in the evening by the time we saw the turn-off but decided to check it out anyway. Just four miles off the highway, we pulled into an almost empty parking lot. One man on a motorcycle was just getting ready to leave. He instructed us to find a booklet about the petroglyphs on a picnic table at the backside of the interpretive center, which had closed at five. We walked through the prairie grasses and flowers to a red rock ridge and began a scavenger hunt of sorts, to see and identify the rock carvings that had been cataloged in the booklet and on the signs. We stepped back in time by thousands of years!

Following a roped-off pathway, at first we had a hard time seeing anything but rock. As our eyes adjusted to what the carvings looked like in texture, we began to see shapes and forms. There’s a hand print and an arrow!

Is it a bird and a buffalo?

Interpretive signage told us about an ancient dart-throwing weapon used before bows and arrows called an atlatl that was used as early as 12,000 years ago. There were many carvings of atlatls, most with an exaggerated-sized stone weight on the shaft. Historians speculate that it was a ‘vision’ to increase the spiritual power that guides the hunter’s shot. Hunting, their literal livelihood, is a common theme—whether documenting actual hunts or visions of hunts to come.

The red rock is Sioux Quartzite, the oldest bedrock formation in Minnesota, where a shallow sea deposited sand and mud for millions of years, and heat and pressure formed the metamorphic rock. It was exposed again by glaciers, wind, and water. The long scraping lines on the rock face are from the ancient moving glaciers.

In 1966, the Minnesota Historical Society purchased 40 acres to preserve this site and later added more for a total of 160 acres. It has been and still is considered to be a sacred site for Native American tribes, including Ioway, Otoe, Cheyenne, and the Dakota. Sacred ceremonies are still performed here amidst the carvings depicting the spiritual power of people and place over thousands of years. Horns or lines radiating from a head often indicates wisdom or the ability to communicate with the spirit world. The circle feet may represent a place of powerful spirits. According to the Plains Indians, the Thunderbird is a sacred spirit, giver of life and death, that can be heard as thunder as it flaps its wings and seen as lightning bolts from its eyes.

Parts of the rock face are preserved as they were 1.6 billion years ago—as sand ripples and mud flats. These interesting geological formations are a treasure that the prairie never covered up.

The carvings were done over a span of thousands of years—it is estimated the earliest were 7,000 years ago and the most recent 250 years ago. (Though there is some ‘graffiti’ by early twentieth century persons.) Another theme of the carvings were kinship ceremonies—how the bonds of kinship and social life were nurtured and strengthened. There are dozens of symbols in these next three pictures, the last, of a large carving of a woman in a shawl.

One area looked like a map, perhaps a hunting map or record of some kind of journey. Dots were carved between figures of people and other places or animals. Besides pictures of buffalo, other animals and tracks were carved in all areas of the pictographs, like birds and bear.

There are 33 acres of native prairie here, undisturbed for thousands of years. Most of the other acres have been restored to prairie. The Earth and Sky are represented in the rock carvings also. The many shapes and figures in parts of the rock face are not known—perhaps they are warriors hunting buffalo, figures of the underworld, or constellations from the starry prairie sky. Other shapes may be butterflies or dragonflies—it’s all part knowledge from the elders and historians and part imagination.

We were at the site for a little over an hour, and we were actually there at a good time, as the signage said mornings and evenings are the best time to see the carvings.

Interpretation of the carvings, along with the ongoing spiritual importance, was documented by elders from different tribes. (see MN Historical Society) Although the historical and archaeological aspects of the site were important in its preservation, it is the input from the Native Americans whose ancestors lived here that highlights the incredible significance of this place and what we can learn from it. (Italics in the following quotes are mine.)

“…and the last thing I would suggest to a visitor who wasn’t a tribal or indigenous person… somewhere back down your family tree, if you can go back far enough you’re going to find out you came from a tribal people and if you let that part of you speak… maybe you’ll find something out about yourself and your own history and your place in the world.” -Tom Ross, Dakota Elder, Upper Sioux Community Pejuhutazizi Oyate, Minnesota

“And when you walk around out there and just take your time and it’s like everything you feel is you’re walking amongst the spirit of all our people. And I know that they do enjoy our company. And the things, the signs, everything that they had left out there for us -is to remind us of who we are.” -Carrie Schommer, Upper Sioux Dakota Elder, Upper Sioux Community Pejuhutazizi Oyate, Minnesota

This site is where Minnesota’s recorded history begins, but it tells the story of the whole continent before it was named. It illustrates sacred ceremonies and important events, visions and dreams, prayers and messages, spiritual and social life. It depicts the daily substance of livelihood—the means of securing the necessities of life. It portrays the map of life’s journeys, both lived and envisioned. It demonstrates the inexplicable connection we humans have with Earth and Sky and all of Nature. It describes how imperative kinship is to our well-being and to that of our society. And finally, it illuminates that we the people—all of us, no matter our livelihood, no matter where we come from, no matter the color of our skin—are spiritual beings living in a spiritual world.

The Prairie and the Grazing Buffalo

July 21, 2019 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

I love the prairie, and I mourn the demise of it as more and more prairie grasslands are tilled and converted to row crop farming. The prairie ecosystem evolved with the American bison—and the buffalo became the source of life for the Native Americans of the Great Plains. The closely interwoven relationships between prairie, buffalo, and Native Americans have been severed, for the most part, for oh so many reasons. Yet there is a pull to preserve that way of life, even in the smallest of ways, because of what we can learn from the prairie, from the buffalo, and from the people whose lives intertwined with both.

Driving along the highways in Missouri in the month of July, one notices a sweet triad of color, shape, and form—Queen Anne’s Lace, blue Chicory, and Purple Clover. Tall, willowy Queen Anne’s Lace, a member of the carrot family, is the most striking of the three with large, lacy flower heads that sway in the breeze. We stopped at the Eagleville rest area on southbound I-35, the welcome center for Missouri. A large prairie area with a mown walking path covers the hillside behind the building, and Queen Anne’s Lace grows along the periphery.

Up on the hill, a grazing buffalo dropped his large head into the tall prairie grass. Animals need to feel ‘safe enough’ to graze—if there is a threat or danger of any kind in the area, they won’t be eating. Grazing or feeding and digestion are processes that are undertaken when the body is relaxed (a parasympathetic state.)

Another eye-catching and unusual plant in the tall grass prairie is Rattlesnake Master. Along with its great name, this plant is also a member of the carrot family. The gray-green seedheads hold small clusters of white flowers and were dried and used as rattles by native people.

We don’t often think about grasses flowering, but every plant that produces seeds has some kind of flower, as indistinct as it may be.

A standing buffalo on the hill was alert and watchful. Often herds of animals will have a sentry or ‘look out’ who will be aware of the surroundings and will warn others if there is some danger or predator.

Spiky crowns of lavender flower petals top Wild Bergamot or Bee Balm. Native Americans used teas and tinctures of this minty plant to treat respiratory illness and other ailments.

Another member of the Mint family is the Obedient Plant with snapdragon-like flowers that will stay in position after being turned in a certain way.

A charging buffalo haunched down in the prairie grass, head lowered, muscles taut, tail lifted. When danger has threatened the herd, energy is activated (sympathetic response), and the animals run or fight. (Running is the usual first line of defense. Males and closely threatened mamas will turn and fight.)

Blazing star or Liatris was just beginning to bloom from the top down on the purple-flowering spikes.

Dogbane is a toxic plant that was used by some native tribes as a fiber. The stems were rolled into strong, fine threads and twines.

While walking the prairie, stretching my legs, and appreciating the summer grasses and wildflowers, a Red-winged Blackbird chatted and sang its summer song.

To me, walking through a prairie feels like ‘coming home.’ It is familiar, reliable, sustainable, and beautiful—like a sanctuary. It relaxes my body, calms my mind, and feeds my soul. The wide-open sky gives me perspective on how small each of us really is compared with the world at large. The prairie grasses and plants remind me that, as small as we each are, we are part of an ecosystem or community that works together to create the greater whole. We grow and bloom in our own unique and wonderful ways. The buffalo sculptures were produced by Creative Edge Master Shop in Fairfield, Iowa, a great tribute to the icons of the prairie. Their depictions of the different states of the herd animals reflect the physiology of every mammal, including humans. One state not depicted, or not seen at least, was that of the freeze state—like that of a young calf lying in the grass, hiding from danger. Freeze, fight or flight, and rest and digest are all states that we humans slide in and out of automatically, just like the buffalo. Ideally, we would spend most of our time between the alert, aware, yet calm state and the relaxed rest and digest state, and use the freeze and fight only when absolutely needed. But how often do we find ourselves immobilized by some threat or fear? How often do we feel like running away from our life and its problems? How often do we fight with sharp words, lowered heads, and win-at-all-cost ways? Feel it. Think about it. Make a strong, powerful rope out of a toxic situation. Find your place that feels like ‘coming home.’

Down the Road With Me

August 12, 2018 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

“An early-morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.” –Henry David Thoreau

These past days have been the epitome of Summer—very warm, slightly humid, and sunny. But we are past full-on Summer; when we roll the calendar over to August, we see changes. The Ash trees have a tinge of yellow in places, Sumac and Poison Ivy leaves are turning red, Goldenrod is blooming gold, Crabgrass grows and goes to seed, and the noisy chatter of the House Wren no longer interrupts the sounds of the day. The mornings have been still—in movement and in sound. Into that stillness I walk with my pal Tamba—she limps now, groans when she lays down, has lumps and bumps, so I know that our twice-daily walks are numbered. Yet every morning she pulls herself up and eagerly heads down the road with me. I hear the low, melodic call of Mourning Doves, and instantly my mind transports me back to my Grandma and Grandpa’s farm. What amazing brains we have that we can time-travel when we hear or smell something! The stillness and humidity allow dew to form on everything during the cool night, and the morning sun freely transforms all into a treasure of shining gems.

The intense sunlight soon dries the dew, but the late summer flowers—Gray-headed Coneflower, Liatris, Sunflower, Purple Coneflower, and Allium—shine on in all their glory.

On the other end of the day, when dusk was settling around us, it was still quiet and calm. Tamba lay in the grass. We sat on the patio as the smokey sky turned the sun red. The setting sun streaked through the trees and shone on the rose-colored Joe Pye Weed and etched burning embers onto the live Oak trees.

Soon we heard noises in the woods—a Blue Jay was tapping on a branch with an occasional squawk. Then bigger noises—was it squirrels? It seemed too loud for squirrels. Then I saw a big tail in an Oak tree—a big, feathered tail. It was a turkey! Two mama Wild Turkeys and their chicks were flying from tree to tree. Wild Turkeys love acorns, and we wondered if they were eating the acorns from the trees since few have fallen to the ground yet. Like chickens, Wild Turkeys have a crop for storage of food and a gizzard where grinding of nuts and seeds occurs. When the mama flew to another tree, she and the chicks would cluck and chirp to one another and soon the little ones followed. At dusk, Turkeys fly up into trees to roost for the night for protection from predators like coyotes, foxes, skunks, and raccoons. Soon the turkeys in our trees settled down for the night. At dawn, they will fly down to the ground again to begin another day.

The sounds and sights of August, despite the heat and humidity, allude to the waning Summer and the upcoming Autumn. Summer in the North is indeed short and sweet. But Nature prepares us always for the transition. We are gathered up in the progression of time, seasons, and lives whether we are aware of it or not. Just as an early morning walk can tune us in to the blessings of a day, silent stillness can hone us in on those things in our lives that matter, that are important, that are the shining gems in our treasure box. One of those gems for me is a big, Black Lab dog who has walked with me for ten years now. Her transition time, our transition time, is nigh. Dusk is settling around us. And each day I am so very grateful to walk down the road with her, as we are, where we are, in all our glory.

Snow and Wildflowers

April 8, 2018 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

“Aren’t you tired of taking pictures of snow?” asked my daughter Emily with a sigh, after I updated her with the snow and cold report from Central Minnesota. While we were basking in sunshine and snow for Easter, she and Shawn were hiking through wildflowers in 70 degree temperatures in Texas. “It is as it is,” I answered—even though it’s April, even though we had eight more inches of snow on Monday and Tuesday, even though we had single digit temps for three nights in a row this week. “Besides, it’s pretty!” I exclaimed in true Minnesota form.

Texas Bluebonnets by Em Brake

Tuesday morning I woke up, rolled over, and looked out the window at the old Oak tree that was the subject of my first blog post four years ago. 257 blog posts and thousands of photographs later, I’m still not tired of taking pictures and writing about Nature in all her beauty and wisdom, snow or no snow.

The warm sunshine started to melt snow off the roof, and a marimba of icicles formed on the overhang.

The only track through the fresh eight inches of snow on Wednesday morning was the Tamba trail made from her treks to the woods during the two days of snow.

Prickly Pear Cactus by Em Brake

On Thursday morning as the sun rose, a frosty mist rose from the ground, enveloping the trees. Instantly, at two degrees F, frost built up on the branches right before my eyes! It was a spectacular phenomenon! Then, as the power of the sun burned through the mist, the frost fell from the trees.

Rose Prickly Poppy by Em Brake

Minnesota in early April versus Texas in early April. 1200 miles between us. Both places have a plant that represents Hope at this time of year. In Minnesota, the early-blooming Pussy Willow lets us know that Spring is on its way, in spite of the surrounding snow.

In Texas, where periods of drought are common, Hope is embodied in the Rain Lily. It appears a few days after heavy rains in the eastern two-thirds of Texas, as if by magic. The blossoms open slowly at dusk and through the night and are in full bloom by morning.

Rain Lily by Em Brake

‘It is as it is’ has no reference to the past. Four years ago we had temperatures close to sixty degrees here in Minnesota. It also has no reference to the future—the snow will melt in the next couple of weeks when we reach the forties and fifties and get ‘back to normal.’ ‘It is as it is’ embraces the present moment, the present day—whether windchills or wildflowers. Mother Nature has one over on us—she is in control of the weather. But ‘it is as it is’ does not imply that the choices, actions, and occurrences of the past has had no influence on the present situation or climate, and it certainly doesn’t indicate what will happen in the future. The past lays the groundwork for the present. The future is like a clean, fresh palette of snow—where will the tracks and trails go? What kind of magic will appear? What will bloom in the midst of struggles? How can each of us imbue Hope in this world?

Come September, I will be asking Emily how she can stand another day of heat in the 100’s, and I expect she will answer, “It is as it is, Mom.”

A Total Eclipse of the Eclipse

August 27, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

I had high expectations of Monday’s eclipse. The media had prepared us well with scientific information, beautiful illustrations and photos of previous celestial wonders, and Amazon had plenty of viewing glasses to purchase. The Great American Eclipse was to make its way across the heart of our country in its totality. Minnesota wouldn’t see complete darkness, but an almost total eclipse is exciting, nonetheless. The sun was shining on my Monday morning walk…then the clouds rolled in. As E-time approached, thunder rolled and rumbled, and rain fell, along with my high hopes.

One of our Bluebirds of happiness flew to the Maple just outside the window, perching on the side of the tree, reminding me that blue skies would come again. (Tuesday’s sky was blue and cloudless.)

Even in the midst of my dashed eclipse expectations, there was tropical beauty right outside my door in the rain—a banana tree and the pretty pink flowers of Mandevilla.

Beyond the hype and excitement of the eclipse this week was the reality of the waning days of summer. First day of school pictures filled my Facebook feed. Cooler than normal temperatures necessitated bringing out the fleeces and sweatshirts. The tomatoes are finally ready to eat! The apples are turning red. Sumac leaves are beginning to turn crimson. Wild plums are ripening.

And our first ever hazel nuts are forming under the curved leaves and inside the fringed husks!

I never say summer is sweet on the humid, hot days (I mean, what do I expect?!), but as August winds down and Summer Sweet blooms and releases its fragrant scent, I am reminded that summer is indeed a sweet time of year.

On the other side of dashed expectations and humid-drenched disappointments is surprise and possibility. What is eating our Milkweed? Monarch caterpillars, of course. Not this time! The hungry, similar-colored caterpillars are the larval stage of the Milkweed Tiger Moth (a very drab, gray-colored moth.)

And look at this delicate web of water droplets I found in the grass below the milkweed!

At the junction of old and new soil and grass around our patio, a fungus grew that looked like a worn, well-oiled leather catcher’s mitt. Where did that come from?

Then there is the delicate surprise of a common object seen in a different light—the bird’s nest bundle of seeds of Queen Anne’s lace and a pincushion center of Black-eyed Susan.

There’s a book titled Expectation Hangover by Christine Hassler. I haven’t read it, but she defines Expectation Hangover as “the myriad of undesirable feelings or thoughts present when one or a combination of the following things occur: a desired outcome does not occur; a desired outcome does occur but does not produce the feelings or results we expected; our personal and/or professional expectations are unmet by ourselves or another; an undesired, unexpected event occurs that is in conflict with what we want or planned.” I’ve had a few of those in my lifetime and know very well the toll it takes on time, energy, and self-worth. My high hopes of experiencing the eclipse were tempered by the meteorological predictions that didn’t favor clear skies on that day. It’s important to keep our expectations grounded in reality—what’s the science behind this or what does the history of this person show us or what can we really afford? I’m not sure it’s our expectations per se that get us into trouble, but our attachment to them. Those attachments can run deep and profound to the very soul of who we think we are. But Nature teaches us that even in the certainty of summer morphing into fall, we can discover new surprises and see things in a different light—like we’ve never seen them before. Expectations and possibilities with a grounding of reality—it’s a recipe for an awe-inspiring eclipse (or not), a sweet summer, and an authentic life.

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.

Church on the Lake Wobegon Trail

August 28, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Last Sunday was a beautiful, blue sky day. The early morning temperatures were cool enough for me to don a fleece pullover and a Buff over my ears and under my bike helmet. It was a great day for riding the Lake Wobegon Trail! My bike riding would try the patience of any get-from-point-A-to-point-B-as-quickly-as-possible rider, for I will stop on a dime if I see something interesting along the trail. Luckily Chris is patient and good with the brakes.

Our destination/turn-around point was the little town of Avon. They have a nice picnic area, look-out tower, and restroom right beside the trail. As we neared the stop, we noticed groups of people carrying lawn chairs and blankets towards a newly built pavilion. This was the same spot we had seen Garrison Keillor perform his show a number of years ago for the people of Lake Wobegon. Today, in the new pavilion, a large wooden cross stood behind the microphone and music stands–it was church on the Lake Wobegon Trail! We stood with our bikes as the pastor greeted the outdoor crowd and gave a prayer of thanksgiving, and the small band of musicians and singers led the congregation in an uplifting song of praise. We didn’t stay for the whole service, as we had nine miles to ride back and a stop at St. Ben’s before the noon hour, but church on the trail stayed on my mind.

One of my sudden stops along the trail was when I saw an exquisite blue flower shining amidst the green grass ten feet or so from the bike path. What was this glorious wildflower?

It looked like it was in the bud stage, ready to open, like a Balloon Flower. But my after-ride searching found that it was Bottle Gentian, a native perennial that blooms in August and September–and this was full-bloom. The fused petals never open and are pollinated by bumblebees, one of the few insects strong enough to pry open the closed flowers.

Luke 12:27 Consider how the wildflowers grow; they don’t labor or spin thread. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these!

Another wildflower in its full glory was Joe Pye Weed, along with its companion Goldenrod. We have a small patch of Joe Pye Weed in our woods, but it was wonderful to see it in its native state–in the boggy areas along the trail.

The flowers shone like amethyst and gold in the morning sun.

Psalms 103:15 A person’s life is like grass; it blossoms like wild flowers.

As I was looking side to side at the flowers, Chris had his eyes on the trail ahead and halted us both with a quiet exclamation of “Deer!” I have been so used to seeing does and fawns that it was surprising to see the velvety antlers of the young buck.

Psalms 18:33 He makes my feet like the feet of a deer and sets me securely on the heights.

Another unusual sight stopped me in my tracks. Hanging low from a Linden branch not far from the trail was a papery nest….

…with a whole congregation of Bald-faced Hornets!

Spotted Jewelweed loves boggy areas and shade. This wild impatiens is an annual and often grows in large clumps. It blooms July through October and is said to be an antidote to poison ivy and a treatment for other skin disorders.

Proverbs 3:13-15 How blessed is the man who finds wisdom, And the man who gains understanding. For her profit is better than the profit of silver, And her gain better than fine gold. She is more precious than jewels; And nothing you desire compares with her.

“God writes the gospel not in the Bible alone, but on trees and flowers and clouds and stars.” This quote is commonly attributed to Martin Luther and acknowledges that intimate connection between God and Nature. Frank Lloyd Wright said, “I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.” The Bible uses Nature to speak to us about God, and it is in Nature–with the flowers, wildlife, and insects–that God speaks to us. Church on the Lake Wobegon Trail happens all the time–are we willing to see the splendor, to hear the prayer of thanksgiving, and to sing an uplifting song of praise?

May the God of peace grant us understanding and wisdom so we may be blessed with the fullness of Life more precious than gold or jewels. Amen.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.)

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.

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

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

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!

Walking in the Sand

July 10, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

…in every grain of sand there is the story of the earth. –Rachel Carson

Walking in the sand along the shore of a lake or ocean is the epitome of a romantic sunset evening or a sand-castle fun family day. Bare feet sink into the dry sand, slowing down the pace of gait and time. Sand has been used for training athletes, including Walter Payton, to improve speed, agility, and strength with the added resistance of moving through sand. Now imagine going for a hike in the middle of a pine forest in Minnesota and walking in the sand!

Sand Dunes State Forest and Uncas Dunes Scientific and Natural Area is located in the Anoka sand plains created when meltwater from the last glaciers deposited a large area of sand. Sand dunes were formed when strong winds blew across the flat landscape. Prairie grasses grew on the sand, and when European settlers arrived, they plowed the virgin prairie for cropland. The drought and Dust Bowl era of the early 1930’s ended farming in the area as the sandy soil “took to the air and drifted like snow.” Hardwood and conifer trees were planted in 1941 to stabilize the sandy soil. In 1943, the state legislature passed a bill to set this land aside for conservation, and since that time, the forest has been enlarged to over 10,000 acres. It now includes camping, swimming beach, horse camp, and trails for hiking, riding, and snowmobiling.

Over 2,400 acres of pine trees have been planted over the decades. They are thinned and harvested for forest products every 5-10 years.

The Uncas Dunes Scientific and Natural Area lies within and adjacent to the State Forest. It was established to protect the sand prairie, the dry sand savanna, and the Uncas skipper, a state endangered butterfly. We had no idea at the time of our hike what the Uncas skipper looked like, but my photo of a small butterfly turned out to be a Mustard White butterfly.

Prairie, pine forests, and blue skies surrounded us as we hiked. Unfortunately, the deer flies also surrounded us, and I tried implementing the Aaron Brake Mind-Over-Mosquito Strategy for the extremely annoying pests.

We hiked past native hazelnut shrubs with their frilly, pale green seed pods encasing the immature nut.

A fern-lined wetland area held the remains of trees that had died from wet feet.

The trail of trees opened up to a small meadow where a brilliant Butterfly Weed was in full bloom. Dark green lance-shaped leaves were outlined with sunlight. The bright orange flowers attract butterflies and hummingbirds. Native Americans chewed the tough roots of the Butterfly Weed as a cure for pleurisy and other pulmonary ailments.

Another wild flower that I didn’t know was in the foreground of the Butterfly Weed. It is either Hoary or Hairy Puccoon, similar sandy soil-loving perennials that are known for the intense reddish-purple dye derived from their deep tap root.

As the time edged closer to suppertime, we decided to turn around and head back to the car, ready to be free of the circling deer flies. Our footprints sank into the sand, along with deer and horse hoof prints.

Evening sunlight streamed through the trees and lit up a spider’s web that was previously unseen.

Explorer Will Steger has been doing a yearly ice-out solo expedition in Northern Minnesota and Canada for the last number of Springs. He travels with a sled or specially designed canoe that he can either pull across the snow and ice or float in the rivers and lakes when the ice breaks up. He radios in a daily report telling about his night and day. Most often the temperatures are below freezing and sometimes below zero. Some days the wind chills are staggering. Snowstorms can dump many inches of snow that impede his travel. Food and fuel sometimes need to be rationed towards the end of his trip if he is in the wilderness longer than planned. And yet, he wraps up his report of a freezing night in a tent, thigh-high snow to trek through, and treacherous ice to navigate with “it was a good workout, though.” This 71-year-old explorer challenges his mind and body with these solo expeditions, doing the hard work, and calling it good.

We find ourselves in trying times with lives endangered in a myriad of ways. Somehow we must stabilize the shifting sands. So whether we’re trekking through deep snow, walking in sand with deer flies, navigating polarizing politics, or trying to save lives, let Light shine on the previously unseen, let us challenge ourselves to do the hard work, and at the end of each day, call it good.

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