To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides. –David Viscott
Archives for 2015
Gleanings from September 2015
We have all heard the phrase that a picture is worth a thousand words, and some have enlarged that value to ten thousand words. The saying has been linked to Fred R. Barnard, a United States advertising executive in the early 1920’s who promoted the effectiveness of graphics. Barnard attributed the saying to a Japanese philosopher and later as a Chinese proverb. With my amateur photography and mission to showcase the beauty of Nature, I believe in the power of an image to convey something words cannot express. And yet, there have been some frustrating moments for me these past months of August and September where I could not capture the essence of the experience with my camera. The latest of these moments was the super-moon eclipse. The first half of the eclipse was visible between roiling clouds that eventually took over and obscured the ‘coming out’ phase.
There are many wonderful photographs of the eclipse shared on the internet, but even a series of professional images could not capture the essence of the eclipse experience. To see the huge, shining full moon taken over by the shadow and how the atmospheric particles shone red was awe-inspiring. It made me realize the movement of our earth and universe and just how small we each are in the whole scheme of things.
While autumn finery is easier to capture in pictures, part of our ability to appreciate the images is our familiarity with it. Most have experienced the miracle of changing leaves, the smell and sound of dried leaves crunching underfoot, and coolness of air on a blue-sky fall day. By looking at a photo, we can ‘imagine’ the rest.
We have had a dry September–only one measurable rain at a much-needed, yet insufficient half-inch. We all drank it in.
Our dry weather is turning the changing of the colors to the drying and browning of leaves, but one of the fall perennial stand-outs is in full bloom–‘Fireworks’ goldenrod. This deer and drought resistant cultivar has an explosion of tiny yellow flowers on horizontal stems.
Many of the common goldenrod growing in the wild areas have an interesting feature–a purplish, rounded gall on the stem. The Goldenrod Gall Fly is a parasite that lives its entire life cycle on the goldenrod plant. After mating on the plant, the female deposits her eggs into the stem with her ovipositor. The larvae hatch in ten days and eat inside the stem. Their saliva has a chemical in it that causes the plant to grow the abnormal galls. The larvae stay in the galls for a year, producing an anti-freeze-like chemical to keep them alive through the winter. In Spring, the larvae become pupae and then adults, and then they leave the galls to find mates. The armor-like galls protect the larvae from most predators, but the Downy woodpecker seeks out the galls to break them open to feast on the juicy larvae.
September was also the month of the Monarch. Our intention to let more milkweed grow paid off in the currency of butterflies.
A picture is worth a thousand words, ten thousand words, and maybe more. They are valuable in the appreciation of Beauty and the conveyance of details. The Essence of the Experience of walking through the Lost Forty forest last month or of viewing the super-moon eclipse could not be captured by photography, however. It could not represent the other senses–the smell of the pine needles, the quiet wind whispering through the tree tops, the feel of three hundred year-old bark– or the ‘other worldliness’ of moons and planets aligning and of the deep history and holiness of the land. As we live our entire life cycle on Planet Earth, pictures, words, and imagination cannot be stand-ins for the Essence of Experiences, for no matter the currency, they are worth millions.
Welcome to the Season of Preparation
Moving a household of five people after nine or twelve years in one spot takes some preparation. Even more so if one does not easily get rid of things from the past–“But I love this picture she did when she was four–remember how early she held a pencil just right?” or “This showcased her musical talent–she played it so easily when she was little” or ” These plastic snakes were his favorite things when he was three–we should keep them for grandkids.” So, we did this twice in our lives–and we still have the picture, the instrument, and the snakes. I was fairly good at the preparation–I loved the neat stacks of boxes that accumulated against the wall as the closets and cupboards emptied, and I even felt a swift satisfaction with the large give-away and throw-away piles. But as moving day was in sight, I would hit a wall. Like a stubborn horse who will not move forward, I would find myself sitting back on my haunches and stiffening my neck–all of a sudden, I didn’t want this to happen! My mental preparation hadn’t kept up with my physical preparation.
Of the four seasons, Fall is the season for preparation. Spring brings many changes as it tumbles into Summer, but it seems joyful and effortless. Autumn slowly, methodically prepares us for Winter. And with that preparation comes paradox. Harvest of apples, pumpkins, potatoes, carrots, beets, and squash showers us with abundance and food for the coming months while drying and dying vines and grasshopper-eaten leaves wither and eventually freeze.
Brilliant beautiful leaves inspire us and make us breathe deeply of the clear, crisp air–before they fall from the trees leaving bare branches and emptiness.
Animals prepare their nests, bodies, and food piles for Winter, and some become food for us.
Three months of waxing and waning, harvest and loss, work and rest, brilliance and decay.
Preparation–a proceeding, measure, or provision by which one prepares for something. Mother Nature prepares us, the animals, and the plants for Winter and all that comes with that in the North of North America. A proceeding, step by step, into the lenten season of dormancy.
My balking when the moves became inevitable illustrates my sudden realization of the losses I was about to incur–the loss of good friendships and family get-togethers, the loss of our home, jam-packed with memories of the kids growing up, the loss of every bit of work we did to make our place better than it was when we got there. My quarter-moon readiness illuminated the boxes and empty rooms, yet the darkened part, the side not seen, was not prepared and was struggling against what was to come. We work hard to prepare ourselves for certain things in our lives…and yet, sometimes, we just don’t get it all done. As my husband reminds me quite often, ‘You can only get ready for so long–pretty soon you have to leave.’ And we did leave–with loaded U-Hauls and vehicles stuffed to the brim, with tears and anticipation, with sadness and joy. The preparation carries us forward to what lies next. The time comes for us to lay our heartaches down (with all due respect to Emmylou), and we walk into the next Season of our Life.
Wonder Will Be Yours
I remember staring with wonder at each of the tiny human beings we brought home from the hospital. I couldn’t get enough of looking into their eyes, holding their perfectly plump bodies with those tiny fingers and toes, and kissing their delightful cheeks while inhaling that ambrosial baby smell. Every good force of Nature and God was involved in bringing forth these new creations to occupy our family life for a time, and the awesomeness and privilege of that is not lost on me. Not even after all these years. Especially after all these years–when they have all gone on to living their own lives.
But still, when I see my cherished children, which is not often, I find myself staring at them, looking into their adult eyes, wanting to hold their hand or push back the hair from their forehead, and longing to kiss their cheeks. Their individual worlds are separate from ours now–the way of Nature–but the wonder is still there.
There are tiny, little worlds all around us. We catch glimpses of them from time to time and our understanding is expanded by information in books, nature films, and the encyclopedic internet. We can take a closer look at these tiny worlds at almost any time. Imagine the world of the honeybee–we see them working to gather nectar and pollen, but we don’t realize how much work goes on inside the hive. Sedum ‘Autumn Joy’ is an abundant source of nectar for honeybees at this time of year.
They share the joy with a pungent stink bug who raised his antennae in alarm when the honeybee flew near, but he determined that the bee was no threat to him. There was plenty of nectar to share.
Another little world lies hidden in a wild rosebush.
The bald-faced hornet, which is really a yellow jacket wasp, collects and chews wood, mixes the fibers with saliva to make pulp, and constructs a paper nest that houses comb-like nests of larvae and hundreds of worker bees.
Most everyone knows the life cycle of the Monarch butterfly. Milkweed is the host plant for the Monarch caterpillar that hatches from eggs deposited by the butterfly. The caterpillar eats milkweed until mature, then forms a hanging chrysalis.
When the butterfly emerges from the chrysalis, he leaves the Milkweed world and flies into the vast, diverse Unknown full of dangers and delights. One of the delights is the formidable Joe Pye Weed that grows up to seven feet tall and produces huge mauve pink flower heads full of vanilla sweet nectar.
While watching the butterflies and bees swarm the Joe Pye Weed, I noticed a hummingbird at the nearby Summer Sweet bush. This small native shrub is another important source of nectar for butterflies and hummingbirds, and its fragrant, bottle-brush flowers will bloom in shade.
What a summer show! The enticing, sweet blossoms and the birds, bees, and butterflies!
And then…Wonder! The Hummingbird flew over to the jeweled iridescence of the butterfly and hovered there!
I am grateful and privileged to witness such a moment in the late summer world of Joe Pye. These tiny-world moments play out all around us, most of the time without our knowing. Take some time to notice the tiny world of some part of Nature and share the Autumn Joy!
I am no longer part of the daily world of my children, though daily they are in my thoughts, my whispered prayers, my silent sending of blessings upon their adult lives. I want to remind them, and all of you, that looking into another person’s eyes connects two souls, shares our tiny worlds, and reflects the face of God. Touching another person’s hand conveys interest and caring and does wonders for our physiology. Kissing a cheek bestows a gift to the one kissed and the giver alike. Let every good force of Nature and God inspire your life as you go through your life cycle and know that the nectar of love and joy is abundant–there’s enough for everybody! And Wonder will be yours.
Working at Living
When we stepped into September, we entered the meteorological season of Fall. We are most familiar with the traditional astronomical seasons that change at the equinoxes and solstices based on the position of the Earth in relation to the Sun. Meteorological seasons change every three months and are based on similar temperatures. This different and more natural way of defining seasons began in the early to mid 1900’s, making it easier for the weather scientists to compare data and weather patterns.
It is beginning to look like Fall in central Minnesota! The poplar and ash leaves are turning yellow and falling to the ground.
Wild plum trees and creeping poison ivy are displaying beautiful autumnal colors.
Wild grapes are ready for harvesting–by humans, birds, foxes, turkeys–whoever gets to them first.
Asters and sunflowers are blooming in the ditches…
along with abundant goldenrod.
The insects and animals are busy gathering food. The squirrels have been working hard from morning til night, collecting acorns from our woods and buckeyes from the tree up the street. The Buckeye tree is one of the first to change color and lose its leaves.
The squirrels carry the nuts to a place in the yard, dig a little hole, put the nut in, cover it up with dirt, and pat it down with their front paws. How they ever find them again is beyond me–but I do know they don’t find them all, as we see oak and buckeye seedlings growing in places far from the mature trees.
The little red squirrels in particular love the white pine seeds and have labored ceaselessly to clean them from the cones, leaving a pile of debris under the tree.
Some of my work lately has been like the squirrel–I have been gathering produce from the garden and preparing it for later use. There is great purpose and satisfaction in growing, tending, eating, and storing our own food. Traditionally–at least after the industrial revolution, we have equated work with a job. But think about the work of the settlers or the native people before that–their ‘work’ was ‘living!’ And much of that work had to do with the basics–shelter, safety, food, and clothing. Of course, these days, jobs provide the means to those very same basics. I hope on this Labor Day we can look at work in different ways–people who go to jobs, moms and dads who stay home with their children, those toiling just to survive and find a safe place for their families to live, students striving to educate themselves, people who devote time and energy to inner work, those who struggle daily with addictions and illnesses who work hard to live one day at a time, and animals and insects who work at ‘being’ what they are. Blessings to all the workers of the world!
I would like to thank you for reading my posts. I work to bring you images of Nature and words that may inspire, teach, and promote contemplation. Many thanks to those who like, share, and comment–it is the primary way for my posts to reach new people. Nature can teach us about ourselves and make us better people–it’s a great way to work at living a wonderful life.
Gleanings from August 2015
August has almost always been a month of transition for me–a transition from summer back to glorious school! Don’t get me wrong–I love summer–but I have always loved the excitement and anticipation of a new school year. Maybe that’s why I have twelve years of post-secondary education under my belt. Perhaps that is why for twenty-three years we have had back-to-school parties for the kids. But this August is different–nobody’s going to school. No school supplies, no parents’ night, no new classes, no move-in days….
I have been privileged this August to be in contact with two educators of a different sort. Neither is employed at a school, but both educate children and adults alike. Both are writers and speakers who embody the message they bring.
At the beginning of the month we were lucky enough to spend time in the far north at the Steger Wilderness Center.
Will Steger was one of the first people in the world to experience the effects of climate change in his Arctic expeditions, but recently he wrote, “We are all eyewitnesses now.” While we see and experience extreme weather events like the drying and burning of our western lands, flooding rains in eastern and midwestern regions, and erratic and unusual temperatures, do we know what climate change means to the moose or the tree frogs in northern Minnesota?
photo by LAn
Do we realize what impact it has on the aquatic life of our rivers….
or the wildlife and plant life in the old-growth forests?
How does climate change and human destruction of habitat affect the intricate ecosystems of the world? And how does all of that, in turn, affect our survival?
This is where the second educator comes in–we have to teach our children to love the natural world–even the people who are not directly exposed to it. At the end of August we attended a concert by local author and musician Douglas Wood. His books are well-known–Old Turtle, Grandad’s Prayers of the Earth and dozens of others for children. He has written inspiring little handbooks for adults, too. As a musician and song writer, Doug Wood also expresses his love for Nature and our Earth to the people who hear him sing and play beautiful acoustic instruments.
August brings flowers that are striking for their beauty like these Black-eyed Susans…
and for their beauty plus function, such as Purple Coneflowers (Echinacea) that have been used as an herbal remedy for flu and colds for hundreds of years.
August supplies us with food from our cultivated gardens and food from the wild Plum trees.
Mother Nature somehow uses temperature and humidity to synchronize August ‘nuptial flights’ when winged princess and drone ants leave their colonies and take to the sky to mate. The patch of grass in our yard seemed to be shifting and moving as the ants crawled to the tip of the grass blades to fly away from their nest to ensure outbreeding. The females store the sperm in a ‘sperm pocket’ that will eventually fertilize tens of millions of eggs over her lifetime, the male drones die after mating, and the survival of the colony goes on.
August is the month of new school years and new beginnings. Education is the foundation for our lives–the more we learn, the better able we are to understand the balance that Nature brings to our lives and to the lives of all the plants and creatures on the Earth. Doug Wood educates with his books and music–he teaches us to know and love the natural world. Will Steger educates with his explorations, writings, and living example–he reminds us that it is our moral responsibility to be good stewards of our Earth and to build a sustainable future for our children. We take care of the things we love. Learn to know and love Nature, for it is when we love something that we can move beyond ourselves in caring, in responsibility, and in action. And then, as Douglas Wood wrote in Old Turtle, Old Turtle and God will smile.
The Lost Forty
It was a mistake that happened a long time ago. In 1882, Josiah King and his three-man survey crew traveled forty miles from the nearest white settlement as part of the first land survey of the Northwoods area. In canvas tents with minimal rations, the team battled bleak, daunting marshes and bogs in the six square miles between Moose and Coddington Lakes. In the November wind and snow, Coddington Lake was plotted to be a half mile further northwest than it actually lies. That mistake saved The Lost Forty.
By the late 1800’s, Minnesota was one of the largest timber producing states in the country. The state’s enormous white pines were gold for the logging companies. But the stand of virgin pines that was plotted as a lake went untouched and continued to grow.
The Lost Forty is part of Chippewa National Forest. The red and white pines are 300 to 400 years old with trunk diameters of 22-48 inches and heights over 120 feet tall–a forest of giants.
White pines have corky, gray bark and soft needles in clusters of five, while red pines have stiff needles in clusters of two and scaly-looking red bark.
It’s not easy to find the Lost Forty, and you must certainly have it as a destination–it’s not a site to stop by on your way to someplace else. With maps in hand, we drove west from Ely through miles and miles of forest, occasionally going through a small town that had somehow survived. As we got closer to our destination, the landscape changed–it got scruffier, more barren, less beautiful. We were entering the peatland area. Minnesota has over six million acres of peatland–more than any other state except Alaska. These poorly drained lowlands act as a water reservoir, and they filter and store huge amounts of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.
Once we got to the Lost Forty pine forest, it felt like we were in another world–a peaceful, ‘Ferngully’ world. We couldn’t see the tops of the towering pines, and it was dizzying looking up with awe and joy.
Imagine the extensive root systems that feed and hold up these gigantic trees…
and the thunderous crack and crash when one of the old giants falls to the forest floor.
Large amounts of standing and fallen dead plant material is part of the definition of ‘old growth forest.’ It provides habitat for plants and animals; in fact, if dead and dying plant material is removed from the forest floor, plant and animal life decreases by 20%!
Old growth forests have trees of all sizes and ages; however, the canopy is dominated by trees from 120 to over 400 years old. The trees, shrubs and plant material undergrowth are shade-tolerant–like the ghostly Indian Pipe plant that contains no chlorophyll.
Fires were part of the natural cycle of forests and have left scars on some of the old trees. Fires also prepare the seed beds for new red pines.
As the old trees fall, leaving patches of sunlight, the new seedlings take root and grow.
Finding the Lost Forty in barren north central Minnesota was a gift–especially to the Tree Man I’m married to. Perhaps it was to see what the fruits of his tree-planting labor will look like in a couple hundred years.
Sometimes things are lost by mistake or by accident. Other times we lose things because of neglect, pettiness, or vindictiveness and retaliation. What happens when we lose something important? First, there’s that uncomfortable feeling of panic. Disbelief (this can’t be happening), anger, blame, and tension blaze through our bodies and minds in our search for what is lost. Sadness and grief can slip in when we realize that we may never find what we have lost. And what if we are the ones who are lost? Did we take a wrong road, not follow our maps correctly, get confused by conflicting information, forget who we are?
Things can also be found by accident–or is it serendipity? We can find things by intention–like our trek to The Lost Forty. And then we can find things, and be found, by Grace–when no amount of panic, anger, intention, blame or grief does the trick. It is a profound Gift to find what we are seeking or to be found when we are lost. Joy comes unbidden into our hearts when the gifts of the lost are revealed.
The Wilderness Trail
In wilderness is the preservation of the world. –Henry David Thoreau
The trail to Aaron’s house for the summer veers from an old, non-traveled road. It winds through rocks and blueberry patches to a huge white pine. There, on a platform of wood is his tent, partially covered by a blue tarp. Clothes hang from a line that stretches under the tarp, a canoe paddle leans on the platform, and a couple of plastic totes house his clothes and possessions for the summer.
This is not his first summer in a tent–he has spent parts or all of six previous summers living in a canvas tent and guiding people through the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA). The BWCA has over a million acres of wilderness with over 1,000 lakes and streams within Superior National Forest. This preserved wilderness was established in 1964 under the administration of the US Forest Service.
Wilderness is a relative term. Any of us who live in a house with running water and electricity would most certainly agree that Aaron lives in the wilderness. But Aaron says the true wilderness is deep in the BWCA where you can paddle for days and not see another person, a building, or a road. Where you take shelter in the tent you carry and set up, cook your packed-in food on a fire after gathering the wood, and where your companions are the wild things all around you.
Nonetheless, I believe if the trail to your house is the same trail a bear travels, that is wilderness enough for me. Earlier this summer Aaron and his friend Jake were walking back to their tents when they saw a black bear on the trail ahead of them. After looking at the two-legged creatures for a minute, he lumbered away. Aaron and Jake followed–yep, followed, to see where he was going. The trail leads to a high ridge above an open marsh area. (read about the firefly phenomenon in the marsh)
Now I say, ‘Luckily’ they saw the bear down below them in the marsh and not on the ridge. The bear did look up at them again but wandered off into the forest.
When we visited Steger Wilderness Center at the beginning of August, we didn’t see a bear, but we noticed evidence of one when we were on a morning hike. Along the trail, a large log had been rolled over a young sapling, exposing grubs and insects underneath. A little farther along the trail were two large ant hills that had the tops scraped off–bears love Thatching ant eggs and larvae. After seeing this ‘evidence’, Aaron did mention that one of the other interns had seen a black bear on this trail earlier in the week! Okay, keep your eyes peeled!
photo by LAn
Our hike that morning was mainly for two reasons–to see a remote lake where the guys go fishing and to pick wild blueberries along the way. The trail led deep into the forest and was beautiful and serene in the morning air. For some reason, the mosquitoes didn’t bother us, making the hike all the more pleasant. The conifer forest was filled with flora that we don’t normally see, even in Central Minnesota.
Wintergreen crept along the rocks. Gaultheria Procumbens produces oil of wintergreen, a flavoring for chewing gum, mints, and toothpaste. We chewed leaves to taste the minty flavor.
photo by LAn
Bunchberry (or Creeping Dogwood) is a woodland ground cover that loves cool, acidic soil. The berries are edible and rich in pectin, making them good additions to thicken puddings and jellies.
photo by LAn
Sweet fern was the most intriguing plant I saw but had no idea of what it was at the time. It’s a small, woody deciduous shrub with scalloped foliage that resembles ferns. The leaves are fragrant and can be used to make tea or as a seasoning. Sweet fern leaves can also be used to repel insects, as an infusion in water to treat poison ivy and stings, and as a lining for a container for picking berries to keep them fresh longer.
photo by LAn
Ground cedar is an evergreen perennial club moss that has been used for Christmas decorations.
photo by LAn
Along with these interesting plants and many types of moss, we trekked by patches and patches of blueberries. At first, we didn’t see any blueberries on the tiny bushes, and I blamed that bear who had left his mark at the beginning of the trail! Finally we came to a large patch that was loaded with berries, so we filled our containers with the small, delicious fruit.
photo by LAn
photo by LAn
After more than an hour of slowly making our way through the woods, we arrived at the lake. Overlooking this beautiful lake was a one-room log cabin, and I hastily exclaimed that I would live there! We sat on the rock outcropping for a few minutes, taking in the peace and exquisite beauty of this wilderness paradise.
photo by LAn
Aaron is a summer intern at the Steger Wilderness Center. The older Homestead is the hub of activity where the interns gather from their tent outposts. An old lodge houses the kitchen, library, and office space powered only by solar. Dishes are washed like the interns’ grandparents or great-grandparents did it, since there is no running water. Food is stored in an ice house and cooked on a gas stove. The ice house is a large cellar built into the hill. Behind three thick, wooden doors is a room filled with huge ice chunks gathered from the lake in February and covered with saw dust to insulate. An adjacent room is where the food is stored at a very refrigerator-respectful 42 degrees F.
Twice a week, the sod-roofed log cabin sauna is fired up for the hard-working interns, stone mason apprentices, and others who want to heat up before jumping into the lake.
The center of attraction at the Steger Wilderness Center is the amazing building that Will Steger envisioned and sketched on his trans-Antarctic expedition. It’s situated high on a hill overlooking the lake, the Homestead, and the surrounding forest. It is a work in progress as materials, labor, and money is made available. It is truly a labor of vision and love.
In the words of Will Steger: My mission for the Center is to make a lasting positive impact for the future by bringing small groups of leaders, educators, and policy makers seeking to re-imagine solutions to the world’s most intractable problems. It is designed to activate our understanding of what it means to be interdependent—with each other, with our earth and as a society—to inspire clarity and break-through innovation that sparks the synergy, inspiration and fresh thinking essential to developing innovative and workable approaches to protecting our planet and creating a better world.
But why the Wilderness? Couldn’t all of this be done at a more populated, ‘civilized’ place that is more convenient to get to, more conventional? The answer to that question is revealed when a person spends time in the wilderness. And it’s hard to explain, yet you know it when you experience it.
All three of our children have lived for at least two summers of their lives in wilderness areas. Our oldest daughter Emily, like Aaron, lived near and guided people through the BWCA. She lived in a very small community of people where it was essential to work together and problem solve. She also spent quite a bit of her time alone and became self-aware that if anything happened, there was nobody else there to help. (She had one summer of a frequently visiting bear also.) She discovered a peace in the wilderness, a feeling of unity, and a strong knowing of her place in the world. Aaron believes the wilderness has grown his confidence in his abilities and has shown him that mental limitations, not physical limitations hold people back most often. He also mentioned how the wilderness has helped him maintain a larger perspective on life, while focusing on the simple, yet important things–food, water, shelter, and more.
The challenge of the Wilderness-minded people–the ones who know first hand what interdependence with our earth means on a daily basis–is to carry that feeling, that knowledge, that wisdom to the larger population. In essence, it is to straddle both worlds. My kids do that in small ways every day of their lives, and Will Steger does that in a big way with his mission and legacy of the Steger Wilderness Center and Climate Generation. Each of us has a wilderness place in our lives–perhaps it’s Central Park in New York City or a neighborhood creek in Missouri or a favorite camping place in South Dakota. Allow that wilderness place to challenge you and lead you on a trail to self-awareness, a world-wide perspective (we’re all in this together), and a sense of unity and peace within yourself.
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.
Living on the Water–Part I
Standing on the high rocky cliff overlooking the Lake, it was easy to imagine how a huge November storm in 1905 sank or damaged twenty-nine ships and killed thirty-six seamen on Lake Superior.
That disastrous storm was the impetus for the building of Split Rock Light Station by the federal government on the North Shore. It went into service in 1910 and served the freighters carrying iron ore mined from northern Minnesota and shipped from the ports of Two Harbors and Duluth/Superior. Three identical lighthouse keeper homes were constructed at the same time, along with barns, oil house, and fog signal building that contained a gas engine-powered fog horn that was used when visibility was poor due to fog, smoke, or snow. During the first twenty years, the station could only be reached by boat, so the keepers and their families would stay during the shipping season and leave for the winter months. After the construction of the North Shore Highway, the keepers and their families could live there year-round, and the Split Rock Light Station became a popular tourist attraction. The Lighthouse remained in operation until 1969 when navigational equipment made it obsolete. It is now a National Historic Landmark.
Lake Superior is the largest of the Great Lakes and the largest freshwater lake in the world by surface area. It was an ocean to my midwestern eyes. The horizon of unending water was unforgiving in its flatness, and with my amateur photography skills, I realized too late that I tilted every water horizon. But tilt or no tilt, the Lake was magnificent in its immenseness. A rain squall that had detained us in our car when we arrived, had moved out over the Lake. The sky and water danced with light and wind.
Living on the water in this remote location was tough for the three keepers and their families. Supplies that came by boat were carried up the cliff with a hoist and derrick system until a storm destroyed the hoist engine six years after it was built. A tramway rail and stairway were then constructed from a dock and boathouse on the Lake to the top of the hill and was used until 1934 when supplies could be trucked in by roadways. Storms destroyed the dock and boathouse in 1939 and 1959, respectively. (The tramway ran just left of the stairs.)
The Lighthouse was lit from sunset to sunrise every night during the nine month shipping season for nearly sixty years. The keepers would rotate four-hour shifts in the night in addition to working during the day. They had to be skilled at repairing and operating the equipment along with bookkeeping and administrative duties.
Living on the water in this treacherous rocky shoreline and lighting the dark waters of Superior for a range of twenty-two miles provided a lifeline for the many freighters who moved the ore. Who knows how many lives were saved thanks to the Lighthouse keepers?
There are times in our lives when Storms sink our dreams and destroy our resolve. We feel powerless and small in the face of the hugeness of a task or an obstacle that looms as large as an ocean in our mind. We wonder if anyone even notices us…
But then we remember that the Lighthouse is lit every night–every single night–storm or no storm. It is the Light that chases away the darkness, reflects off the water, gives us resilience, allows us to be seen, and keeps us moving in the right direction. And as the days and nights of many years pass through us, we realize that we–each one of us–are the Keepers of the Light and beacons for one another.
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