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The River Just Rolls On By

October 16, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

‘Cause the river don’t talk, the river don’t care

Where you’ve been, what you’ve done

Why it is you’re standin’ there.

It just rolls on by, whisperin’ to your soul

It’s gonna be alright, the river just knows.

–Annie Tate, Dave Berg, Sam Tate

I don’t usually listen to Rodney Atkins, but I love what the chorus of his song ‘The River Just Knows‘ says and invokes in me. The singer/storyteller gets up early in the morning to go fishing and sees another guy at his spot on the river, and he wishes he could have the river to himself. He notices the guy has a military haircut and fresh scars on his face, and knows what brought him to the river. The soldier catches a rainbow trout, then releases him back to the river with “I’ll help you get your wind back, ’cause you helped me get mine.”

Our journey to St. Croix State Park a couple of weeks ago centered on the rivers that border and crisscross the large park. Twenty-one miles of the St. Croix River make up the southeastern border, and the last seven miles of the Wild and Scenic Kettle River is on the southwestern side. After leaving the fire tower, we first crossed Bear Creek–one of ten other streams that flow through the park. The stone and log bridge and beaver-chewed trees made a picturesque scene as we drove toward our hiking destination–Two Rivers Trail.

We ate our picnic lunch at Kettle River Overlook. The cloudy sky made the river look gray, and white-capped and burbling rapids brought the river to life.

The trail along the Kettle River was often lined with towering white and red pines that dropped their needles to cushion the path and provide the heady fragrance that makes you know you’re in a good place.

Along the river bank, where rain and flooding waters had washed away the soil, some of the roots of the pines were exposed but hanging on to keep the trees upright.

As we hiked, the clouds gave way to blue sky, and the river reflected the change. This one spot had swirly foam that created abstract pictures as the river rolled by.

Then we walked to the point where the Kettle River ended…

and flowed into the larger St. Croix River. Five Pine sentries stood at the confluence of the two rivers. “Welcome Home.”

It was easy to see why this river was chosen for a National Scenic Riverway–every glimpse of the river was so beautiful! It stirred a desire to explore it from a canoe.

Across the river, in Wisconsin, is Governor Knowles State Forest, with more impressive pines.

The rock in the river made a natural fount to hold the holy water, blessings for all the travelers who passed by.

The tipping Pine, on the point of an island, had a pileup of log debris at its feet.

A primitive camping spot for canoeists is at a bend in the river under another giant pine. The hiking trail veered into the forest away from the river at this point—and the river just rolled on by.

I had an inordinate amount of fear growing up. Nature helped to cushion my path and get my wind back every time I felt a pile-up of debris at my feet that threatened to tip me over. It helped me hang on. In the song, the river brought life back to the soldier–and to the storyteller. All of Nature brings Life back to us–even when we don’t realize we’re in need. The holy water, the sanctuary of trees, the steady foundation of rocks, and the breath of wind whispers to our souls, tells us we’re in a good place, and lets us know that everything’s gonna be alright.

The View from the Top of the Fire Tower

October 9, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

I’m not afraid of heights. I climb ladders and get on roofs without hesitation or sweaty palms. I’ve ascended lighthouses, campaniles, trees, Pike’s Peak, and a few tall buildings. I worry more about the mechanical integrity of a ferris wheel or roller coaster than I do about how lofty the apex is at that momentary high point. It’s exciting to see the rest of the world from the sky-high zenith of natural or man-made structures.

So it was on our visit to St. Croix State Park as September moved into October. St. Croix State Park is the largest of Minnesota’s state parks with 34,000 acres along twenty-one miles of the St. Croix River that divides Minnesota from Wisconsin. The St. Croix River, a National Scenic Riverway, was an important trade route for hundreds of years for Native Americans, fur traders, and later for logging companies. In 1935, 18,000 acres of logged and failing farmland was purchased and became the St. Croix Recreational Demonstration Area under the direction of the National Park Service. The Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) and the Works Progress Administration (WPA) built roads, group camps, campgrounds, and many buildings from red sandstone and logs from the area. 164 structures remain as the largest collection of New Deal projects in Minnesota and are listed on the National Register of Historic Sites.

One of those structures in the Park is the fire tower built in 1937 by the CCC. It was one of 123 fire towers used across Minnesota to monitor wind and fire danger. It was manned during the fire season by dedicated watchmen until 1981. The last watchperson was a woman, Mrs. Wolters, who volunteered for 19 years of smoke spotting! The tower is situated on a hill and is 100 feet tall.

Come along with me as I begin at ground level and climb 134 steps to the top of the tower for a breath-taking view of the Park.

When we got within two landings of the top of the tower, Chris said, “That’s enough for me.” I said, “But we’re so close to the top!” He turned around and climbed down the wooden stairs. The very last set of stairs at the top were old, rickety, and covered in bird poop. I have to say my knees felt a little weak for a moment before I ascended that last bit, but, wow, it was pretty amazing at the top! The Maples were brilliant in their fall colors, and the sweeps of trees that had already lost their leaves were purplish against the still-green Oaks. I leaned over the edge of the tower side with the camera to get a picture of Chris waving to me from the ground. I thought about all the watchpersons who had spent long days up on the tower with beauty and boredom in all kinds of weather.

Chris’ simple statement has stuck with me. I have admiration for him climbing that tall tower as far as he did, as he cannot proclaim to be ‘not afraid of heights’ like I do. I have even more respect for the proclamation he did make–“That’s enough for me.” In my excitement to reach the top, I urged him on instead of congratulating him for climbing so far. Knowing ourselves and our limits, our goals and values, the things we struggle with and the things we know we need to get better at are the keys to climbing to a better life. That’s enough food for me. That’s enough shopping for me. Enough gambling, enough alcohol, enough abuse, enough silence, enough pretending. We make a new deal with ourselves and take steps to live a life that is congruent with our true selves. And from there, the view is breath-taking!

Walking in the Sand

July 10, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Biking and Hiking Where the Wild Things Are

June 12, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

Our copy of Maurice Sendak’s classic picture book ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ is tattered and worn, the shiny gold Caldecott Medal sticker peeling along the circular edge. I would hate to guess how many times we read it. The story is about play, actions, feelings, imagination, and processing. (If you are unfamiliar with ‘Where the Wild Things Are,’ click here to see a YouTube reading of the book.)

These wild things in Max’s imagination are at the opposite end of the spectrum to the literally wild things in Nature. And before I go any further, I must give due respect to the multitude of places across the world that are much more ‘wild’ than here in Central Minnesota. Nonetheless, all it takes is a bike ride or a hike close to home to encounter the wild things.

We can cross the highway down the hill from our house and ride the twelve-mile bike trail to the west. Redwing blackbirds sing from their cattail podiums and frogs chortle in the wetland area strewn with Yellow Water Buttercups.

Farther down the trail, the Sauk River flows from the Chain of Lakes where the geese and the pelicans float. Beware–if you were a fish, he’d eat you up, he loves you so.

Down the ditch, across the busy highway, through trees and grass, I saw the strange walking movement of a family of Sandhill Cranes. These red-masked, five-foot-tall birds with a wingspan of nearly seven feet are formidable defenders of their young ones. They survey the world all around them for tasty frogs, snakes, insects, small mammals, and grains. Their distinctive trilling call draws your eyes skyward during spring and fall migration.

Last weekend we hiked through Rockville County Park to discover we are six baby eagles richer than we were a year ago. The family of five, with all their yellow eyes and terrible claws, sat peacefully in their lofty nest, watching as we walked around their prairie.

Golden Alexander, a member of the carrot family, is a host plant for Black Swallowtail caterpillars. It has a wild, beautiful scientific name–Zizia aurea–one that is meant to be proclaimed out loud! ZIZIA AUREA!

Be still and look at this beautiful little butterfly on the most common of all wildflowers.

The exuberant wildness of Prairie Smoke drifted in the breeze. The nodding pink-red flowers stand up and open up after pollination and has a seed at the base of each feathery plume.

The other eagle’s nest is on the edge of the forest, and the three young ones sat patiently waiting for their parents to return with supper.

As we walked through the forest towards the Sauk River, we saw ferns that grew and grew and grew until they were as tall as we were!

We saw a woodland plant that looked like Solomon’s Seal, but it had a different flower from the ones that hang from the underside of the arching stems. When we got home, I looked it up–it’s False Solomon’s Seal–I was both right and wrong.

We all possess the magic trick of staring into our own eyes, letting our imagination run wild, and believing it to be the truth. We become the king of our own wild imaginations. We like being in charge of the wild rumpus that ensues. But like Max, we eventually become lonely, and something from far away entices us to give up being king. Our ego cries, “Oh please don’t go.” But we say “No!” Amid the terrible roars and gnashing of teeth, we step into our true self and sail back to where Someone loves us best of all.

Gleanings from May–Birds and Blossoms

June 2, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

What a month is May! It’s a showcase of blossoms on trees, shrubs, and early blooming perennials. And while we have a great number of ‘winter’ birds that also stay around for the summer, we now see the birds that are passing through to their summer lands in Canada or those that nest and live in Minnesota for the warm season. May is the pleasant month of transformation when trees fully leaf out, exuberant growth occurs, sunshine begins to warm the lakes, and long, light evenings change the way we structure our activities. But back to the beginning of May–one of our maple trees was aglow with golden filaments of pompom-like flowers. Trees are heavily flowered (and thus seed producing) in different yearly intervals–some years it is difficult to notice any flowers at all, but this particular tree was spectacular this year!

What is Spring without Robins? The sight of Robins is the herald of the vernal season when we know that any traces of Winter will soon be gone. Whether perching on the water sprinkler during a rain shower or hopping in the grass and pulling out worms after the rain, the Robin is a common companion of May.

Northern Lights Azaleas, hardy deciduous shrubs developed at the University of Minnesota, allow us a small taste of the incredible beauty of azaleas in our northern climate. This is ‘Northern Hi-Lights,’ and while ours still struggle in our sandy soil, they do treat us to some amazing blossoms.

A couple of weeks ago the flower petals were falling off the apple tree. It was a super windy day, and I noticed a number of birds flying among the branches. With the zoom on the camera, I was able to identify the small flock of Cedar Waxwings–they were plucking the white flower petals and eating them!

One of the delightful additions to our garden is the Gas Plant. Tall spikes of orchid-looking flowers peek above the ferns that make a lovely background for the pink flower. Gas Plants grow in sun or shade–we have ours on the edge of the woods. They are hardy, drought-tolerant, and not picky about soil. They do not like to be moved once established, as they have a deep tap-root. The name is derived from the citrusy, flammable fumes the flowers give off–on a still day, you can hold a match by the flowers and see a poof of blue flame!

This little bird was flying in the woods before the leaves were fully out. I believe it to be a warbler of some kind, perhaps a Magnolia Warbler or a Yellow-rumped Warbler, both of which have their summer range in Canada.

Once we got the buckthorn cleared out from beneath the oaks in our woods, this woodland perennial appeared–Virginia Waterleaf. The leaves are mottled with what looks like water stains, and clusters of white to violet flowers rise above the leaves. As you can see, they are a favorite of the bumblebee at this time of year.

Eastern Kingbird’s scientific name is Tyrannus tyrannus, indicating his tyrannical traits of defending his territory. When defending the nest, he will aggressively attack hawks, crows and squirrels. He has a neat, suit-like appearance. The Kingbird has a crown of red, orange, or yellow feathers on its head that is usually concealed, but is raised when confronting an attacker. Both the male and female hunt for insects and feed the young for about seven weeks.

We don’t often think of evergreen trees flowering, but this is a pollen cone or male flower of the Red Pine tree. The pollen cones are most often found in the lower crown of the tree, while the small female flowers are in the middle to upper crown of the tree. Red Pine or Norway Pine is the state tree of Minnesota.

It was evening bath time for this little Bluebird! It’s so nice to have these birds in our yard, seeing them drop and dive for insects with a flash of blue color.

Birds and blossoms are the showcase of May. Spring bulbs, flowering shrubs and trees, and perennials become the houses and food for animals, birds, and insects as the yearly reproductive cycle of each creation happens before our eyes. We once again marvel at the transformation that occurs in this month as plants emerge from the ground, grow, and flower in such a short time! This Life Force of Nature is awe-inspiring! Do you see it? Do you notice and appreciate it? It is a privilege to be the observer, the caretaker, and the participant in this season of growth and beauty.

Walking Past Ginger, Jack, and May

May 26, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

When I was in college, there were two girls named Ginger who lived in my dorm. One Ginger was tall, dark-haired, and had a booming voice and personality. She walked with swag and tossed her head like a racehorse at the starting line. Wild Ginger majored in Physics or Engineering or something like that and would help guys with their homework, then go downtown and drink beer with them or anybody else who was up for it. She was colorful, energetic, and noticed. Quiet Ginger was also tall and smart, but I would say most people didn’t notice her. She didn’t talk much and just blended in with her surroundings. She seemed guarded, like something at one time had hurt her deeply, and so she hid herself for protection. But when you talked one-on-one with her, she was funny, strong, and very charming in her own way.

I think all flowers are cool. They are unique, intricate sculptures of petals, pistils, and stamens. Many are colorful, showy, fragrant, and well-known to most people. But there are a few Spring woodland flowers that one could easily walk past and not notice. I was on my hands and knees weeding around this small Wild Ginger plant on the hillside of our woods. Only after I had pulled some weeds away did I notice the small, dark red flower at the base of the plant! What a crazy, beautiful, strange flower!

So I walked up the hill to where we had a larger, more established colony of Wild Ginger and pushed the dried leaves away from the base of the plants, and there were the hidden flowers! Wild Ginger (Asarum canadense) is no relation to culinary ginger, though the Native Americans and later the settlers used the root as a seasoning and to treat colds and fever. This low-growing, shade-loving ground cover with heart-shaped leaves is deer resistant, does not go dormant in the summer, and is an important food source for the Pipevine Swallowtail Butterfly.

The flowers at the base of the plant attract small, pollinating flies that emerge from the ground in early spring. The flies crawl into the flower for protection and to feast on the pollen, which they carry with them to the next flower.

When the Wild Ginger seeds ripen, they have an oily appendage attached called an elaiosome, which attracts ants. The ants carry the seed to their homes, consume the ‘food’ and leave the seed to germinate. At least three different insects rely on the Wild Ginger plant with the quietly beautiful, hidden flower.

Another flower that is easy to walk past without noticing is the Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum.) Tubular, hooded flowers rise on their own stalks to the level of the large leaves that are divided into three leaflets.

The flowers are green with brown stripes that blend in with the surrounding woodland foliage. Jack-in-the-Pulpits are most noticeable in late summer when clusters of bright red berries form.

A third woodland flower that is easy to walk past is the Mayapple (Podophyllum peltatum.) Mayapples are unique in that they only have two leaves and one flower which grows in the axil of the leaves. Lovely umbrella-shaped leaves hide the pale yellow flower that later forms a yellow, edible fruit that can be used in jellies. Mayapples die back in mid-summer in dormancy until the following spring.

When we think of flowers, we most often bring to mind showy, colorful blossoms that attract attention and inspire awe. These three Spring woodland flowers are not easily seen when walking by, but all have beautiful and unique foliage that is to be appreciated. A closer look reveals the interesting, hidden flowers–a quiet splendor in the woodland world. Getting to know the hidden treasures–whether flower or human–is worth the extra time and effort. It will enrich your life with wonder and gratitude.

Journey into Nature and Parenthood

May 12, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our Spaceship Earth on Earth Day

April 22, 2016 by Denise Brake 1 Comment

Spaceship Earth is a term popularized in the 1960’s, particularly by architect-inventor-system theorist R. Buckminster Fuller when he wrote the book “Operating Manual for Spaceship Earth.” The inventor of the geodesic dome relates Earth to a spaceship that has finite resources that cannot be resupplied. He spent much of his life researching and developing designs and strategies to help us sustainably exist on Earth.

Another forward thinker Marshall McLuhan, who predicted the World Wide Web almost thirty years before it was invented, is quoted, “There are no passengers on spaceship earth. We are all crew.”

Last Sunday Chris and I checked on the eagle nests–yes, we have babies! One nest has three, fuzzy-feathered eaglets, and the other nest has at least one that I was able to see.

The bluebirds were nesting nearby, and a ground squirrel slunk through the grass trying not to be seen.

We then drove to St. John’s Arboretum and hiked the Boardwalk Loop through prairie, wetland, maple forest, oak savannah, and conifer forest. In a short 1.5 miles, it was a lesson in ecosystems and a glimpse into the diversity of animal and plant life in a tiny part of spaceship earth. A beaver lodge rose from a blue lake on one side of the road. There was a path through the cattails and up the bank for the beaver to get to the lake on the other side.

Red-winged blackbirds sang from their perches on cattails.

The delicious scent of the pine forest filled our noses with the smell of contentment.

We crossed the boardwalk over the wetland…

and saw geese, ducks, and a pair of Trumpeter swans.

Painted turtles sunned themselves in the warm spring sunshine.

Maple trees with red and lime green blossoms contrasted with the deep green of the pines.

The woodland trail through the tall maples still looked like late winter…

…until we saw the Spring Ephemerals! These early blooming flowers take advantage of the small window of sunshine between snow melt and when the trees have leafed out. They grow, flower, are pollinated, and produce seeds in a short period of time and often go dormant by summer. We found Spring Beauty…

…False Rue Anemone…

…and Hepatica bursting through the leaf cover.

Two short walks less than ten miles from one another, and we were blessed to see such an array of plant and animal life that was once again coming to life in the Minnesota Spring. In honor of all these amazing creations, I would like to urge everyone to take good care of our Spaceship Earth. We are all crew members with tasks to do and responsibilities to carry out, even if it’s only in our tiny part of this big, blue planet. Happy Earth Day!

Walking Through Winter

February 19, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Winter can be a tough season, but like last year, this winter has had minimal snowfall and relatively mild temperatures. This has allowed us to hike the trails of nearby parks with comparative ease. A couple of weeks ago we ventured out to Wildwood County Park for a morning hike. The park has three and a half miles of cross-country ski trails, but the only other people we saw were walking their dogs. The snow was slick and wet since temperatures hovered above the freezing mark. Deer and other animal tracks made their own paths through the woods, crossing the hiking and skiing trails with frequency. The woods were mainly old growth maples and oaks with ironwood as the predominant understory tree. The vertical lines in the bark of an ironwood contrasted with the horizontal lines in an adjacent birch tree.

We saw the ice-covered Kraemer Lake through the trees…

and bright blue sap lines from Wildwood Ranch that would soon be tapped into the towering maple trees to harvest the sap for making maple syrup.

We saw evidence of a very busy woodpecker–most likely a pileated–with his recent drillings.

The next weekend we went to Eagle Park and Rockville County Park to hike and check on the eagles. Small flocks of Canadian geese and Trumpeter swans flew over us as we walked the trail.

Then one of the eagles flew to their nest in the center of the park. Soon the mate glided in carrying a large stick to add to the already huge nest.

Both worked on getting the new branch in just the right place.

Later they hopped up to their perch above the nest and surveyed their territory. This pair didn’t raise any eaglets last year–I’m not sure if the eggs never hatched or if the young hatchlings died for some reason. But they are back this year, adding to their nest, getting ready for their next brood.

A mile or so away, the other nest of eagles who raised three eaglets last year, were also adding sticks to their nest in preparation for their next offspring.

Winter can be a tough season. Weather-wise, this winter has been fairly easy, but in other ways, it has been hard on me: losing a parent to death, losing children in the ways we do as they leave the nest and make their own paths, and losing a little piece of ourselves as each of those things happen. And so, step by step, I am walking through winter, hiking through the heartache, and letting Nature and the Creator work to fill up the holes that were drilled into my heart. I will pick up another branch and add it to the already huge nest of a life I have built. I will look forward to the new creations of Spring, and soon I will be able to tap into the sweetness that life also brings to each of us.

The Lost Forty

August 26, 2015 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

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.

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