Author: Sue Ahrendt

Today the Christmas tree comes down. Overdue, but Daniel has been sick on the couch and he’s so nostalgic about the twinkle lights season that we had to let it linger. It was a good one, and I have time to write about it since I’m not yet ready to go outside into the deep freeze. It’s a sunny blue morning, good view, lap dog, great coffee; I’m not complaining.

Since it is well below zero, Andy replenished the bird feeder. The kind and gentle little nuthatches, grosbeaks and chickadees just lost their turn. They were replaced by the big bully bluejays and squirrels who get first dibs. We have a fox that occasionally raids the bird feeder, and when I watch him it makes me miss Pepper, our childhood cat. Not that much however. When I went to college I came home allergic to Pepper, and now I can’t touch cats , unless they are especially appealing and worth the eye itching episode. I might take a chance on this fox, if he would let me cuddle. Do you suppose foxes have dander in their lovely coats?

Here’s Jamie, staffer for part of the summer of 2007, and we’re hoping for the summer of 2011. Shelby gave her a few pointers, as she cross country skied. First time ever=yep, still speedier than me. Noah also came to hang with us, work, and to coach me through the final steps of the rubics cube puzzle. I keep it handy so I can show anybody, I’m so proud. Daniel says, “Yep, Mom, now you’ll be the only one on the Alzeimer’s ward who can complete the rubics cube.”

Our friend Kelly brought Torben and Tine from Denmark to Cabin 5.We were their exotic Tuscarora winter experience.They remind me how huge the world is– we’re not at a time in our lives that we get to visit foreign countries, and when I meet the travelers, I crave that unique adventure sometimes.

We were doing our New Years’ tradition—playing broomball, eating food, playing the name game with some families and people who were here. Regular noise. And these two were in a different world. I liked sitting with them sometimes, and watching the commotion. They were comfortable enough in the American culture, but we layered that with our traditional crowd–a familiar culture all our own. When people are functioning with a bunch of strangers in a different language, it’s ironic that they always look a little dazed and learning disabled. I was envious of that experience–I happen to think it’s the stuff of life–the sort of stimulating challenge=really living.

Do you know how goofy it is to try to play “Catch Phrase” in a different language?When there isn’t a translation for “Let the cat out of the bag” or other American idioms blurted as quickly and cryptically as possible?Woah.That was the funniest.

They were good sports about letting Shelby put stickers on their foreheads—Tine had to mingle and guess “Madonna”. Torben was George Bush. He was brilliant as sort of an amateur anthropological researcher—he could nail people in his insightful observations. I just was getting a kick out of sitting on the sidelines, listening to him, then every once in a while I’d interrupt —-OK, say it in German, now in French…….now Danish…….and Greenlandish (Greenlander? Greenlandese?). He could also speak Farose. I speak English and un poquito espanol. Nada mas of anything. And I did not know about the Faro Islands between Denmark and Iceland. Maybe they sometimes appeared dazed and learning disabled in my world, but I knew better. They were the smart ones.

They also brought with them some sort of Scandinavian tradition of rolling in the snow in the buff..We did not join them in this escapade…I just cannot see…I just, well, I’m not sure why anyone would choose to do that without a sauna.

As they were preparing to leave, I asked them what they did in Denmark.I knew Tine sewed cool things from sealskin, but I wondered what else.Torben showed me a leather bracelet, sort of a rounded rope, simple, but nice I thought.He said he’d been wearing it for a year or so, in the garden, in the shower, to see how well the leather holds up.I liked his, so I offered to take him to the Tuscarora Trading Post and trade it for a sweatshirt.I am not so up on Scandinavian fashion.It turns out might just as well have asked Louis Vitton to trade a Tuscarora mug for a nice little shoulder bag. It was a very popular designer piece.

I think, for a brief moment, I was like a tourist in their world.As I stuck my foot in my mouth, and they laughed at me- I was dazed and learning disabled, and —in that last hour, we might have become the kind of friends that last.

They sincerely invited us to visit Denmark. And maybe…..someday? Someday, I hope to make world travel a thing that works in my life, for my family. They were relaxed, and experts, and—well, we bonded. I’m glad for that. And if I ever get one of these , I know better than to remove the little ring that identified the designer bracelet as an original. Tine laughed at me, because…….well, to be honest, she recognized that it is the first thing I might have done.

Tuscarora guest Greg Mickelson shared some of his video footage this week–taken last July where they found one of the home sites for the resident wolf pack. We were lucky to be able to keep tabs on them for awhile, along with the staff and guests. They are so cute, it still breaks my heart a little every time I watch this.

In two weeks Shelby turns 16. She’s a good driver, calm, coordinated, competent. Of course, it will help us when she can help facilitate the extracurricular chaos, she’s eager to pass this big liberating milestone . I know every parent goes through this..it’s just my first time, learning to LET her drive. Alone. In the dark. Up the Gunflint Trail. In the winter. I just can’t imagine.

On the way to the bus stop this morning, in the little dip before the access road–the car thermometer hit -30 degrees. As smart as Shelby is, she still comes hopping up the steps to grab her oatmeal and zip out the door –with wet hair and a short sleeved shirt. (In all fairness, she also slips into pack boots, grabs her parka, and swears she has a hat and gloves at the bottom of her backpack.) I’m a mom, it is my job to remind her that she could die.

Earlier, when I started the car, I had a little sub sub-zero warning, first from the squeaky quality of the snow (it feels different when it’s below -20 degrees). The car doors felt like they might break, the electronic dash messages were funky, the sky was so clean and clear and still; it was wicked cold.

Last weekend, Daniel had a hockey tournament in Inver Grove Heights…isn’t that lucky? Right in the epicenter of a Minnesota blizzard, it snowed 3 inches an hour for awhile on Saturday afternoon, and that was too much for the plows. As we passed through my old Mpls neighborhood –I remembered the biggest challenges for me when I was learning to drive–merging from 35W to the Crosstown–to get to Southdale. Even as we drove slowly through the piles of snow, there were people, cars, Perkins restaurants nearby.

That was quite a contrast to last night’s drive up the Gunflint Trail. It’s such a dark snowpacked tunnel through the woods. I drove the first 30 miles, with the funny but distracting car pool boys singing about “Spuds and Tubers” in the back seat, raucous like they were in a pub. I had a feeling it was a moose night–and yes, it was. I can’t help but yelp sometimes, they’re such big monsters when they suddenly appear out of the darkness to the middle of our path.
After we dropped the boys off, Shelby took over. Along the way, we talked about possible scenarios–what if you were alone and slid off the road right here, right now? Do you leave the car? How many miles to the nearest house? How often to the cars come by? No cell phone service. What kind of clothing back-up do you have? I don’t want to scare her, but…… I actually want to scare her.

And then she came on another moose–a young male, with a smallish rack. He kept looking at us with such wide frightened eyes–actually, we could only see one monster eye at a time. Shelby slowed down, and took note of where she was–the straight stretch up by the Octagon House by Loon Lake—a safer-than-usual place to stop, so she did. We watched the guy go in the ditch, then trot up on the road, then the ditch, then the road, then he started slipping–it was comical, actually, but we did not want to rush him because it is a LOOOOOOOONG way for him to fall on the pavement. She turned off the brights to lessen his panic as he slid and trotted safely off the road. She handled herself well, not a close call, not even a little yelp.

Do you know what ? I’m always glad to discover that the moose hunters didn’t shoot all the moose again this year. Even if they are big monsters that come out of the darkness and startle a yelp out of me, it’s still nice to see them. Sort of.

And you know what else? Shelby’s pretty good at merging onto the Crosstown from 35W too. At some point, I’ll be OK with all this. I guess she’ll turn 16 either way, she’s going to get a driver’s license, and……..I guess, I’ll have to let her drive the Gunflint Trail. Alone. In the dark. In the winter. I just can’t imagine.

Yesterday it stopped snowing, and the sun came out, it no longer felt like the White Witch had taken over Narnia. It was such a nice day.

So, what started out as a little kicksled ride down the road with Denali—- ended up as a video project fuzzy bandwidth challenge–with quality not even that great to start with.
Oh well……it was especially intended to send Matt Hahn and the gang in Indiana all kinds of good snow ju-ju. Here’s what Minnesota winter does to your familiar Tuscarora places…

It keeps falling. And we keep shoveling and plowing. It seems as though the sky should run out of snow, one of these days. It must be finite.

Thanks to Kari for sharing a photo of her Tuscarora Thanksgiving this year. This was taken at least 12 inches ago. And it just keeps falling……….