Now That's More Like It.

Yesterday was a day worth waiting for.


The pussy willows were liking that sun as much as I was...I think they might be a little behind this year.



I was reading about the way lake ice melts. Apparently, when the snow melts from the surface, the ice acts like the glass in a greenhouse, encouraging the sun to warm the water, and melt the ice from below. Who knew? When the depth of the ice is a foot or less, the ice is transformed into crystal "candles" that conduct light even better, which also makes the ice look black. After that, the ice doesn't stand a chance. When a wind comes up, we hear the friendly tinkling sound of many candles breaking apart. Shelby and I were talking about it the other day...and she said "Isn't it cool, that the ice evolved to go out like that." Then she immediately corrected her thinking....it DOES seem like an evolution-type thing, but....why would ice evolve to disappear right on time? For the survival of the planet? For the survival of the outfitters? At any rate, it's disappearing by the hour. It must have rained last night, because it is full of puddles right now, and much blacker than yesterday




Some people will recognize the wine water of the Cross River. It's not pollution--it's tannic acid, from the nutrients in the water. Not sure why some lakes are so clear and blue, and others are tea-colored, but it doesn't affect the quality of the water. Just talking about it makes me want to take in small water bottles to our familiar lakes and do a blind taste test. I know some lakes have water worth camping early for----and others are not quite as sweet, but I wonder if we could actually identify the specific lakes by the taste of the water? The sun yesterday made for a sparkling water sight, that's for sure.


I can't help taking photos from the overlook on the Centennial Trail. Denali and I make it a destination on busier days. We think of it as our plot. Our little retreat to a lonely place. It's familiar and oh-so-peaceful.

This boulder fell next to the road this spring. Andy called the Highway Department to report it, not a problem for us, but I'm sure it might be a problem for the plow. Andy told his friend Gary not to worry, no hurry, we moved it to the side. Just a little road humor for Gary when he arrives..an inside excavation joke....we're lucky that it decided to fall where it did.

It always tugs at my heart to see a baby tucked up under the protection of its mother--no matter what the species.
Welcome spring!

Hooray!

We're feeling proud here at Tuscarora this week.
Daniel will travel down to Minneapolis to present a History Day Project at the State Competition on Sunday. He and his friend Alex progressed from the Regional Competition last month (with the video at the bottom of the page, and with the help of some community members). Hooray for Daniel and Alex!


Shelby was inducted into the National Honor Society on Monday night. Hooray for the 10th graders!



Andy and I have almost made it to spring, with a score of 193 according to the DNR "winter severity index".

Apparently, index points are calculated by location. We receive a point for every day the temperature is below zero and another point for each day where the snow depth exceeds 15 inches. Sam Cook reports the numbers in the Duluth News Tribune:

The highest reading, 193, was at Poplar Lake along the Gunflint Trail. That was the only station that fell into the "severe winter" category, although Snowbank Lake near Ely was close at 177. Here are some other final readings: Grand Rapids, 98; International Falls, 150; Isabella, 159; Eveleth, 150; Cloquet, 112; Brimson, 149; Tower, 164.

Here's how the DNR classifies winters based on the WSI:

Mild winter -- WSI less than 100

Average winter -- WSI of 120

Moderate winter -- WSI 121-140

Moderately severe winter -- WSI 141-180

Severe winter -- WSI more than 180

So, technically, we won state up here!! Andy was still smiling this morning as he brushed off the car, with his score of 193. Hooray for the severe winter survivors!

(side note: the ice on Tuscarora Lake is still scheduled to go out on May 10th, at 4pm, when the wind picks up on that sunny afternoon)

Snowy Weekend

I have found that, ignoring the forecast, refusing to talk about the possibility of snow, is not a deterrent. It still came this weekend. More than I would even consider.

Sunday was Daniel's birthday. All those sickening cliches about babies growing up? I really try to stay away from them, but they are so very true.
I actually celebrated his birthday privately in my own head, on Saturday. Andy was at the Midwest Mountaineering Expo, and Shelby was in town. Daniel and I were both home in a snowstorm with really bad colds. For dinner, we shuffled around and cooked soup and grilled cheese, I laid on the couch, he sprawled on the chair and explained to me why Davy Jones had snakes and barnacles instead of a beard, and I watched Pirates of the Caribbean. Honestly, I hate that movie and all of its sequels. I am mildly entertained by Jack Sparrow, but mostly, I just wanted to hang out with Daniel the teenager. He thanked me profusely for managing the dishes so he could sleep, and before he dragged himself to his own bed, he folded back the covers of mine, and left my glasses neatly on top of my book on my pillow. He didn't even know it, but it was a little gift/gesture that reminded me how glad I was that he was born 14 years ago.

On Sunday, the people came! We played a little broomball in the snow.





We celebrated 3 April birthdays.



We dyed the Easter Eggs, in the fancy Pysanki form,













and we also danced. You too, can do the Double Dream Hands! It's awesome!











What I can tell you for sure?
Daniel will grow older, the snow and ice will melt under this intense sun. It's all good.

And The Rains Came

Yesterday felt balmy; 40 something degrees, humid, smelled like spring, smelled like water. Shelby had been hankering for a thunderstorm. Just as they started their run, she got her wish.

The woods are very beautiful in their barren ugliness...and I'm eager to let the winter season go. The rains stir up spring deep down in the roots---I can just feel it.

Here's one of the happy little green up pines planted during one of the last couple of Gunflint Green Up Wing Dings; you are invited to come join us to plant a few thousand more in May. Believe me, it's really fun.
















The Cross Bay landing is open for paddling. Looks like we can at least get to the portage if we want to. One of these days..















I believe the soggy little jack pines are happy to shed the snow so quickly this week.






Earl Falls is mostly camouflaged in the summer--but when there is this much water, if you're listening, you can always hear it. Even over the sound of the thunderstorm.












We're so completely surrounded by water around here--and I'm glad to see it starting to move again. Actually, it's an honor to witness the transformation. Right on schedule.

Changing Conditions

Last week, Denali and I would take the spark out onto the ice



















until we got to the middle where it was smooth, and the conditions were perfect for skating.










Then on Saturday, it got warmer and snowed just a tad. Ice skating season was over,



but Shelby could just fly around the lake on her skis.





Last night, the conditions were perfect for a snowstorm, and we got several inches of snow. It was not a perfect drive into town for tennis practice,















but conditions started melting it immediately, and....it was a perfectly lovely ride back up the Gunflint Trail.













Last year on this date., conditions were perfect for........paddling..............sigh.

Seasons

I went to sit by the Cross River last week. It was a gray day and the river is often the best reminder that there is spring sleeping underneath this winter. I hoped to glimpse the otters—they leave long smooth tracks of sliding from pool to pool, and I've always wanted to see that game in action. Andy and the kids caught a wolf drinking in the rapids the other day. Winter is very black and white, I like the evidence of new life there.
My Uncle Dan died, and I adored him. We even named Daniel after him. Oh, not a tragedy like the earthquake and the tsunamis, not even close. He would have turned 100 this year, his wife died a few years ago. It's just....he was a good guy, and a part of me hated to see my time with him end.
A couple years ago I visited him in Santa Barbara, not because it was a nice gesture to visit a lonely old man, but because he was interesting and funny and I couldn't get enough of him. We sat eating pistachios and talking about things. He was faithful with cocktail hour, even in the nursing home; he kept the liquor in the linen closet. “All things in moderation, and I mean….all things.” He was a smart and upbeat, yet he also shared his insight as a physician; “Susan, sometimes people live too damned long.” He couldn’t see so well, his hearing was fading. I’ve known old people before, but he’s the first guy who was like my peer in an old man’s body—I understood it in a different way. He was ready to die, to join his wife, his friends and siblings, one of whom was my grandpa, who we called Pop.
Uncle Dan was our link to my grandpa after Pop died, 20 years ago. A long time, but the other day by the river, grief washed over me, so fresh and surprising that for a minute I couldn’t catch my breath. I still miss him. I get it, I get the balance of things. The depth of the grief matches the depth of the joy —I was really lucky to have a part of him. I slid into family time memories, especially at Pop’s house, on Lake Genesee where people gathered. My grandpa was such a catalyst, everybody was related, friends were welcome, he and his next door neighbor Wes bantered like Jack Lemon and Walter Matthau in Grumpy Old Men…. I remember being a little girl, sitting with Pop on the plastic couches on his porch, during cocktail hour. If I took a break from the swimming cousins running from the back door to the lake, Pop would play gin rummy and depart old Welsh farmer wisdom, or childhood stories or multiplication tables. We kids were clearly worth his time. I can still hear his deep singsongy voice when he’d win: Deeedeedeedeedeedeedee………What’s the name of the game?

Both Pop and Uncle Dan had the storytelling gift. They taught us some serious lessons about hard work, about family, about playing blackjack, about judging Holsteins. Mostly they taught us that we were valuable. Always there was time for the kids.
I can even hear the wise things those guys might tell me about spending too much time missing them, when there's work to be done. Lately, Uncle Dan had been loosing a few marbles. I understand he’d begun to pour extra cocktails for his brothers Lyle (Pop) and Emery. It was his time.


And, it’s our time to welcome a new season. We're getting glimpses of sun and spring--a little more every day. We KNOW the ice will go out--an paddling season will be on us soon.
It's time to celebrate the promise of new life--with a thrilling photo of the youngest future Tuscarora staffer—Cass and Paul’s baby due next summer.













It's the season to fly kites on the lake.



















And it's also cocktail hour somewhere in the universe---where Uncle Dan has joined his people gathered on the porch— having a little drink---talking smart—and playing gin rummy with Pop. Deeeedeeedeedeedee What’s the name of the game?

Mush for A Cure

Yesterday Shelby and I helped out with Mush for a Cure--the annual sled dog run/breast cancer fund raiser on the Gunflint Trail.

Rumor had it that they surpassed $30000, which means in the last 5 years they now have been able to donate more than $100,000 to breast cancer research. Hats off to the Proms, the Blacks, and the Bakers--who manage to organize a whole community of volunteers-it's a great thing that they've done.

The event kicked off on Friday evening---and continued through the weekend. A masquerade ball, dinners, dances, carnival tent--it was a pink party initiated by Sue Prom and Mary Black. They sure know how to throw a one. (photo from 2010 Mush for the Cure website)









At 10am Saturday, the ski-jouring event began. One particular eclectic team included the kids' running coach, April, who skied behind Denali's best friend Thor. Denali doesn't really know how to have dog friends, but when Thor comes over, Denali plays like crazy. He's a good guy. But--a big black lab mutt is not exactly your average sled dog husky mix.

I talked to April before the run, and looked at their cobbled together harnesses and rope; April cheerfully had never raced with him before. So they let most other dog teams and experienced ski-jourers go first. And then came Thor, like a bat out of hell. Apparently Thor likes to be first, so he passed everybody and started after Mark Black on the official lead snowmobile. I understand Thor-horse almost beat him too.
It's a good thing she had her pink helmet on!



At noon, Shelby and I headed over to Gunflint Lake for the official start. 41 dog teams were assembled on the lake. It was a awesome!
For a "sour dough" start, mushers were gamely in sleeping bags when the horn blew. They had to get up, put on their boots, harness their teams, and head out. The sled dogs go crazy when they realize that it's time. Maybe you can get a feel for the noisy chaos---until the mushers let up the brake and let the guys run and pull. It's what they live for. Then there's simply the shhhhhhushhhh of the sleds. I love that. This part of the whole event, with all these people and dogs gathered to raise pledges for this cause---kind of choked me up,

It's an impressive thing to see. I'd say it was a really good way to spend a Saturday.