Living on the Water–Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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