A Wetland Walk in April

I abandon the city in search
Of a hillside forested in birch;
But find myself in a marshy wetland,
Ground seldom dirt, mostly sand
And where the land changes
So does the scenery and vegetation:
Fewer willows and more evergreen,
Basswood, larch, birch to be seen
When the path goes from sand to soil.
The tiniest of purple flowers
Polka-dot the land in places.
Reeds and sedges fill the open spaces.
Canada geese take wing;
The redwing blackbirds sing.
I happen upon a pool with
Several fallen logs upon which
Upwards of two score turtles bask
Until I walk close by
Then they all dive
Into the safety of murky waters.
Spring peepers sing their chorus;
Bullfrogs croak along the shoreline.
Cranes circle overhead, trumpeting their cry.
Shot gun shell casings litter the ground;
Red, yellow, teal, even purple, abound.
I want for shade, as the day is hot,
But leaves are just budding, so shade is not
To be found upon the dusty, dry land,
And when I try to sit or even stand
For a short moment, ticks emerge
And crawl from my socks to exposed skin
Upon my legs seeking a place to dig in
And feast upon a meal of life-giving blood.
Dragonflies zoom around, also looking to feed
But not on me--I am not what they need.
But though it is early spring, insects are about.
Even the butterflies flutter
And a bumblebee buzzes.
This place did not have the hills I desired,
Yet still my walk has made me tired
And yet renewed and refreshed
And feeling wonderfully blessed
To be able to experience solitude
And yet I was not alone at all
But surrounded by life and the presence
Of the One who created it all.

Winter Hiking (in Spring)

Thanks to the generosity of my sister-in-law and her husband we're spending a little bit if spring break at their cabin in northeastern Wisconsin. Of course "Spring Break" is merely a technical pleasantly for its name. Snow covers the ground three feet deep here. But the temperatures have at least been above freezing during the day.

We're spending our days reading, drawing, playing games, rubber band loom weaving, doing jigsaw puzzles, sitting in front of the fireplace, and playing outside.

We discovered yesterday that I can lift the boys onto the garage roof, and they can jump off the back side into the snow. It's deep enough that at least once each of them got stuck and couldn't pull their feet out.

We've also been watching the deer that frequent the woods nearby. They walk near the cabin a few times a day. We've seen at least five together.

Deer tracks in the snow.

It's been beautiful weather to be outside. My youngest son and I went for a hike yesterday. We discovered that it was best to follow the deer trails. They use the same paths frequently, so the snow on the path is compacted and hard.

The moment is stepped off the trail I sank up past my knees in the snow.

My oldest son and I did some snowshoeing. Snowshoes don't allow you to walk on top of the snow as is often believed (though I suppose with the right snow conditions you might be able to). Snowshoes help you walk more easily through the snow.

Snowshoes spread your weight out over a wider area. With snowshoes on I sunk only eighteen inches instead of the three feet I sunk without them on. Without snowshoes boots easily got stuck in several feet of snow. Unless you happen to put one snowshoe on top of the other or get snagged under a hidden branch snowshoes don't get trapped in the snow.

Still, snowshoeing is hard work and good exercise. A short jaunt through the forest left my brow with beads of sweat. The hikes we took were good workouts.

Outside of the deer tracks and a few rabbit tracks (the squirrels and other rodents were apparently light enough that they didn't leave tracks in the heavy snow on the ground), it was clear that no one else had been in the woods recently. We had it to ourselves--except for the occasional nuthatch and chickadee that would swoop in and perch for a moment on a branch before flitting off to the next one.

It may not be like discovering something entirely new but there's a serendipitous feeling that comes with exploring pristine corners of creation. I get to see things that no one else has seen--at least in several months.

And it's peaceful. I don't hear sirens, and except for an occasional car on the nearby county road, there isn't much traffic noise. The air is fresh. I can smell the faint earthy smell of birch bark and the sappy smell of evergreens.

This is a good way to spend spring break. At least for me. I need the break from busyness and city life.

An Autumn Hike with the Boys

Last Thursday and Friday, we had off from school. It's an annual Minnesota tradition called "MEA Weekend." It's supposed to be a time for Minnesota educators to get together for workshops and such. Our school has sometimes held it's own in-services during those days, but this year, we got them off (hooray!--it's been a bit of a stressful start to the school year, and I think our administration was cognizant of that fact when deciding to scrap the workshops). Apparently it's the most-traveled time in Minnesota--more so than Thanksgiving or Christmas.

The week had started out pretty nice--a pleasant autumn week in Minnesota. I was keeping an eye on the weather forecasts and knew it would get cooler. But still a few degrees above freezing. Barely. I had already been camping myself the week before and woke up to frost, and was willing to take that chance again. But I wasn't sure if the boys would be up to it. They'd camped in cold temperatures on our Spring Break trip, but they're sleeping bags aren't rated for as low temperatures as mine is. So I went back and forth between going and not going.

But I really liked the idea of going. Especially up north to a campsite on the north shore of Lake Superior where I hadn't been for a while. And getting out of the city again sounded good. I was convincing myself in my head that winter would be here soon and we'd be trapped in the city for a months upon end (which isn't really true, but I was capable of believing it was). So on Wednesday night I hastily pulled out all our camping gear and some food items that could get us by for two days. All we would need to do was grab some clothes and put everything in the car.

Thursday morning, though, reality hit. We were all a bit tired and needed extra sleep. And it clearly was a cold morning here; it would be a lot colder up north. I was doing this all for my own selfish reasons. There was a chance of rain coming through as well. Wet and cold aren't a pleasant mix for being outside for over 36 hours.

So I compromised. I put together a quick lunch for us and we left for a nearby state park that we hadn't explored yet. Of course, it wasn't that speedy of a process. The boys were in their mindset where they didn't want to go out. They just wanted to sit at home and play with Legos and video games. They get in this funk sometimes. Nature was their enemy. It was my desire. Knowing the weather wasn't going to get much better over the weekend, I pushed them into the car, praying for a change of attitudes.

By the time we got to Afton State Park, surrounding a ski hill nestled along the St. Croix River, their attitudes were only slightly better. A little food helped. A little time in the visitors center helped slightly more. Playing with leaves in a stream and finding sticks in the woods helped a lot more. By the time we reached the river to finish our lunches, they were in pretty good spirits.

After forty-five minutes of hiking along the beach and up the river, Anders discovered his best stick got left behind on the bench where we sat and ate (his brother's fault--not his--of course).

Admittedly, I was being a bit stubborn and didn't want to hike back there again--I wanted to see some new sites. He was also throwing a tantrum about it, and as a parental rule we don't give in to tantrums. It didn't matter to him that there were thousands of other sticks in the woods (we were standing right by a pile of several hundred at that instant). The one that got left behind was the perfect stick. There wouldn't be another one like it in the forest.

After many, many minutes of trying to get him to move on, we resumed our hike. Anders ran far ahead, showing he was mad, and we had a couple more tantrum stops, but there's nothing like a good hike uphill through the woods to help someone move on from a slump. The good thing about Anders being a poop is that Nils compensates and puts on his best behavior. But by the time we got up out of the woods into the upper prairie lands both of them were back into good moods. We enjoyed milkweeds, orange and red leaves, acorn collecting, spying turkey vultures high in the thermals rising over the river, and time together.


Swimming season has been over for a while now (though I guess it's been just five weeks or so since our last swim)--and it'll be a few months before we pay for the gym membership. It's been a few weeks since I've gotten in a good bike ride (for me I guess it's not as enjoyable to do long rides with a lot of clothes). For me the fall is hiking season. Beautiful sights, good exercise, and good time together with the boys (sometimes a solo hike is good, sometimes a family hike is good--you take what you need).

Snow flakes fell a few days ago. Just a few white specks in the sky that hit the windshield and disappeared before reaching the ground. But they were a reminder that autumn doesn't last long in this part of the country (last year we went straight from summer to winter it seemed).

The boys may say they hate hiking when I suggest we go, but it's creating good memories. And I think they secretly enjoy it. Fresh air, some exercise, natural beauty, and time together make it all worth it no matter how they feel.

Camping Alone: A Story of Solitude

I'm doing something I haven't done since college: camping alone. And back then it was for RA training. We all got dropped off in the woods (okay it was really an old cattle pasture) for a night of solitude.

My wife's been encouraging me for a while to take some time by meals for retreats since I'm with the kids all the time and she gets to do several trips for her work. I'm bad at relinquishing my duty of parenthood, but part if being a good parent is self care. 

I've been wanting to go camping this fall but it hasn't worked out to do yet. So this  weekend my wife said why don't you go camping by yourself. And I finally listened to her. 

After lunch I loaded up my backpack with a few clothes, camping pillow, mat, sleeping bag, and tent. I gathered the camping bin to extract a few supplies from and some reading material. My wig had made me a hobo dinner packet for supper and I gathered some hard boiled eggs and fruit for breakfast (though the banana apparently got left at home) and some sunflower seeds for snacking on while hiking. 

It started sprinkling about a half hour before I reached the state forest where I planned to camp. It continued for almost four more hours. 

This is not what I had in mind. I had hoped for time to hike and sit around the campsite reading, writing, and talking with God. I was able to get the tent up before it started coming down harder, but as I sat in the car seeing the drops roll down the windshield I wondered if I should just head back home before paying for a night. 

I had looked at the forecast in the morning. That 30% chance of rain was feeling more like 30% of the day. But it wasn't too heavy and it said it would let up before night so I decided to stay and go for a hike. As long as it wasn't too heavy of a rain I should be able to stay relatively dry under the forest canopy. 

I hiked for about 3 hours. I never encountered another person (though I did hear gunshots a few times). Even the wildlife was silent. I only heard birds twice. I never saw an animal--not even a squirrel. 

This was solitude. So why wasn't I hearing anything from God?  I wanted some spiritual direction, some healing, some psychological break through. I got nothing. 

I called a friend who I check in with weekly. I needed to talk. I got his voice mail. But as I left a message I realized that I was mostly struggling because my expectations weren't being met. 

Yes, the weather wasn't great but I was still getting time alone. And maybe God wasn't speaking in the way I wanted, but His creation was beautiful. I was getting some good exercise, taking some fun photographs, and breathing fresh air in deeply. God was present. 

I am sitting around the campfire now allowing myself this technological moment to type since it is too dark to read or write and my lantern didn't charge for some reason. 

Wolves or coyotes had been howling in the distance. I love the sound. But apparently I've read too many stories of Pa getting surrounded by wolves in the Little House on the Prairie books because I just got freaked out when I heard some breathing and rustling next to me. That's when I discovered that the lantern didn't charge. Once I got my phone unlocked and found my flashlight app I saw something black wandering back in the woods. Probably just a raccoon. Little bugger. 

That's one of the downsides to solitude: no one to talk you out of your irrational fears in the dark. Still, the sign about bears didn't help. At least the moon is out now. It's quite chilly though and the fire is slowly dying down so I think I'll head to my tent soon. 

Old Blue is the second tent I ever owned (the first being a pup tent my parents got with green stamps from the grocery store when I was going into 6th grade). She's just a cheap 2-person dome tent (really cheap) and she's been around since college I think, but she didn't leak any rain. She now has a set of large nails for tent pegs and most of the poles have at least one crack. Still, she held up. Thankfully my sleeping bag isn't cheap. My fingers are starting to get numb outside. Time to go bundle up and listen to the wolves howl at the moon.

It got cold overnight. I went for a hike around 8:30 or 9 and there were places with frost. As sunlight hit the trees, the leaves began dripping the melted frost.

I stayed fairly warm overnight. But the two problems of camping in the cold are: 1) having to get up and pee in the middle of the night (and with a good sleeping bag, generally you stay warmer by wearing fewer clothes, so I'm usually in my undies and a t-shirt) and 2) trying to get clothes on in the morning while staying within the confines of your sleeping bag--especially a mummy bag. Thankfully, I managed both.

I headed home wishing the time alone was more. Maybe I should have prayed more. Maybe I have more I need to confess to unblock something between me and God. Maybe I should have left my camera/phone in my pocket so I wasn't distracted by using technology and looking for pictures to take. These thoughts all crossed my mind. I had wanted to hear more from God.

I can come up with my excuses and find reasons to blame myself for the time of solitude not going the way I desired. I don't know why it wasn't the deeply spiritual experience I hoped it was. But I'm sure plenty of dessert fathers and mothers experienced that almost every day as they spent years in solitude. Sometimes it's just about obedience and taking the time away to listen.

I wonder if listening with my ears was less important than listening with my other senses. I did see God's awesomeness through the colors and sights of autumn. I breathed in the freshness of the woods, being reminded of God's provision for life each day. While reading around the campfire, I was reminded of God's crazy love for me. Maybe those things were all I needed to hear.

A Hike with Eloise Butler

On Saturday I had an opportunity to go for a nice long hike. Nils was at a birthday party, Anders was at a friend's house, and Beth was getting some studying/work done.

I am grateful that right in the middle of the Twin Cities, we have some nice hiking opportunities. Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden and Bird Sanctuary in the middle of Theo Wirth Park (the largest park in Minneapolis) was my destination. I spent close to two hours hiking and didn't cover all the trails (including the ones outside of the sanctuary's fenced-in zone).

I never park at the pay meters by the Garden, but prefer to park down the road where it's free and you have to hike a little further through somewhat unmarked trails to find the Garden. It's a win-win if you ask me.

While most of the trees are still greenish, the off-beat trails took me past leaves of orange, red, yellow, and mundane brown. Acorns covered the path in places.

I entered into the Sanctuary's back gate. Several trails branch off from there and reconvene near the front gate. It's not a huge area, but the trails take you through woodland, wetland, and prairie.

From the Minneapolis Parks & Rec website:

The 15-acre garden is the oldest public wildflower garden in the nation. Its legacy dates back to 1907 when Minneapolis botanist Eloise Butler and botany teachers successfully petitioned the Minneapolis Park Board to create a natural botanic garden to preserve native flora as the city grew.

It started sprinkling a little during the hike, so I stuck to the woodland paths for a little longer. The canopy of trees kept me from getting very wet, but also provided a soundboard for the raindrops to splat against.

As the rain abated, I climbed up the hill to where the grassland sits. Somewhere in the nearby distance (if I may use that oxymoron), church bells tolled the coming of a new hour. Nature and church bells are two of the things that enable me to find some peace in the midst of the city. Together they were a brief moment of bliss.

After trodding most of the trails in the Garden, I left via the front gate and explored trails hoping to get back to my car. It was much easier to serendipitously wander across the Gardens while hiking than it was to keep myself headed in the right direction of the parking lot. I kept finding myself circling back along the Garden's perimeter, so I did pull out the compass app on my phone a few times.

At one point a young stag wandered out of the woods about 15 yards away from me. I stood and watched him for a while and he watched me. He let me follow him along a path for a while, but then he headed down a steep ravine which I decided against following on after the slippery conditions from the rain. So I continued on the noticeable trail--only to find myself back along the Garden's perimeter. I doubled back and got on a trail and after a few more minutes of walking came across the deer again. Maybe I should have just followed him...

I appreciate the work of Eloise Butler to preserve such an area with native flora (as well as habitats for the fauna), as well as the work of Theodore Wirth for whom the larger park surrounding the Garden is named. The "dean of the local parks movement in America," Wirth became the superintendent of parks for Minneapolis at the turn of the century. His goal was to have a playground within a quarter-mile of every child and a recreation center within a half-mile. He helped keep the land around the Mississippi River, Minnehaha Creek, and all the lakes within the city limits public. Most suburbs have homes surrounding their lakes, but ours have pathways, parks, and beaches. Everyone has access to them.

I'm a country boy. At heart, I always will be. I've learned to live in some rather large metropolitan areas, but I need time in wild, open places. I'm thankful there are opportunities for me to have that right in Minneapolis. And after starting back to school, I needed that hike.

Labor Day

Labor Day.

I for one have never been around any sort of Labor Day celebration, parade, or other official festivity. For most Americans it is the last push of taking in the bounty of summer before school starts (or for those of us for whom school has already started, it is for giving summer one last embrace before we kiss it good-bye). Grill-outs, a day at the lake, camping--all typical Labor Day activities. Enjoy the sun, outdoors, and friends and family.

Because of the heat last week, school was cancelled Thursday and Friday. A veritable five-day weekend. Normally, I would pack the car and tell the family we're going camping. But I dislike sleeping in stifling heat, so I didn't even bring it up.

Over the weekend we got a fair amount of projects done around the house. It cooled off a bit--good bike riding weather, not so much for swimming in a lake. We had a great evening with friends old and new.

Today we got out of town and did a day trip we'd been meaning to do all summer. Well, not right away. We have friends who live on the route of an annual 10k/5k race. Usually a few friends from church and school run in it, and several families gather together in front of our friends' home to cheer on the runners, eat some breakfast, and enjoy hanging out together. My wife ran there in the morning while the rest of us were still in bed. I made a picnic lunch while waiting for our youngest to rise from his slumber. We all finally made it there after the race was over and hung out for a little while.

Then we hit the road.

The first stop was Franconia Sculpture Park, about 45 minutes northwest of the Twin Cities. It's a lovely drive getting there on Highway 8 which takes you through a series of small, lakeside towns that were settled by Scandinavian immigrants. The sculpture garden is a wonderful outdoor interactive art arena. Artists reside in a large white farm house in the park, and you may occasionally see them working on a sculpture in the work areas.

I'm not sure how often they switch out exhibits, but there were several new ones from last year along with old favorites. Despite the admonition at the information shack not to climb on the sculptures, several obviously beg for interaction. The boys love to climb there. A couple are basically large scrap-metal playgrounds, and they're built that way--with swings and slides and steps. They beg to be climbed on.

And there are some sculptures that obviously aren't supposed to be climbed on (and the little signs posted around them help make this clear). It's one of those places that encourages you to stay together as a family. At least so that parents can notify children when those signs are present.

After a mid-afternoon lunch break, we drove a few more miles down the road to Interstate State Park on the edge of Taylors Falls. We have never camped there, but we've stopped on a few occasions at their visitor's center. Well, not the visitor's center per se, but the trails right next to it that take you through a glacial potholes park.

The trails invite exploration. Rocks to climb, potholes to sink into, beautiful views of the St. Croix River and Wisconsin across it. It's not for the "helicopter parent," though; it would certainly produce a brain embolism or some such disastrous outcome for such a person. Deep drop offs, sharp edges, riverside cliffs, pathway hazards to stumble over; it's not a safe place. But it's a lot of fun. With proper boundaries (and the occasional "okay, not THAT close to the edge") the boys love to climb and crawl and explore.

Did I mention it's all outdoors? Added bonus.

The boys got a frosty root beer float at the local drive in (appropriately called "The Drive-In") while my wife responded to a text from a friend wondering if they could come over for a bonfire. I totally appreciate people willing to either 1) set up a playdate with my children since I'm terrible at doing that and 2) invite themselves over to our home whether it's for a bonfire, supper together, or even to use the guest room if they're coming through from out of town. (Of course, we reserve the right to say "no" if our family schedule doesn't permit, but, hey, it doesn't hurt to ask.)

Our road trip was conveniently drawing to an end, so we headed back home (thankfully traffic wasn't what I expected it might be on Labor Day evening). And thankfully, our friends had some hot dogs to pair with the hot dog buns we had. The kids played; the adults sat and talked. Hot dogs roasted; the fire blazed. Ahhh.

And so the long weekend has come to a close. Week two of school promises to be cooler. We're sliding back into our routines (the boys have been doing fairly well at getting to sleep--hooray!). We're readjusting to the busy schedule. Fall is around the corner. Sigh.

I will miss summer: swimming in lakes, gardening, time outside.

But autumn holds it's own beauty: cooler weather for bicycling, hikes through woods where leaves are changing, evening bonfires.

I grateful for this one last day to just enjoy the blessings of summer. Even if we did have to wear long sleeves most of the day.

Hiking

We got away yesterday for a night of camping--the first time in a few months. Camping is a loaded word. Everyone has their own definition of what that means. For some it's a fully-loaded camper with cable hook-up and wi-fi. For some it's carrying everything on your back into the woods where no other human is around for miles. For us--being in our late 30s with two elementary-aged children, it's car camping. We drive to a State Park, back our car into a site where we registered to camp at in the park office, and pitch our tent. Sometimes we get a hike-in site where we walk a little ways to our site--often with a cart for our stuff. We occasionally do something more rugged. Rarely will we go to a commercialized campsite (I did it last summer with the boys on a super hot day so that we had a swimming pool).

Yesterday we went to Nerstrand Big Woods State Park just south of the Twin Cities. We were headed down that direction for an open house of some friends who moved to Northfield this summer, so it worked well to camp the night before.

As we reached the south edge of the Twin Cities for some reason I realized at that point I had forgotten to pack the tent. I have no excuse for forgetting it other than I don't do well when I have to pack everything on my own. For some reason I didn't think to have Beth help me the night before get everything ready to make sure I wasn't forgetting anything (I guess it could have been that we had an open house at school that night, so there wasn't much time).

This isn't the first time I have forgotten to pack the tent, I hate to admit. The last time we were in the market for a new one anyway, so we picked up one on sale at Wal-Mart to use for a few years. This time we did not need another tent (and we really didn't want to turn around and drive back to our house). Thankfully, our friends who were having the open house had a tent we could borrow (which ruined the surprise for the boys of seeing their friends--they didn't know about the open house).

* * * * *

I need time in nature.

I get renewed outdoors (even if I feel more tired after a long day in the sun). It is often a spiritual experience for me--it's a place I commune with God.

We all hiked yesterday as a family. Just on a short (thought rated "most difficult") trail down to the "Hidden Waterfall." Which of course, wasn't that hidden as the trail led you right to it.  The water was low, so it wasn't overly spectacular (though still pleasant) and it had a potential
risk of some bacteria, so we didn't play in the water like we thought we might since it was a hot day.

We did hike along Prairie Creek downstream and found another waterfall--which was probably more hidden that the main one. We did let the boys wade in places where the water was moving pretty well. They liked exploring, my wife loved the rock formations and strata, and I enjoyed being outside with my family. 

It was a bit cooler in the valley where the river wound. A lower elevation, the shaded canopy of the big woods, the element of moving water.

As we hiked we noticed a lot of sticks, weeds, and other natural debris wrapped around trees along the river. Apparently in July the park had seven inches of rain in three hours. I would have loved to have seen the waterfall then. It had to have been an amazing torrent. Seriously, the debris was several feet above the creek's current path.Today the creek was a small trickle in a lot of places. We walked across it back and forth as we hiked downstream.

* * * * *

This morning after breakfast was cleaned up we borrowed a GPS unit from the park office to try out one of their geocaching activities. Collectible cards with birds are hidden in each of the state parks. The boys didn't want to at first, but they discovered it was fun--even if it was on the same trail we had done the day before.

We tried out a different trail for a little ways. It was one Nils had wanted to explore the day before (probably just because it was called "Beaver Trail" and he expected that might mean seeing a beaver along it). They didn't make it too far down the trail before they wanted to turn back (I think the swings at the playground were beckoning), which was fine as I was given the opportunity to hike by myself the rest of the trail.

It wasn't too long. It wasn't too difficult. There weren't any breathtaking vistas.

But it was good. Basswood, oak, elm, maple towered overhead. Ferns and wildflowers carpeted the undercanopy. Sunshine illuminated leaves in trees. Acorns and dogwood seeds occasionally dropped to the forest floor. Rubbing branches made creaking noises.

Signposts along the path pointed out the direction of travel. It wasn't really necessary. The path was clearly marked. If another path branched off, a map was present to guide you on the desired trail.

I've wandered through woods off the path on occasion. Generally it's when I know I need to travel a certain direction or elevation change to reach a certain destination. It's not as easy going. And if I need to find my way back on the same route, I know to occasionally look behind me to get an image of the return path.

When walking a designated path (which is generally recommended--we actually couldn't go off path in parts of the forest because of a rare lily that only grows in three counties in Minnesota and no where else in the world),  there isn't much to worry about. You can just enjoy the hike. As long as you can read a map and identify if the path loops back to your starting point or not, you're generally in good shape.

If only life was so easy. If the paths were marked out. If it were clear where junctions in the path led.

You've probably heard the Bible called "life's road map" before. As if all decisions you need to make are clearly marked out. As if the direction you need to travel is clear all the time. Sometimes it is. Often it's not.

God doesn't place big, blue arrows along your path in life. That's not how He works--not always at least. I think with life it's more important to be in touch with God. The Bible helps. So does prayer. They're connection points in developing that relationship.

I still struggle. I struggle to fit in time in the Word and make it meaningful. I struggle to pray in ways that feel like I am sharing with God and hearing back from Him. I struggle with that whole relationship thing more often than I like at this point in my life.

The nice thing is, God keeps creating opportunities to get back on the right path when I'm off it. And maybe at some point I'll get that relationship thing done well enough to hear His voice when He says to "go left" or "stay the course."

I think being in the woods and hiking actually helps with that. 

Cabin Time

Wednesday Night:

We sit around the campfire with sticks sharpened to a point for skewering marshmallows on for roasting. After some toasted brown marshmallows sandwiched between chocolate and graham crackers, we tell stories. Each person goes around the circle adding one word to the sentence that is forming. Often we forget where we're at in a sentence after a bout of laughter.

My son is in his socks, so I hoist him on my shoulders. Barefoot, I make my way carefully down the steps to the beach. We stand on the shore for a minute and listen and look. We walk over to the dock and walk out on it. We lay down and look up at the stars. I point out the creamy swirl of the Milky Way. He finds the Big Dipper. I trace the "W" of Casseopiea. Then he sees his first shooting star. A few minutes later, his second one whizzes through the sky. We find a couple satellites making their orbital path across the sky. He lays on top of me.

Thursday:

After breakfast walk down to the lake to explore some more. I cleaned off a paddle-boat the day before, which Anders gets into with a fishing pole and some crackers. I kayak with him over to a spot where someone else has thrown in their old Christmas trees and felled timber. A myriad of pan fish swim in the shelter of the branches and nearby reeds. A few larger trout patrol nearby. After a while we see a larger bass.

Nils walks down the beach toward our direction with Aunt Wendy. I paddle over and board him into the kayak with me and take him out to the paddle-boat with Anders. A few crackers are crumbled into the water; the lure and bobber drop into the water nearby in hopes of a catch. 

Later, as we land the boats I notice a couple of leopard frogs along the beach. I point them out to the boys and they go to work trying to catch them. We find another batch of them later. In the end the boys have caught eight or nine brown and green amphibians. They are kept in a kayak for a while. I hear Anders talking to them as he paddles them around. 

After lunch the three of us do some work gathering rocks for a fire ring and other places around Aunt Wendy and Uncle Pete's new cabin. Then we each get into a kayak and head across the lake. The boys are remarkably good at paddling a little boat by themselves. 

Friday:

In addition to Beth's sister and her husband who are hosting us the cabin that belongs to my brother-in-law's sister (long story, but Beth's sister and husband are building a new cabin, in the meantime, his sister is letting them use hers which is next door), we were joined by two other couples last night. I've heard there is another family joining us tonight. One of Beth's brothers was here the first night with us. Everyone else is here to help on the new cabin. Beth has helped a little bit, but frankly I'm here to vacation. I start back to school a week from today. Plus, and I realize these are long-seated issues I'm working through, I feel inadequate when helping others who are more skilled--and more inadequate when my wife is helping them. Stupid, I know. I could learn a lot by being up there helping with whatever area they're working on now. But I also haven't been asked and someone needs to be with the kids. 

And it's not easy for an introvert to vacation with strangers. We did this last year on our Boundary Waters canoe trip. It wasn't bad because it was only two other couples that we were planning on spending the time with, so we got to know them and had a good time. The quiet weekend at the cabin reading, writing, playing guitar, and enjoying the great outdoors isn't quite the way I expected it would be, but it's still a good time.

So we had more time at the lake today. A couple more frogs were caught (we let the eight that were in buckets go at the end of the day yesterday so that the raccoons didn't have a feast). Holes were dug. We paddled over where the fish are. Anders caught a small pan fish, but didn't like getting the hook out, so we headed back.

We tried doing a bike ride along the back roads through the north woods. It didn't go as desired.

Which means that the boys spent the first mile and a half whining, and I was tired of it, so we turned around. After attitudes improved we did a little more kayaking. 

The boys and I kayaked out to a little island (usually partly submerged, but out of the water this year--it's where the loons breed) and explored (which takes all of ninety seconds to circumnavigate it). They headed back to the bay and I went to the north part of the lake where I hadn't been yet. The water is deeper there, so that's where the loons hang out now.

There is something about loons that attracts me. Maybe its because they're mainly found in secluded lakes in the north woods, found in places where I enjoy exploring and relaxing. Places surrounded by tall white pines and birch trees. Places where large rocks dot the landscape left from glaciers long ago.  Places where wild animals lurk in the woods and leave their tracks along the beach. Places where there is more wilderness than civilization. 

As I was headed back to the cabin, the male loon surfaced near me. I presumed it was the male loon because I had seen another adult loon few minutes earlier with two children, and as far as I'm aware, penguins are one of the few species of birds where the male spends time with the children. I'm fairly certain loons don't behave this way. 

So I sat there stared at the male loon for a while, and he stared back at me. His long black beak protruding from an even blacker head and white dappled body floated on the body, as my kayak floated several yards away. We just sat and watched each other in reverence--at least I was giving a measure of reverence to brother loon; he was maybe just being wary of me. He slowly paddled off toward his family, I slowly turned around and headed back toward mine.

Saturday:

The last full day here. We'll take off in the morning in able to get back in time to come up with some food for supper at church tomorrow night. We headed into town this afternoon. We explored a few antique shops and an ice cream parlor. There really isn't much to say about going into town. 

I haven't gotten as much reading done as I'd hoped. I've done a bit of writing. And we've spent a lot of time down by the lake. I could kayak every day--oh, wait, I did. A few times each day. I had hoped to swim. None of us did much more than wading. Except for Nils, who was just in up to his neck, despite saying that the water is the coldest it's been. The previous two days I saw a guy who was swimming around the lake. I was feeling ashamed that it was too cold for me to get in--until I saw his wetsuit yesterday. Now I don't feel so bad--even thought I would have liked to have done some swimming. The past few weeks just haven't been typical summer temperatures.

After roasting marshmallows with everyone around the campfire, Nils and I headed back down to the dock. He had been waiting for the Perseid Meteor Shower to occur all week. No, it wasn't the best time of night or the height of the activity, but I would guess he saw at least 15 meteors in the forty minutes we lay there. Some were really fantastic bright lights that left a little tail behind them. Anders join3ed us for a few minutes, but he wasn't wearing warm enough clothes. It was nice to just lay their with my little one cuddling against me, laying on my arm, and talking about the vastness of the universe and how cool it is. A great way to end the time up north.

Stoping Along a the Sakatah Hills Bike Trail

Brown water dappled with green

From specks of duck weed

Flows below the bridge

Where I sit on a cedar bench--

One of several build on the sides

For pedestrians and cyclists 

To pause and rest, to take in

The beauty of the natural surroundings  

The naturalness may be tainted by 

The zooming of cars on the nearby highway 

Or the homes upstream,

But for the moment I am finding 

A subtle peacefulness as I sit. 

Billowy clouds fill the horizon

While wispier ones fly overhead. 

I don't always take the chance

For a bike ride by myself,

Often resigning to a loyalty

To patristic duties, but every now

And then I listen to my wife's offerings

And take some time for self-care. 

So I left our group camp and the

Friends still sitting around the campfire, 

The children playing with each other

And biking down the hills,

And took off own my own of a while. 

I am not a serious cyclist. 

I do not bike merely for the sake

Of logging several miles. 

I enjoy the exercise, yes. 

But I also will take the time

To watch a heron feeding in the reeds

Of the marsh along the trail,

Or take a picture of an interesting shadow,

Or to stop on a bridge over a river

And enjoy the scenery and peacefulness

Like in this moment 

After Doing Some Gardening

Having grown up on a farm and now living in the 'hood, gardening is my connection to the land. I am not a good gardener by any means. I start the majority of my plants from seed; many never germinate. I garden by faith--hoping that what I plant turns out right.

It's mostly vegetables; I'm utilitarian that way. But I have planted a number of flowers to keep the yard looking nice.

Friends of ours put a little "fairy garden" in the corner of their garden for their daughter and son to have. For her birthday their daughter received a number of items for her fairies. Today I came across a parking lot green house that was clearing out their remnants at a %70 discount. They had a few plants in a "fairy garden" section that I picked up for the boys for creating their own version--maybe a "gnome garden." Nils helped me plant the flowers and then he called his brother out to work on it.

They ended up going with an "animal garden" (initially Nils wanted a "Star Wars garden" but I vetoed that because he wanted to use his old toys we were trying to sell). They built some fences out of sticks and put a little pond in using a lid from a peanut butter jar. Pebbles became a pathway and a few more sticks became a bridge over the pond.

* * * * * * * *

• Gardening connects me to God's creation. I get to be a part of the creating cycle. I get to witness a dead seed turning into a flourishing plant that produces more seeds.
  
• It teaches the boys about where food comes from. We get to eat right out of the garden--they know produce doesn't simply come from the grocery store.
  
• For me gardening is therapy. Stress alleviates when I pull some weeds. I can lose myself for a good part of an afternoon pulling clover out of the grass (though I found myself not keeping up with it as well lately and having to resort to harsher measures).
  
• Gardening gets dirt under my nails. Mainly because I don't wear gloves. Gardening is good work. It's honest work. And it's rewarding.
  
• Working in my garden connects me to my neighborhood. My wife keeps a very tidy house (and directs me into my part of that) which is an act of hospitality to our guests. But the garden is where I get to by hospitable to the neighborhood. Frequently when I'm working outside someone walking by says hello or exchanges a few other words. Acquaintances and friends stop and talk--or at least honk their horns in a friendly manner.  Some will comment on how nice things look; occasionally some will ask for a tomato. When I'm working in the garden, I interact with the neighborhood in ways I don't get to if I were doing other activities.

  

  A few of the animals with their pathway and bridge across the pond.

I may not feed my family for the winter or have beautiful blooms. My Brussels sprouts plants may not produce (last year's didn't). Some of the seeds may not even germinate. I may not have planted a proper mix of flowers to produce blooms year-round. But I will keep gardening, no matter what the results.

And we'll see how the "animal garden" grows through the summer. I'm excited the boys have their own little patch of dirt to play with.

After a Bike Ride

The boys and I went for a bike ride today. We haven't gotten one in since before school was out when we did a little trip from a park to a beach just over a mile and a half away.We really haven't gotten in many short rides this summer yet. We're either going places or it's rainy.

Today was the first opportunity we took to get in a longer ride--almost three and a half miles one way, close to a seven mile ride. We took our bikes on the car and went to a park along the Mississippi River just north of downtown. We got onto the bike path that goes right under Target Stadium. The boys thought it would be exciting to bike under where the Twins play (it's really not--but it was motivating at least). We ended up going to the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden.

The Walker Art Museum commissioned artists to design mini-golf course holes. The boys probably spent an hour looking at them, even though we didn't play (it would not have been a cheap outing in any way). We walked around the sculpture garden a little as well, stopping for a small picnic.

As the day was hot and humid, we started back to our car shortly after--getting back with time to play at the playground where we parked before any rain started (somehow we ended just getting a few sprinkles, though the streets were completely wet on our way home).

Biking and swimming are my two main forms of exercise (okay, and hiking--and canoeing and kayaking, but I don't get to do those very often). I love the rhythm, the movement of my body, the physical strain.

I love that when you bike, you're able to take in the scenery and interact with it at will. We passed a mulberry bush along the trail today, so we stopped and picked a few berries.

I love that the travel involves your body. You can't do a passive bike trip (well maybe on a tandem, but that's not going to make your partner happy).

I love that it is accessible. Yes, plenty of people spend plenty of money on their bike, clothing, and gear. But almost anyone can get a used bike for a reasonable price. My 15-year old bike still keeps me going without any special clothes or gear. I'm not winning races, but I'm enjoying the ride.

I love that even in the city, it connects me back to nature. I can get on a bike trail and go through the woods, along the river, or around a lake. As I'm biking I notices smells and sights. I am aware of fluctuations in the weather. I've seen deer, squirrels, wild turkeys, eagles, great blue herons, and plenty of other fauna on my rides. Even when I'm clipping along, I notice wildflowers growing along the path.

I love that we can do it together as a family. My wife is a runner; my oldest son tried it out today for the first time with her (I'm proud of him for doing so). I am not. But we all enjoy biking. And today's trip gives me a little hope that we can do some more rides this summer that go beyond our neighborhood.

After an Evening Swim

After partaking of a delicious Indian supper (I daresay I think I'm doing pretty well with some of these ethnic foods) and doing some clean-up, we headed to a beach to cool off. It had reached 90 today.

It was only the second time that we've been to a beach this summer. The boys and I went several days ago; they swam, I didn't. It was a bit too cold for me to brave yet.

The lake wasn't exactly warm tonight, but I was hot enough to keep pushing through the cold. It did feel quite refreshing.

It was the first time the boys have been able to swim out to the raft with me (or that I've been able to swim out to the raft since usually I have to stay shallower to watch the boys. I treaded (trode?--my spellcheck doesn't recognize the word "treaded") water for a while as they did some jumps and watched other families playing on the raft.

Wispy clouds brushed across the sky as I floated on my back. Seaweed (why do we call it seaweed when it's in a lake?) fiendishly grabbed at my feet.

I'm drawn to water. I love to swim, kayak, canoe. I love to hike through wooded/mountainous areas where a stream runs through. I love to walk along Lake Superior. Ghost River in Alberta is still one of my favorite places I've hiked along.

When God created the heavens and the earth--before He even said, "Let there be light"--there was water. It's fundamental to life. The majority of all life on earth is made up of water. I think in some ways, water connects with us spiritually.

Much like food, the Bible is replete with stories and events that involve water: Noah and the flood, the Israelite's exodus from Egypt, Psalm 23, Jesus' baptism, the river that flows through New Jerusalem. Baptism is as central to the faith journey as communion is. In the waters of baptism we are changed. When we come up, we're not the same as when we went under.

It took me a little while to get fully submerged tonight. I'm not always good at just diving under in cold water. I tend to wade out slowly until the water's deep enough where I have to just get wet. But the water was quite cold--we've had a long winter and it's been quite rainy lately. So it took time for me to go under, but once I did it was quite comfortable. We were in for a while--until the sun was setting behind the trees.

Water is refreshing, renewing, relaxing. I love summer because it means time at the beach, camping at a lake, and hiking along a river. I look forward to family swims the rest of the summer. And to more refreshment on hot summer days.

Fall Family Time

Yesterday morning we packed up the car, met up with friends, and drove up to Wild River State Park to enjoy the weekend. It was beautiful weather--we never put the rain fly on (though we were tempted to for keeping in the heat in the tent over night, but we all stayed warm enough, I think). After getting the last two non-electric sites available (I really hate how camping has become a reservation-needed system), we set up camp, and the we headed to the Franconia Sculpture Garden. I appreciate that the artist create interactive works--and many that the kids can climb on.

Due to taking a relaxed pace with the afternoon, we ran out of time to climb on the rocks at Glacier Gardens in nearby Interstate Park (which the boys were wanting to do) or enjoy a hearty hike back at Wild River (which I would have enjoyed). But we made supper and then partook in a naturalist's talk on owls. Of course there was some marshmallow-roasting at our campfire that night along with a little star gazing.

Today we went the the Amador Apple Festival in the small town of Almelund, Minnesota (where we recently had the serendipitous discovery of a street named Wenell Lane). It was a nice small-town, community-oriented festival: food vendors (Swedish sausage on a stick, tacos in a bag, etc.), hand-made crafts, produce, and an assortment of apple-based products for sale. They were several historical buildings on site with displays as well as hands-on opportunities to live the past (making butter from cream, twisting twin into rope, harvesting prairie seeds). Old silent movies flickered on a wall in the barn; you could wait in line for a ride in a Model T as well. The boy got to try their first carmel apples (somehow they'd missed out on those--we've had apples with carmel dip, but not carmel apples).

It wouldn't have much mattered what we did. We had planned to have the weekend together as a family. It's beautiful fall weather, and while the trees haven't started turning much, we wanted to be outside for most of it. For us that means camping--or at least I personally like it when it means camping. It is good for our boys to be outside, to be active, to be with family and friends, and to be in God's presence. He is everywhere, but for me at least, He is much more noticeable outside. And I admit that I don't always take the time to note His presence, but I know that He and His creation leave their mark on my soul when I have been their presence. I hope that happens with my children as well.

Wild Peace

One last poem I wrote while in the Boundary Waters.




There is peace.

The only sounds are from birds, insects, the wind, and the water.
Any other noise, we have made ourselves.
I read that peace is not just the absence of conflict
But the absence of injustice as well.

I wonder if there is injustice here...
Certainly not everyone "leaves no trace"
As is evident by remnants we discover at our campsite.
But most people here respect the wilderness.

And the wilderness does what it is supposed to:
The eagle swoops and catches its prey;
The moss breaks down the decaying birch branches;
The loons swim, dive, and call to one another;
The chipmunk scampers, gathering hazelnuts.

And maybe that is why there is peace:
Because all creation does what God created it to do.

A Look at a Canoe Trip

We just returned yesterday from four days in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in northern Minnesota. We went with two other couples (one of whom we had never met before, but that's another story). It was the first time my wife and I had been in the Boundary Waters together--at least for more than a day trip. I'm thankful she initiated making arrangements for us to go.

Here's what a canoe trip looks like:

Beginning a portage

Paddle, paddle, paddle. The lake we camped on was around 5 miles long. It's not the largest by any means. I have no idea how much we paddled each day. One day we just explored the lake we were on so we did about a 10 mile trip.

Carry everything on your shoulders. To get from lake to lake, you portage. First you carry your canoe. Then you go back for your packs. Distances are measured in rods. One rod is the average canoe length: 16.5 feet. Our longest portage was 147 rods: about a half mile. But a portage is seldom flat terrain. Often you go up, then down, then up, and then down again. Possibly several more times. And there are usually pointy rocks dotting the trail. And tree roots. None of this makes carrying a canoe on your shoulders easy. Also, because of rains the previous day, the path of the long portage became a small stream--which somehow managed to flow down the front side of the hill as we climbed up it as well as down the backside as we made our way to the next lake.

Set up camp. We stayed in one place for all three nights. My last trip we kept moving. It's nice to not have to move. We were able to explore neighboring lakes and only have to portage with canoes and a food pack, which is nice.

Your toilet is in the middle of the woods. With no walls around. Just a tube, sticking up out of the ground. Ours happened to be a decent hike up a hill from our campsite. Of course, a toilet is not always needed...

Your food must be hung up in a tree every night...preferably between two trees, at least 12 feet off the ground. You do what you can to make it inaccessible to bears.

Your food is all camped over a fire (typically on a small camp stove). And all of your food you have to carry in on your back. Any campfires you desire must be made from dead wood you have found on the forest floor and brought back.

If you want to bathe, you jump in a lake. Many lakes are deep (over 100 feet). And almost all are quite cold. You may find a few spots of warm water near the shore, but generally the lakes don't get much above 60 degrees.

Our "bathroom"

Nature is your best friend--and your worst enemy. It happened to be our best friend on this trip. We hardly had any bug issues--which is rare. Normally flies and mosquitoes are a campers' bane in the North Woods. I didn't put any insect repellent on, and didn't need to. We had perfect weather--in the 70s most days, cooler at night. No rain until  the last morning when we had a few brief sprinkles. We were all hoping for the excitement of seeing a moose or a bear or some large mammal. Moose scat is the closest we got. But there were plenty of loons and several eagles. And of course wildflowers, birch trees, and evergreens galore. One of the nights was the peak of the Perseids. We laid out on one of the large boulders along the shore and star-gazed. None of us stayed up long enough to see the meteors in mass, but we saw several before turning in for the night.

It's wonderful stuff, this canoeing in the Boundary Waters. We're figuring out how to functionally be able to go with our children next time. It's feasible--it just requires some adjusting.

It is, for the most part, roughing it. I know that's not for everyone. But it is a beautiful place. Canoeing is good for the body and soul. And you will find few places as peaceful (unless there's a storm, but we didn't encounter that, so we're good).
s.

Fresh Farm Air

I heard about Gale Woods Farm a few weeks ago from a friend of church and have been wanting to go out and see it sometime. We took advantage of the gorgeous November weather (under the assumption that there won't be much more of it) and took a drive this afternoon. It's a pretty cool place--they run it as sustainable as possible and sell the meat, eggs, produce and wool they produce; they also run a lot of classes through their folk school on working with wool, cooking from the garden, composting, raising chickens and the like. It's a great program to have going for kids from the city (and even from rural areas anymore) to learn where food actually comes from, as well as teaching how to be more sustainable in agriculture--the way our it was done a century ago. They had a "maze" through the round bales, but the highlight was running across them and jumping across them. (The exercise ended with a nap for one of the boys on the ride home!) The fresh air was good for us, too.

Kayaks, Waterfalls and Campfires

We took a small part of Labor Day weekend to get away and enjoy some time together as a family. We hadn't planned on going away (we don't usually like to fight crowds), but we decided it would be good for us to do a short trip, and we had some friends who were letting us camp where we didn't have to worry about finding a spot. We left Saturday morning (still had to put up with a few lines of traffic through some "road construction"--even though there wasn't any work being done). I managed to forget the tent (I'm learning that if I don't plan the day ahead I usually forget something), which was okay because we've been needing a slightly larger tent and ended up finding one at a good price.

We pitched our tent deep in the woods at Covenant Park Bible Camp about 20 miles southwest of Duluth. A friend of ours manages the camp. It was a beautiful night for camping. we left the rain fly off so we could see the stars and the full moon (but slept in the tent because of the mosquitoes).

We did a little kayaking at the camp.

We took a trip over to Amnicon Falls State Park in Wisconsin. It was a short hike there, but enjoyable. And not too crowded.

As we drove through Superior on our way back to the camp, we saw some big ships in Lake Superior, so we though it would be fun to let the boys see them. Canal Park in Duluth was absolutely packed, so we went over the bridge and found a place with access to the lake. We hadn't brought any swim wear with since its usually quite cold along the North Shore. The water was still very cold, but the day was warm enough that it felt refreshing.

We were home late on Sunday night after a tiring drive back. Frustrated with some of the travel incidents (we're still working through this obedience/good attitude/no tantrum behavior with the boys), but we were refreshed as well. Beth is working today, and we're getting laundry done and things put away. The labor never ends.