Category: Life at Tuscarora Lodge

Savoring Life

I went for a walk yesterday morning.   It was about 40 degrees, so the fog was on everything, but lifting in the sunrise.  I don’t know how we got so lucky to have September weather the first week in August, but it’s golden.

My heart and head were both swelling, with the details of the day, and with the enormousness of life.  Usually they don’t both hit at the same time.  But on this particular morning they did.

And in the afternoon, a worn out young man trudged up the outfitting steps.  I knew he was coming back early, I had already spoken with a deputy.

Because I’m a mom, I opened my arms to him, and ….probably because  I am  a mom, he stepped into them and started to sob.  I think I could feel the grieving brother’s heart breaking right through his chest.

In another story–one of our Gunflint Trail neighbors who has been picking blueberries around here all his life, went out a week ago, and hasn’t come back.  His truck, parked in his favorite picking spot, is still the only clue.

You know, usually, I’m all about figuring how to minimize risk, avoid death at all costs.   And while that’s a really good point (and I’ll continue to make it….remember, I am a mother to the core)…… that is not THE point.

Here I am on the periphery of all this grief, and it strikes me that the main point has to do with the way we live.  Those fine young men were in the boundary waters because they have always shared a profound love for this place.   And when I’m 82, I hope I still have the spunk and independence to drive my truck up to the BEST spot in the woods, and pick my own blueberries.

 As a witness to this incredible sadness,  I  feel a strange combination of melancholy and reverence which isn’t completely comfortable, but it does feel like my heart is running at full capacity.    I cannot control all of life and death.  It’s simpler than that.  I can look around me.  I can be kind.  I can be grateful for where I live, for who I’m with, and  vow to savor it all for this day.

Frost River Adventure

What do Tuscarora staff members do on their days off? Some of us go fishing; others sleep in or hike on a nearby trail or drive to Grand Marais for time on Lake Superior. And this past week four of us decided to spend two nights and a day off in the best way that I personally can imagine: exploring the lakes and rivers that make up our wilderness backyard. Elizabeth was pretty excited too:

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We decided on a Frost River loop, which started down our driveway at Cross River public access and took us south through Ham, Cross Bay, Long Island, and Frost Lake to the Frost River before turning back north through Mora, Crooked, and Gillis and taking us home through Round. We felt like the Lewis and Clark expedition as we paddled through this relatively remote area of the Boundary Waters.

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Soon after starting on Monday afternoon, we discovered that our equipment pack was a LOT heavier than we remembered packing it. Good thing Shelby’s brother Dan had remembered to slip in one of these rocks for us…they come in so handy out on trail.

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We camped at Long Island Lake our first night and woke up to sunshine, oatmeal, a gentle breeze, and syrup shots (we ended up making a little more than we needed and didn’t want to leave a trace!).

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Once we got to the Frost, it started feeling really Lewis-and-Clark-y. Anything could be waiting around each grassy bend of the river.

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Most often, it was a portage. We calculated that there were 36 portages on this particular trip. They were usually short and around beautiful rapids rushing from all of the recent rain.

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…but we also did encounter a little bit of mud:

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After a day of paddling, portaging, singing voyageur songs, and seeing new places, we found a great campsite on Gillis Lake. Swimming and jumping felt wonderful, and we slept very well that night. It was a perfect way to spend a day off, and we’re excited for our next one! – by Amy

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Insect Wisdom by Chelsea

 

Someone once asked me, “If you could be any insect, what would you be?” I knew my answer right away:

 

If I could choose to be any insect, I would embody the most kind, community-minded, graceful, and conscious of all insects. I’d never bite. My sustenance would not be earned parasitically, but rather by preying on parasites. I’d approach humans only to balance on their frontal lobes as if to say, “Don’t over think. It’s the simple things in life that count.”

 

I’d want a supernatural body that is unfazed by gravity or raindrops. I’d want to spend my days zipping around lake skies at a breakneck pace, dancing out of shear joy. A smile would perpetually be renewed on my face. My dazzling, neon, green eyes would remain wide with wonder throughout my entire life.

 

I’d search forever, looking for others to join me in a sky dance. I’d especially want to find someone trustworthy enough to ride with me on a tandem adventure.  My friends would buzz beside me and with my family behind me we’d journey peacefully all together in a harmonic chaos.
And even though my life would be short, I’d appreciate every minute. I’d take time to slow, to perch on a branch and gaze. Until one day my mortality would be revealed. My scaly wings would tear, preventing me from taking the air, but still I’d fight to get up and find my family again. And if there came a time when I knew the fight was done, I’d close my eyes in bliss and remember a life well lived.
The answer is clear. If I could be any insect, I’d be a Round Lake dragonfly.

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Lightening Strike!

Thunderstorms blow in and out quickly around here.  Yesterday morning dawned hot and humid and even at 6 am you could feel a thunder storm brewing.  The sticky humidity blurred the far side of Round Lake as thunderheads grew in the north-west.  Around 3 the wind started to pick up and distant rumbling heralded the start of the rain.  The wind grew fierce forcing curtains of rain across the lake so dense the far shore was obscured.  Lightening and thunder crashed over head as Denali cowered in the corner.

Within an hour the storm had blown over.  The air was cool again and smelled fresh with the rain.  It was time to play the “what’s missing” game.  The joy and curse of living in a forest is the trees.  Trees provide shade, sing in the wind, and house the birds.  Trees also tend to come down at inopportune times and usually in the wrong place.  Walking around looking at the canopy after a storm, it can be difficult to tell if something is missing.  Yes, you look out the same window every day, but will you really notice when a tree is suddenly not there when it is surround by a forest?

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The first clue was a snapped off poplar trunk.  The freshly splintered wood was white and stood out against the wet dark green leaves.  A dead tree that had been standing for a few years had lost the top 20 feet.  A quick walk about discovered the top had fallen cleanly in the brush and would not need any clean up.  Perfect!

Walking back, a large spruce top was laying across a path.  The top had popped off in the high winds and fallen, missing two roofs.  A small 10 foot chunk, no problem.  Toss it in the back of the pickup and done.

The next problem was a tree across one of the driveways.  Slightly more substantial but a quick chainsaw job and a full pickup load of wood and the road is clear again.

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The more serious report comes from down the road near the Cross Bay parking lot.  A large white pine had been struck by lightning.  The tree still stands, but a long spiraling crack has formed all the way down the trunk.  Chunks of bark have been blown off and charred.  Although not a problem right now, it is a tree to be monitored.  Lightening strikes can start trees and duff smoldering.  The heavy rainfall will prevent flare ups initially, but a few days later when the forest starts to dry again, small embers can ignite new fires.

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We had some guests out in the storm paddling.  The rain was so heavy at one point they could not see the shore of Brant Lake!  When storms like that blow in, it is best to get off the water and hunker down in the safest place you can find.  It is awe inspiring part of wilderness travel to watch storms roll across the lake as long as take precautions to keep yourself safe!

Family of Four

Last week the Kiecker family rented a canoe and headed out to Little Sag for the week.  Traveling from our dock on Round to Little Sag is no small day-trip.

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But they assured me that they were up for it–their boys regularly backpack  the Appalachian Trail, last year they averaged 10 miles a day. I knew Mom and Dad loved the challenge–they’d been on trips here in the past, and could put on the miles.   I knew that their healthy boys were certainly capable of it, but was it going to be any fun?   Did they really want to travel that far?  How hard were these little kids going to be pushed on this “vacation?”

Well, I happened to be down at the dock with my camera when they were loading up, and I happened to witness the conversation.  Todd was a really kind dad, patiently coaching his two boys as they entered the boat.  And although he was excited, and raring to go (a little contagious for me…so just imagine how his sons felt!)….he sat there and explained where the Missing Link portage was, and what they were going to do next.   And as they were paddling away, I could hear one of the boys asking  “Do you want me to paddle on this side, Dad, or on the other side?”….and Todd replied—“You go ahead and paddle on whichever side is comfortable, and Mom and I will adjust.”   Nice.  They had a great trip, they proudly made it back from Little Sag in a little over 7 hours, —and I’m going to venture that along with the fun, the guys got a healthy dose of actual self esteem and sense of belonging by accomplishing the trek as a family team.  Does it get any better than that?

Then…I got thinking about our family team….our family of four.   The thing is—Andy and I met on Seagull Lake, in a tandem canoe.  We were happy campers when we were first married….so we briefly wondered if we wanted to actually transition out of that two person canoe..and make room for any more.   Did we really want to invite two curly blond heads on our canoe trips?

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And then….well, it seemed like POOF, suddenly  we were a family of four.   We made room in our lives for two more.  We made  permanent room in our hearts..

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And, somewhere along the line…although we knew we were preparing them to grow up, and go into the world,  I started assuming that we would ALWAYS be a family of four.  We’d always find our way back to the dinner table where we like to linger and talk about the high points and low points….it was every day, it was years and years.

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When they’re this age…well, who expects it to ever be any different?
Last weekend, Shelby graduated from highschool.   She’s set her standards high, we’re really proud of who she’s become.  She’s working in the outfitting yard this summer, then heading to college next fall.

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She’s so ready to go, and we couldn’t be more pleased.  I always knew this day would come, but I never bothered to tell my heart about that. Of course, I wouldn’t have it any other way…in my head. Yet, in my heart, she’ll always be part of my ordinary days…and next fall, she’ll be missing.

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So, I felt a little wistful as I watched the nice Kiecker family paddle away together in their canoe.  They’re in the “this will last forever”stage.    I just have to scrunch up my head around the fact that this transition we’re in happens to every family eventually, it’s just ordinary.  Graduation is a celebration of course, but who expects the grief that comes with it?  Can my heart really imagine the big gap?   Inviting Shelby and Daniel into our canoe has turned out to be the most significant thing we’ll ever do in this life…..the best decision for sure…both my head and my heart can agree on that one.  And eventually, I supposed I’ll convince my heart it’s OK to let her go, and look forward to the times she’s back at the table, telling us of her current adventures, paddling her own canoe.