The Beany Goodness of Campfire Coffee

Kayaking Lake Alice

A Blanding's turtle smiling at us right by our camp site.

A Blanding's turtle coming.



A Blanding's turtle going.

I love camping because it immerses me in nature.  Is it a pain to get up out of a sleeping bag at 4 a.m. and hike down a dark path to a smelly outhouse?  Yes, it is.  But the stars you see in the sky walking back to the tent are so numerous and so marvelous that you think it might be worth the hassle.  Do I sleep better on my mattress with individually wrapped coils and a memory foam top instead of this cot with side rails so unforgiving I had to sleep with straight legs all night?  Yes, I do.  But because I slept on the cot with hard side rails I learned that the tree frogs stop talking about 4 a.m. so I can better hear the spring peepers and the numerous green frogs who were also out there in the wetland.  I heard Virginia rail and sora rail calling from the same swamp.  Some how I assumed the two rails wouldn't mingle in the same swamp but I was wrong about that.  I heard turkeys gobbling in the night.  I heard trumpeter swans trumpeting and sand hill cranes bugling.  I saw a pair of red squirrels chasing each other up one tree and down another.  They ran lickety split across the forest network of branches across a road and down a path.  Another campsite has three customers and they don't use a traditional tent or RV. These campers attach ropes to trees and sleep in hammocks with covers that shed the rain.  I can see the outline of their hips and shoulders as they slumber. The squirrels run across the ropes and across the tops of the hammocks.  Do the sleepers realize the action?  What is the sensation of sleeping in a hammock and to be awakened by a red squirrel running across the top of you?  These squirrels had amazing coordination and acrobatic skill.  And I wondered what was the motivation behind this display of squirrel physical prowess?  Was it play, aggression, joy or fear?  Do squirrels even define their feelings?  I don't know but if I wasn't camping, I would not have stopped long enough to look up and notice.  I kayaked around Lake Alice.  The weeds were thick and showing red flowers above the water.  I saw painted turtles sunning themselves on stumps.  I saw a beaver lodge and was so busy looking at that I didn't notice the green heron standing there until it got scared and flew off while loudly complaining.  While in this campground privacy is limited.  You can see other people as they fix their food, brush their teeth, and organize their stuff.  One Hispanic family had sing a longs in the evening.  Another family had a father who played the ukulele.  Little kids enjoyed biking on the tar paths around the campground.  These kids probably don't have the freedom to bike by themselves like this at home. I think it's cool to see a kid doing wheelies on a bike with 10 inch tires while wearing a Ninja turtle bike helmet.  Some kids played catch with a football.  We watched one kid rub spit onto the football before throwing it back and we were glad we weren't playing catch with him.  One 4 year old boy had large mud boots on that were higher than his knees.  He was kicking water in a puddle at the side of the road and I know for a fact he had water in those boots.  But he was having a good time and that seemed to be the key factor.  People were having fun.  Making a meal takes 3 times as long as it does at home but it's fun.  Putting dirty dishes into a dishwasher is so much easier than heating up water that you carried from a well on a stove or over the file and washing dishes by hand.  We put the clean dishes on the old wooden picnic table as is that clean?  No, that table is definitely not clean.  But we were camping so it's all good. The food that is cooked over an open fire tastes so much better than food cooked in a microwave.  Cook some broccoli in tin foil with olive oil and salt and pepper long enough so it is crispy and brown?  Simply delicious!  Gourmet broccoli! Vidalia onions cooked in butter?  Awesome!  I figured out a way to make camp fire coffee without the mess of a french press.  I use a 2 inch silicone metal strainer to hold the coffee filter and the coffee over a cup and pour hot water through the top.  Yes, a Mister Coffee is quicker and I can walk away from it but camping coffee is more delicious because I can sit in my camp chair and focus on the beany goodness. I can be mindful. I can focus on the task of making coffee and let all the world problems go.  No cares.  No worries.  Coffee is all I think about. As we wash dishes some campers take the path by our camp site.  They see a turtle. We go to look and see a Blanding's turtle in the grass next to the path.  This one looks to be about 5 years old.  The shell has a high dome and a beautiful sheen.  The yellow chin is cheerful and bright.  This turtle doesn't reproduce as early as other turtles.  Many terrible things can happen to a turtle before it reaches the age of sexual maturity which is twelve.  We are lucky to see this rare turtle.  How convenient for us the turtle chose to stroll by while we were there!

Camping

Here is a picture of one tough dude kayaking on Lake Alice.  Later, I kayaked the length of William O'Brien State Park against the current, stopped at a sand bar/creek entrance at the northern most border of the park, switched places, and let him ride the current back to the boat landing area.  While I struggled against the current, he kept pace with me walking on the lovely path along the river shadowed by tall white pines.  That was hard. I was tired.  For me it was like pushing a kid's bike up a hill and letting them ride the bike down the hill (which is something I once did for my neighbor friend Patty and still remember to this day). I had to walk as fast as I could to keep up with him  while he floated south.  Lest you think I'm some kind of saint, eternally giving and putting other people's needs ahead of my own, a sort of Minnesotan Saint Terese, I should tell you that 1. he's 13, 2. he got braces put on his teeth this week and 3. he has a broken wrist and is wearing a plastic bag over his bright orange cast. On the other hand, I did the same trek against current on Sunday and let him float back.  Twice.  Twice I did that.  So, if you want to think of me as a Saint, yeah go ahead.  I'm down with that.  To be honest, it does give me a good feeling to know I helped made a boy's weekend a happy one.

Here he is waiting for me among the white pines while I paddle, paddle, paddle.  I lost ten feet just stopping to take this picture.

We also went on a hike which includes this passage under the railroad tracks.

A boy loves his dog.  I got two wood ticks on this hike and they both bit me behind the knee.  I pulled them off, looked them in the eye and said, "Do you want a piece of me?"  Actually, they had a piece of me in their little mouths.  I stored them in the Sunday morning compartment of my pill container. When I got home I strung a piece of duct tape in my kitchen and taped both wood ticks to it.  I call it my ticker tape.  If I get any rashes of symptoms of Lyme's disease, these ticks might come in handy.

On March 7

Weather forecast for tonight? Thunderstorms.  Tomorrow?  Thunderstorms.  Sunday?  Scattered Thunderstorms.  Monday?  Sunshine.  Well, back on March 7th it seemed like tent camping on Memorial Weekend would be a good idea.

On Looking: Eleven Walks with Expert Eyes

Personally I enjoyed Alexandra Horowitz's book On Looking: Eleven Walks with Expert Eyes.  She lives in New York City and goes on walks with her toddler son, her dog, a physical therapist, a wildlife biologist, a sign-maker, a geologist, a person with blindness, a sound engineer, and an etymologist.  Every time she walks the same block but has a different journey.  The things she has learned from the previous walks influences what she observes on the subsequent walks.  She is a curious person.  I especially enjoyed the observations of the physical therapist, the geologist, and the sound engineer. 

Birds!

Last night I stopped to monitor the water of the Rum River on the Pleasant Avenue bridge.  I park on the east side of the river and have to walk more than halfway across because, for some reason, the water on the west side flows strongly south while the water on the east side seems to flow north.  As I walked across the bridge I admired a good number of barn swallows swirling around.  Some kind of insect must be hatching this week on the river. I crossed the river on my motorcycle twice on Tuesday and both times I was glad to have a full face helmet.  There was a swarm of bugs above the river.  When I dropped my empty bucket over the side of the bridge and huge flock of barn swallows flew up and circled the sky in front of me.  I had to stop what I was doing to admire this barn swallows.  Or should I call them bridge swallows?  They were blue on top with white chests, some orange on their faces and forked tails.  Their flight seems synchronized.  No bird was too close to the next bird and they flew in uniform swirling patterns.  It could be the barn swallows made made their mud nests under this bridge and the sight of a red plastic bucket flying by disturbed them.  The birds seemed to settle back down and I got down to the business of collecting water, measuring the turbidity, the temperature and making subjective judgements about the beauty and recreational suitability.  I hate to linger too long on the bridge. I've had a handful of people I know say, "I saw you on the bridge last night, what were you doing?"  Once, when monitoring the river in the pouring rain I never heard the Anoka police officer stop his car, get out, approach me and say (with an overly dramatic amount of emphasis is his voice,) "What the hell are you doing?"  So I tried to hurry yet appreciate the flock of swallows dancing in the sky for my benefit.  I like birds so I enjoyed the spectacle. If I didn't like birds, the moment could have been like the Hitchcock move, "The Birds."

A Park Above The Rest

On Saturday I went on a hike to a park above the rest with my Master Naturalist group.  One leader was a retired conservation biology prof from Winona State University.  She met us at the history museum and was quite a challenging instructor.  She told us what to think and asked us questions in what I thought was an aggressive manner.  She took us through this park just above Highway 61.  Some of it used to be oak savannah.  She wanted us to be able to tell that from the architecture of the oak branches.  If the branches had wide spread arms, they grew up on a savannah.  If they had upward, raised arms, they grew up in a forest.  She said DNA tests can test the age of a tree.  Where a tree may be 200 years old, the roots of the tree can be more than 400 years old.

This oak with wide spread arms was in an oak savannah.

Wild geranium, she says, but she's not interested in wild geranium.  She wants us to know the story behind the forest we see.  Here the undergrowth is lush and green.  Farther along the path there is no green understory.  Earthworms have invaded and you can actually see the dividing line between earthworm invasion and no earth worm invasion.

"Look up!" she commands, "What does the forest tell you?  Is that a black oak or a red oak?"  I don't know.  I never even heard of black oak before.  My eyes are on the path so I don't fall down this freaking hill.  Our instructor explains that every year the spring in this area leaves the ground at a higher elevation.  She instructs us to walk through the brush to find the source of the spring. I wait on the path.  I'm not walking through that brush on the steep hill.  A couple people slip and fall on the hill and the spring is higher than she thought.  "It's taking too long.  Come back down1" she shouts.  I remain glad I didn't attempt it.

Here is the dividing area between earth worm invasion and no earthworm invasion.

 

Later we head to Gavin Heights Park.  This professor has spent massive amounts of time and energy cleaning up this bluff, this goat prairie.  And why do they call it a goat prairie?  I've asked many master naturalist this same question and the only answer we came up with is that only a goat could live on this prairie without falling off.  She organized  the removal of 11 dump truck loads of trash.  She helped make 287 steps by hand.  They had to use ropes to lower the wheel barrows. This park means very much to her.  The view of the city from here is amazing.  Yellow locust trees stand out from the other trees.  From here we can see the dam above the city and the wing dams put in to slow the water down and keep the water cleaner.  We can see a spot where frack sand is being prepared.  A cloud of dust marks the spot.  The professor says that dust is carcinogenic as calmly as someone else would say that milk is cold.  It is so cool to be up here with someone who knows this city..  She knows the dams, the industry, about the water treatment, the churches, the manufacturing, the pollution, and the ecology. I feel extremely lucky to be here with her even though she is a challenging personality.

Winona is a lovely city. You can rent kayaks and paddle on Lake Winona for a very small price.  I could easily spend a week here and enjoy every minute.

See the yellow locust trees stand out?  The view is great but my joints are killing me from the canoeing this morning. I'm glad I have my trekking poles but to tell the truth, I am exhausted.  We ride the school bus back to the conference.  Why am I always on the field trips that arrive back late?  I look forward to dinner.  When I arrive at the convention I head up to the area where we will eat.  Wine is for sale.  A handsome man offers to buy me a glass of wine!  I argue until someone tells me to smile and say thank you.  I smile and say thank you.  Suddenly all joint pains have disappeared and I am feeling great again.

No Hope

Dang.  I hoped to get by one season, just one summer season, without contracting a poison ivy rash.  Here it is May 25 that hope is dashed, dashed I say, dashed to pieces with an eruption on my left shin.  Itch?  Why, yes, it does itch.  It itches with a capital I.  Since it erupted today I figure I contracted the poison ivy oil this weekend and not last night when I was mowing.  I even wore long pants when I went on a hike on a bluff.  And they weren't that attractive of pants. That is the sacrifice I made - my appearance - to avoid this itchy sensation.  Well, what can you do?  I bought some benadryl cream to alternate with hydro-cortisone cream.  Oh, man. the price I pay to enjoy nature is an itchy price.

Snapping Turtle Karma

Today I had a most amazing day.  I slept great.  Heavy rains acted as my lullaby.  I woke up refreshed.  This bird was singing a song I hadn't heard before. I listened carefully.  From what I could tell it sounded like the bird was saying, "Cheese!  Macaroni and cheese.  Want Cheese!  Macaroni and Cheese!"  What kind of bird was it?  I couldn't find it when I looked.  I am determined to find out. In the meantime I will think of it as the Kraft thrasher.  I went to work until only 10 o'clock.  A friend of mine had plans.  She met me at my house with a borrowed pick up truck.  We loaded the back of her truck with pieces of a metal shed that Offspring #1 had neatly dismantled and broke into manageable pieces.  On top of that we secured a box spring and mattress.  We tied everything down and proceeded. On my road a snapping turtle was just starting to cross the road from the south to the north.  There is a nearby pond on the golf course and we figured that is where it was headed.  The back of the turtle was thick with algae, weeds, and slime.  It sat on the pavement waiting.  We stopped to help.  My friend suggested picking it up by the tail.  I suggested we just cheer lead  it across.  I touched it the shell with my foot.  No response from the snapper.  I touched it again.  No response.  Another truck passed.  We stood to protect the turtle.  As soon as that truck passed I touched the turtle again and it rose up to a surprisingly tall posture and proceeded across the road.  We collected our good karma and proceeded to Green Lights recycling center to get rid of the mattress and box spring. I saved a lot of money by doing this and also the materials will be recycled instead of put into a landfill.  I can feel good about that.  My friend got a job tip for her daughter while we were there.  We stopped at the Anoka Co-op to pick up some kombucha and proceeded to Alter Recycling.  Alter used to be known as Schwartzmanns and I have been curious about their junk yard for about a quarter of a century.  We got to drive the pick up onto the scale.  We came out to be 5560 pounds.  Once inside the yard we proceeded to Pile A and off loaded the pieces of metal shed.  You have no idea how much fun it was to fling 4 feet pieces of metal shed into the air onto another pile of metal.  It was as much fun as breaking plates. There is a part of my personality that really enjoys destruction. I would pay money to have this experience of throwing metal.  "Cowabunga" was shouted.  We weighed on the scale again. We were 5380 pounds.  I expected to get about $20 but was given only $8.  No matter.  The materials were recycled and we had fun.  Next thing on our agenda was a motorcycle ride.  We met at a Superamerica station to buy gas and add air in our tires.  We were both low on air in the tires.  We went for a ride.  Unfortunately my friend's bike broke down north and east of  Saint Francis.  We called for help.  In the meantime we walked into a nearby yard to ask if we could park the bike on their property for now.  The first yard we walked into had a gravel driveway.  They also had security cameras.  I waved in a manner that I hope conveyed total innocence and good will.  They had 5 bird feeders with feed in them so I thought that was a good sign.  People who feed birds can be nice.  A security system beeped at us as we approached the front door.  We knocked.  What do they have inside that warrants all this security? No one answered.  We waited a minute and decided to leave. As we walked away we noticed that in a porch swing by the garage door was a mannequin of a man seated on the swing.  Holy cow, that was weird.  How did I not see that when we walked up?  I waved in a friendly manner at the two security cameras as we left that yard.  As we returned to our bikes we saw a man across the street working in his yard.  We walked that way.  His overweight black and white polka dot dog greeted us.  This man was named Daryl.  He didn't mind a motorcycle parked in his driveway.  In fact, he helped push the bike forward onto the concrete so we didn't have to leave it in the gravel or the grass.  Daryl was a super nice guy and it was a pleasure to meet him. Daryl told us, "Everybody has troubles some times."  Wise man this Daryl.  My friend got a ride home and I rode my bike home.  What a great day. My garage is emptier.  My driveway is clearer. I mowed so the lawn looks nicer.  Today was just one of those days where every moment seemed to be a piece of heaven on earth. 

Canoe Trip On The Mississippi River

A group of master nasturalists joined Ranger Ed of the US Fish and Wildlife Service on a canoe trip north of the dam I was near the day before.  We start off at a landing in Minnesota City. I got into a canoe with two old master naturalist friends that I have known for years.  I'm not saying they are old but that I have known them a long time.  I got the front seat which is nice because I can just paddle on the side I prefer and not have to worry about steering.  We paddled 11.2 miles and half of that was against the current.  We had a beautiful day on the river.  I'm glad I had my long sleeved shirt and sun hat.  This morning I had to use all my restraint not to yell "Pheasant."  All restraint was gone.  So whenever I heard a sora rail whinny like a horse I couldn't help saying, "Sora!"  I think I said it at least 12 times.  There were a lot of sora rails out there in the backwaters of the Mississippi.  Down there the river is braided between the main channel, islands, wing dams, and sand bars.

You can't really tell from this photo but ahead the bluffs look corrugated like a half of a coffee filter.  The scenery is so beautiful and so unlike what I normally see that I think I might want to retire and settle down in the bluff area some day.

Our ranger tells us about wild celery, a river plant that looks light light green spaghetti in the current.  Trumpeter swans, he says, love arrowhead and will eat a gallon of arrowhead a day. We learn about invasive water plants.  Ranger Ed says volunteers help him map the canoe routes each year because the river always changes.  Sand bars appear and disappear.  Islands come and go.  We see birds standing in the river.  Are they great blue heron?  No,  they are sand hill cranes standing on a sand bar which we later get stuck on.  Time spent looking through binoculars is time not spent paddling.  Man, this canoeing is hard work after a couple hours.  My knees and ankles are complaining loudly.  I change positions frequently.  At one point I dangle my feet in the water on both sides of the canoe which is totally not a lady-like position but hey, I'm old, I'm sore, I have arthritis. Look away if you don't like it.  I sure hope I am able to get out of this canoe when we get to the end.  The lady who had to be lifted onto the pontoon boat yesterday isn't complaining so I don't complain either.  Actually the muscles in my back and shoulders feel better with the exercise.  When the water is shallow and fast I have to paddle as hard as I can to keep us moving forward. Lucky for me I have a paddling partner who is a steady paddler like me.  Paddlers who paddle like mad and then take long breaks are harder to paddle with.  Ranger Ed asks how we are doing. Do we want to go another hour to see a geologic formation or head back to the landing now and be done in 15 minutes?  My lower joints are screaming.  While I try to formulate a less emphatic answer in my mind, another paddler mentions that we have another field trip this afternoon.  So we decide to go back sooner. Mentally I thank that person who responded.  Going back sooner is still a hell of a lot of work!  Ranger Ed says it's impossible to get lost out here. He's wrong about that.  I don't even know what side of the river I'm on.  Turns out I'm on the Wisconsin side.  No wonder it's so much work to get back to the landing.

Although it is painful to stand up and get out of the canoe I do manage to get out.  I'm no help pulling the canoe  up though and someone even has to hand me my water bottle.  My ankles, feet, knees and hips are screaming in protest. Ankles hurt too? That is a new one.  I wonder why my shoulders, back and rear end are silent.  Ranger Ed ends out trip by playing a tune on his flute while I stretch my back and complete yoga moves.  I have to do something to make it up the big hill and 25 steps to the school bus that waits for us.  This morning was a challenge for me physically and that is a good thing.  The company was great and the scenery was great.  I learned a lot.  I'm glad I went.  Plus this adds 11.2 miles to my 125 mile bike, boot, or boat challenge for the Minnesota State Parks challenge.  Am I including the .2 miles?  You are damn right I am!

Reunion

At the Master Naturalist convention I met a bunch of old friends.  We start waving at each other half a block away.  I missed the convention last year and am so glad to see everyone again and catch up on their adventures.  Even though I connect with these people only once a year our bond is strong. We listened to a talk about monarchs and gathered outside around a camp fire to enjoy wine, beer, and s'mores.  I slept in the freshman dorm at Saint Mary's University but did not sleep all that well.  I was up early and decided to go on the bird hike.  The leader of the bird hike was the instructor on my prairie and potholes class.  So I know him and he knows me.  I want to behave appropriately. Some of the people there were novices so we had to spend time on using the binoculars correctly and house sparrows.  Actually, we didn't see too much.  I was hoping for a warbler or six warblers but we did get chimney swifts, blue jays, robins, house sparrows, goldfinches, red bellied woodpeckers, downy woodpeckers, hairy wood peckers and one sand hill crane.  As we walked I heard a pheasant.  Dang!  Must restrain myself from shouting, "PHEASANT!" That is what we do in my family. The first one to say "Pheasant" wins some imaginary but important status. I want to say pheasant.  I am compelled to say pheasant.  But with this small group of people who barely know each other, shouting pheasant does not seem like a cool thing to do. The pheasant called again.  Grrrrr!  Three times the cock crowed and I am fuming.  After the fourth pheasant called my eyes were bugging out.  Five times the $1!X* pheasant called.  For God's sake!  Again the pheasant calls!  I restrain myself from holding my hands over my ears and moaning.  This is simply ridiculous.  This is starting to feel personal. I am dying here and no one else comments or seems to notice the pheasant.  How much can I take?  The (insert oath here) pheasant calls for the seventh time. I certainly can not say "Pheasant" now because if I did it would come out in a bloody scream.  Showing restraint has kept too much emotion within and I won't be able to moderate my tone. With my teeth held tightly together my concentration focused I wait and listen. Sure as shooting the pheasant calls again.  Eight times I heard a pheasant and didn't say "Pheasant."  Our bird hike leader says it's time for breakfast. I turn quickly and march back to the student hall where breakfast is served.  As I walk, I talk loudly and aimlessly to another woman with me so that I won't be able to hear if the pheasant calls again.  I talk about quick dry fabric.  Who really cares about quick dry fabric?  Right now, at this time, quick dry fabric is super important to me because it will keep my mind off the pheasant.  We walk quickly up a big hill and I am out of breath but I keep talking until we are out of range of hearing the this very talkative bird again.  I can't wait to get inside where I will be out of hearing of any ring necked pheasants.

Minnesotan Fish Migrates 400 Miles?

As I suspected I totes enjoyed my pontoon ride with the professor from Saint Mary's University who studies fishes of the Mississippi River near Winona.  Here the prof, a grad student and two volunteers pull in a gill net with holes 6x6 inches.  We didn't collect any fish in this gill net just below the dam in Winona near Prairie Island.  See the bluffs in the background? Those are Wisconsin bluffs.  The day was perfect and we got very warm wearing our life vests.

The smaller gill net caught some fish including this sturgeon. I really wanted to see a sturgeon; a fish from the dinosaur days with thick bumpy flesh. My wish was granted and I got to touch it too.  This one is 2 or 3 years old. 

Such a beauty. We watched as it was placed in a cradle and a micro chip (similar to the ones put into dogs and cats) was inserted under it's thick skin.  Some fish micro-chipped in Winona have been found 400 miles to the north in the tributaries of the Saint Croix river.  I knew birds migrated.  And I knew salmon migrated. I guess I didn't realize Minnesota fish migrate that far.

That sturgeon was a beauty from any angle.

The gar was also a beauty with a shark like appearance.  The gar is a cousin to the sturgeon but less prehistoric.  The skin on the gar was smooth and velvety compared to the thick leathery skin of the sturgeon.

This is a bowfish.  I remember catching one and was told it was a dog fish. With either name it has a face only a mother could love. And what about that big white tongue?  OMG.!  We were having a heck of a good time on the pontoon on the river. We trapped some carp and a red horse too.  Once, one of the fish escaped the arms of the prof and landed in the lap of a woman across the pontoon from me.  I would have screamed louder than she did!  Another woman was embarrassed because she needed so much assistance to get on and off the boat.  Three men basically lifted her down.  While she was embarrassed, the rest of us on the boat admired her gumption and the fact that she even wanted to come given her problems with her knees.

In the smallest net we got some perch, a northern pike with sharp teeth that cut the finger of the guy handling all these fish, a painted turtle and two map turtles.  This lines on the shell resemble a topographic map.  The yellow eyebrow distinguishes it from the other map turtles but I don't know which of the 3 map turtles this is.  What a great day on the pontoon with people excited to be there; exited to see the fish; excited to be on the Mississippi River, and enjoying the enthusiasm of the conservation biology professor, the prof of philosophy who was piloting our boat, and the fishery grad student.  The city of Winona owns a campground right here. In September a blue grass music festival is held in front of the city campground.  Some concert goers are on land and others are in canoes.  Some performers prefer to play on a sandbar.  I want to come back to this spot and go camping.

Boat Load

Today I am excited to go on a little educational trip on the Mississippi River near Winona.  I'll be traveling with the fishery division of the DNR and learning about the fish. I'm all set.  We'll be on a pontoon.  Sunhat? Check.  Quick dry pants?  Check.  Sweater in case it's cold?  Check. Keen sandals? Check.  Bright orange dry pack?  Check.  Anticipatory happiness?  Boat loads of that.

Oh, Man!

After work I stopped off to complete several errands and go to the gym.  Now I am home.  The car is parked and I can relax and start packing for the weekend.  Before supper I floss my teeth and dang, out of floss?  Seriously?  And shoot, I'm going out of town for the weekend and have no time to pick up more floss unless I make a special trip.  Shoot.  Can I live without floss?  No, probably I cannot live without floss.  I'm in a healthy habit of flossing daily.  That is a good habit and worth keeping. Since I am car pooling with two other women for the weekend, I don't want to ask them to stop so I can get floss.  Surely we will have to stop at a gas station along the way where I could buy some floss.  No, I need to get floss.  And shoot, I had just been out completing errands. I really don't want to leave the house again just for freaking floss.   But, wait, oh, ho, here is an idea.  Picture light bulb hovering above my head.  You could use your motorcycle to go and get floss (and Dove chocolate and double A batteries which you also need).  Now THAT is a good idea.  Beautiful spring evening.  Sun is shining,  Temperature is warm.  Lilacs and honeysuckle perfume the air. A 15 mile round trip on Highway 47 on the motorcycle sounds more like pleasure than an errand.  The motorcycle runs fine (even though I changed the oil myself and have less than adequate confidence in my own oil changing abilities).  I feel younger on the bike. With the right mode of transportation, an errand is transformed into an pleasurable adventure.  Floss.  Needed.  Procured.  Buying enjoyed.   Life is made of moments like this. 

Walk

Walking.  We do it without thinking. We walk to get from one place to another.  I think about walking because my granddaughter is on the very edge of the important transition from crawling to walking.  She is almost there. Standing at the end table and with me holding out an old "Happy Meal" plastic Linus just out of her reach, she took one step without hanging on, sank to the floor and cried.  Does that count as walking?  I don't think that really counts.  She can balance on her feet without hanging on for several seconds.  She can squat with her feet flat on the floor without tipping over.  If she really wants to get something, she will sink the floor and crawl over to it.  If her first birthday party dress is too long and gets in the way of crawling, she solves that issue by crawling on her hands and feet instead of her knees.  Not the most flattering view for those she is crawling away from. Once she starts walking on two feet she will continue until, hopefully, the last week of her life, if she's lucky.  But she's not ready yet.  Developmentally she is not ready yet.  She'll be ready when she is ready.  And when she is ready, nerve connections and synapses will create muscle memory and she will walk on without having to think about it.  The shape of her pudgy little feet and legs will change.  The muscles and tendons supporting her bones will become more prominent with use.  The skin on the soles of her feet will get thicker, her ankles will slim down and her tiny little femurs will harden and grow stronger.  Walking will change her.  First she will walk in Italy and then perhaps all around Europe before walking in Minnesota again.  Where will she walk in her life time?  To the top of Mount Everest?  The length of the Appalachian trail?  Downtown Casablanca?  Around the south pole?  I don't know where all she will walk but I know walking will change her.  And I know that I am the lucky one to see her and love her while she is at the cusp between crawling and walking.

Golden Age

Ask me.  Go ahead and ask me. Did I like reading Golden Age by Jane Smiley; the third in a trilogy of the Langdon family from 1920 to 2020?  No, I didn't like it.  I loved it.  I came to the end in trepidation like a good weekend coming to Sunday night at 9 p.m. or the last piece of a really great pizza.  I'm so lonely without reading about the Langdons.  This book was from 1987 to 2020. Excellent book.  There was drama, politics, farm economy, intrigue, family dynamics so strong that as I read the book I said aloud, "I can't believe this is happening!"    Obviously I didn't expect Richie and Michael Langdon to act the way they acted.  Smiley's interpretation of history is very interesting.  When she writes about the 2016 election results coming in late because of a close vote, for a minute I forget this is fiction and no one knows who the next president will be. She obviously hates Monsanto's corporate policies and the way it has pressured people to use glycophate.  Incidentally I read on the news that we are finding glycophate (Round Up) in food products now.  So for a few years glycophate using farmers got better yields because of the weed reduction but now weeds have grown to be resistant to it and we have more weeds plus more cancers too.  Her book details the death of the family farm and it was very sad to read how the Langdon farm ended up in foreclosure and part of a corporate farm.  Sad yet real because these kinds of things are happening all around the Midwest.  Global warming, weather disruptions, fires on the plains in Canada; Smiley is correct when she writes about these events.  I suspect someday this trilogy will be part of the classic American literature and I look forward to the day I find a book as entertaining as these three books have been.

2016 Marsh Bird Survey

Offspring #1 asks me why I'm participating in the 2016 Marsh bird survey for Audubon, Minnesota.  As I tell him, "I like the challenge and the learning. It's actually a compliment to  be asked to participate," I think to myself who am I convincing because my explanation falls short.  Participating in the marsh bird survey is something that I 1. was honored to be asked and 2. glad I had a sibling who wanted to do it with me.  So on Sunday we did it.  I spent hours studying the sounds of these elusive birds.  I spent a couple hours inputting the gps coordinates in an old Garmin GPS device.  I also spent hours studying the maps which weren't that easy to read.  We had to devise our own routes based on what we thought was the most efficient way to join 9 separate marshes.  I decided we'd create a letter s on the map starting north of Crown, Minnesota, heading south west, then east, then south again and west again.  We took the coordinates and found our 9 spots.  Some were easy to remember.  A dead end road is easy to remember.  A cell phone tower road is easy to remember.  County Road 4 between Zimmerman and Isanti is a very busy road and we have 3 stops on that road.  Sitting on the side of the road is nerve wracking.  I guess I wouldn't be so nervous if I didn't see tire tracks in the grass where I am seated. We mark our spots with deck screws and white curly ribbon so we can find them again.  We see a sand hill crane walking around in the marsh and we hope it is still there when we come back. We hear frogs.  Trained on frog sound we can't help but identify the sounds. Frog sounds are almost as instinctual as pheasants.  We head south and what do we see on the telephone wire? A black bird with a white back of the neck?  Could it be a bob-o-link?  It is a bob-o-link!  What a treasure to see!  Right there this effort has been worth it.  The last 4 spots of the 9 assigned are quieter and will be easier to visit without getting run over.  On the way to the 8th spot I witness a round cement silo topped with a white round room.  Who lives there? Rapunzel?  The 8th spot is a little awkward because we are directly across from a small house which a tiny front yard.  The occupants are seated in the garage and eye us closely.  A woman wears a navy blue tank top.  I'm barely warm in my hooded sweatshirt.  And not that navy blue tank tops are worn only by a certain type of dangerous woman, we are nervous.  We decide to approach this marsh from another gps coordinate.  After all, we'll be playing an eleven minute tape playing the sounds of marsh birds at 80 to 90 decibels right by their house.  I wouldn't appreciate it if it was at my house. And with an eleven minute tape, if they did call the sheriff, the sheriff would have time to get to us before the time was up. We decide to run the route Sunday night.  We start at 8 o'clock which is about a half hour before sunset.  A pheasant calls.  "Pheasant!" we shout in unison.  In our family, it is a tradition to shout pheasant when you hear a pheasant and the first one to shout it "wins."  Another pheasant crows.  "Pphheeaassaanntt!?"  It's a tie.  I'm a little slow at first but I catch on and become quicker and shouting pheasant.  At one stop we hear a sora rail make a whinny sound.  Awesome!  Data worth taking now. We also hear a Wilson's snipe winnowing to the west.  Another snipe winnows to the east.  They take turns winnowing.  We take down that data too.  At the third spot we hear a woodcock peenting.Now that I've taken the woodcock class at the Eastman Nature Center I know the drill.  We're going to hear between 4 and 100 peents before it rises up into the air to do the sky mating dance.  We hear the woodcock turning around in circles as it peents.  Some peents sound closer because the bird is faced toward us.  We should focus on the marsh ahead of us but we turn and look backward over the road because that is where the woodcock is peenting.  I hear the sound of the wind whistling through the wood cock's tail feathers.  I don't see the woodcock zig zagging down but my sibling does so that was cool.  At the seventh spot we hear another whinny but this time it's a horse and not a sora.  Yes, I can tell the difference between a horse and bird.  It's dark!  We can't see. Cut me some slack. At the last stop we hear a sora call.  I can't wait until the part of the sound clip comes when the sora calls out. The tape plays the sora call.  I say out loud "Answer now."  The sora listens and follows my request and whinny's in response!  Hilarious!  I have control of the marsh!  A sand hill crane trumpets in the distance giving the perfect ending to this survey? Yes, I could have gone to bed at 9 instead of at midnight. Yes, it's true I could have relaxed instead of checking my body for wood ticks.  I might have watched something boring on television. Instead I was outside listening to birds and frogs and marsh birds and horses; figuring out gps points, looking for white curly ribbon drilled into the ground, hoping wood ticks weren't finding me irresistible, taking data for secretive marsh birds.  Who knows how marsh birds are doing with global warming and ecological fragmentation? No one, until now, that I wrote down I heard soras calling and Wilson's snipe and sand hill cranes.  I'm helping, in some small way on the border between Anoka County and Isanti County, preserving our ecology.  Like a Swiss watch, we will never know the importance of each tiny element until it is gone. 

Cruise

This little one and her parents and I traveled to Taylor's Falls to take a paddleboat cruise down to the Franconia landing and back.  I bought a bucket of popcorn with the tickets.  Turns out this little girl loves popcorn! Here she is having her first taste.

The water runs fast and furious in the spring.

Hiking around the glacial pothole area is fun.

Saint Croix is French for holy cross.  I agree this is a holy spot.  The cross in the rock is debatable.   If you are looking for it and want to see it, it's there.  Other things in the rock that were pointed out were the face of George Washington, a lion, an elephant and the face of a native American woman.

Babies

Having spent the last 4 days with a baby, the thing about babies is they don't know the rules of the world.  Or they don't completely understand the rules of the world.  The rule of gravity, for instance, is pretty constant and my grand baby gets it to some extent.  She won't dive head first off the steps for instance. If she happens to reposition herself in a position that defies gravity, you had better be there.  She is on the very brink between ambulatory and crawling.  She stands and balances for several seconds as long as she doesn't think about it.  Cute dresses are handicaps to crawling so she improvises with a crawl/four legged trot.  The rule of ownership does not apply.  Personal boundaries? Smersonal smoundaries!  A hand goes down into your shirt and a foot goes down your waistband into your jeans.  She brings up things from between the couch cushions that are better left down there.  She opens drawers and enjoys emptying them and depositing every content on the floor. You end up seeing stuff you have not looked at in ten or more years.  You give her something to eat. She mouths it and offers it back to you drenched in her saliva.  You buy popcorn to eat on the cruise on the Taylors Falls Princess and she expects to share equally.  Never having popcorn before she grabs a handful like an adult and tries to cram it all into her mouth at once - just like I do.  Seeing the world through the eyes of a child is invigorating and challenging and eye opening.  I feel younger. I feel older. I am energized.  I am exhausted.  The muscles in my arms are stronger. The muscles in my heart are stronger too. 

Here we are on the floor admiring the canary.  It's not often I see the bird from this angle.

 

Which One You Choose Says Much About You

Today is the day I present new books to my book club.  I will present six books and they choose one.  This time I decided to have a theme of all banned books.  For some reason we got on the topic of banned books last month and that triggered this idea.  Which one will they choose?  Which one would you choose? 

“Some children were lucky enough to have their Potter novels banned by witch-hunting school boards and micromanaging ministers. Is there any greater job than a book you're not allowed to read, a book you could go to hell for reading?” –Ann Patchett

Here are the options I am presenting - Lord of the Flies, by William Golding, The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger,  The Diary of A Young Girl by Anne Frank, The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck, Tropic of Capricorn, by Henry Miller , To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee

All those books have been banned or people have tried to have them banned for some astonishing reasons. What every they decide will be the book we review in July.  Our discussion in July could go in many ways.  Personally I'm hoping for Lord of the Flies but I am willing to go with what the group decides.

Red Twigged Dogwoods Want To Live Forever!

Six months ago I asked Offspring #2 if she would mind trimming a few branches off her red twigged dogwood and bring them to me.  I stuck them in a planter for some wintery decoration; some color when the world turns all shades of grey.  Now is the time to pull them out and I was wondering if I should throw them in the woods or on the burn pile when I look close at them for the first time in a long time. Whoa, baby, the red twigged dogwood branches have sprouted leaves!  I did not think that would happen.

"Da!"

I swam a mile this morning and I lifted weights on Saturday at the gym.  I pulled weeds Friday and Saturday evenings.  I thought I had fairly strong arms. Today I held this little girl for a walk around the yard. She is old enough to have opinions.  She will lift her arm and say, "Da."  Translated that means proceed.  I proceed.  Her other word is "Bum" which can mean balloon or ball. I show her the chicken.  We admire the chicken while the chicken paces excitedly hoping we'll let her out.  Then we "Da" over to the pink crab apple tree in full bloom.  One bloom is taken off, admired, put back on the tree, taken off, admired, put back on the tree and repeat seven times.  Then we "Da" to the white crab apple tree and do the same thing.  We walk down the path past the compost pile.  We "Da" down the street and back into the yard.  I set her on the yellow swing and support her because she doesn't hold on to the rope at all.  My arms are getting tired so I put on her on my shoulders.  We walk down the path I have devised through the yard.  It needs trimming.  "Da!" she says.  "Duck your head," I reply as we proceed.  I bend my knees as we travel under some low hanging branches.  "Are you okay?"  I ask.  "Da!" she replies.  I can feel her spine twist to avoid obstacles.  It's way past her nap time and she is over tired.  The rest of her family is in the house enjoying some adult time to themselves.  "Da!" she says as we approach the chicken coop again.  I take her down off my shoulders to give my neck a rest and get a look at her face as she watches the chicken peck at some left over watermelon rind.  She is very interested in the chicken.  "Da!" she commands so we proceed. We admire the textured bark of a white oak tree. "Da!" and we move to the pink crab apple tree and admire it's scaly bark.  We pick at the bright green shoots on the black spruce tree.  We sit in a lawn chair because my arms are killing me.  She looks around and takes in the scenery.  I try to relax and not see the buckthorn that needs to be pulled or the weeds that shouldn't be there. The sun glints on her hair that looks blonder than ever.  She's got the cutest little face and the bluest blue eyes with navy blue rims on her irises.  "Da!" she commands and we go inside.  I carry her in and allow her to crawl up the last two steps by herself. The muscles in my arms quiver with the exertion. I can feel each muscle cord separately. This walk was twenty minutes at maximum. Why are my bicep muscles jumping up and down like they are? I used to carry kids all day long without a problem.  I guess there is no equipment at the gym to mimic the work a parent of a baby does all the live long day, day in and day out.   

Star Struck

As I poured my coffee this morning my mind was bouncing around like a ping pong ball.  Topics came and went quickly though my mind.  There was laundry, going to gym, and is it really a good idea to feed the birds?  Ecologically speaking, aren't I disrupting the natural plan by setting out suet, peanuts, black sunflower seeds, meal worms and sugar water?  Because I do this my yard has many more voles and field mice.  The lawn around the bird feeders is soft with underground tunnels.  The voles and mice attract more feral cats, foxes, and hawks and possibly owls.  More of those predators is not good for the birds.  Perhaps it would be better for the birds to NOT feed them.  As I think this thought I see a big white underbelly of a bird upside down on my peanut feeder. This bird's belly is three times the size of a white breasted nuthatch.  What is this bird?  I see a red belled woodpecker drinking water out of my bird bath.  The bird with the white belly leaves the peanut feeder and flies up to the bird bath too.  I am star struck! Although this is not Johnny Depp or George Clooney, this is a rose breasted grossbeak!  I stand still. I don't even think about getting the camera because I know this moment is not going to last.  This male grossbeak is a beauty.  With the pink crab apple trees in blossom behind it, this would make an awesome photo so I take a mental snapshot.  Ten seconds later both birds leave.  Wow!  What was that thought about disrupting the ecology?

Growing Oyster Mushrooms

I ordered a kit to grow oyster mushrooms.  I got a plastic wrapped log in a card board box.  The instructions read to spritz the open end of the log with water and put the entire box inside a humidity tent.  Add sprays of plain water twice a day and mushrooms should be ready to harvest in 10 day.  The directions read to keep the log out of direct sun light but some indirect light is necessary.  Also keep it between 55 and 80 degrees.

So I did what I was instructed to do.  I spritzed it twice a day for 10 days.  Nothing happened.

On the 15th day the weather got warm.  The temperature in my house got above 70 degrees and that is when I saw growth occur. Only one mushroom sprouted and it grew.  Eventually it grew into the cardboard side and into the cardboard.  I cut it off and used it in cooking.  The mushroom tasted fine but the shape was too large to use in any manner except diced.  I scraped off the end and tried it again.

This time many mushrooms grew.  Here is a fork so you can judge the size.  This is how the oyster mushrooms looked on Wednesday.  Looks to me like mushroom growing will be more productive in the summer when the house temperature varies more than it does in the winter.

Today is Friday.  Saturday will be a good day to harvest these mushrooms.  Then I  will scrape off the end of the log, soak it in water, close it up inside the cardboard box and leave it in the dark for a week  When the week is up I can open the box and start the process again.  So far this method has not been cheaper than buying mushrooms at the store.  If I can get four crops out of this log, I might just come out even financially.

Perfume In The Air

Last night the time I spent gardening was magnificent.  With the crab apple trees in full bloom the air was magically perfumed.  With Chickenson Caruso at my side, I worked putting weeds out of the garden.  She pecked at the bugs that came up and further raked the soil with her feet.  I heard a gray tree frog singing as a leopard frog went by.  I thought maybe I heard the snore of a leopard frog but I think that was a woodpecker drumming rhythmically to establish his territory and some wishful listening.  A barred owl called from down by the river.  Sand hill cranes were calling so they must not have laid their eggs yet.  Once they have a nest the cranes turn silent and stay silent until next spring when they seem to have a lot to say.  A robin sang, “Cheerio cheerio!” at me.  The cardinal flew by the back of the yard because it’s too shy to eat from the bird feeder while I am so close.  The chickadees and nuthatches don’t mind my presence though.  I have hummingbird solution hanging but I haven’t seen any hummingbirds yet.  The white breasted nuthatch said, “Nuh Uh,” in that negative way it has.  I see another frog hopping by the garden wall.  Is this a frog highway?  I ask, “Can you say keck-a-heck?” but the frog doesn’t answer.  It simply poses for a photo before hopping along.  I think it is a wood frog. The light is fading but I’ve only got a little more of this section to go. Chickenson Caruso thinks it’s time for bed but the door is shut on her coop.  She flies to the top of the coop but she must not feel safe there.  She leaves the coop and hops up the steps to roost on the deck railing.  Hello!  Who is this trip trapping up my new deck that has never had any chicken droppings on it yet?  I finish weeding that section of the garden. I throw the last of the long and stretchy crabgrass roots into a pile.  I go up the deck steps and approach the chicken.  She is too tired to move quickly but she doesn't like being picked up and shows me so by flapping her wings.  I talk to her and tell her the plan.  She settles down and allows me to put her safely into the coop.  I gather my tools listening for the sound of the house wrens.  I don't hear them so I guess they haven't migrated up yet.  Two morning doves coo as I close the door and go inside.