Category: Life at Tuscarora Lodge

Last night we cranked up the tunes while doing the dishes, and had a family dance in the kitchen. Sunday night, we were all home—it was kind of fun, and…let’s face it….we live in the middle of the woods. Who is going to see us? Daniel eventually got annoyed with the geeky family spectacle he was born into, but Shelby schooled us. Who knew? She can dance.

This morning Shelby and I had to chase down the Gunflint Trail school bus—all the way to Loon Lake. She has a routine to tame her hair, and I have the routine of holding back on the nagging…and since Daniel (and Andy) left early for the orthodontist, no one was monitoring the time…. It is no trivial inconvenience to miss the school bus 47 miles from town, let me tell you.

I’ve always got room for improvement in this motherhood dance— letting them make decisions and live with the consequences. Sometimes, I think I’m really really good at letting go, at offering choices, at gentle parenting. And other times, just ask my kids, I’m ridiculously opinionated about their “choices”.

This morning

I was in the car with our highschool daughter, saying not one judgmental word. How could I? Promptness is not one of my virtues, and there is nothing like a pointed stare to emphasize my obvious word/behavior inconsistencies.

I was reflecting: not so long ago when I was driving Shelby to preschool, I thought I had a whole lifetime to perfect the parenting. Those days, I would buckle toddler Dan into the car seat,then return to “help” an independent four year old get to the car, insisting only that her attire be relatively clean and warm. Apparently even that much was an invasion of her feisty independence, because there were some days when I would eventually pick her up, grab a handful of clothes, buckle her defiant self in, and toss the clothes on top of her, as we drove away. Even though I was silent, the thick tension in the car was unfortunate for sensitive little Daniel. Shelby got herself dressed, but she was MAD! Sometimes she’d throw the clothes she didn’t want up to the front seat, and I was left wondering how the morning turned into the motherhood grade of C- or D+.

Today,

11 years later, I realize this is not a lifetime of raising children, but a chapter with adolescents finessing their way into adulthood. This morning I was hardly even frustrated—I know she is going to be OK, even if she has to miss a day of school. Still I struggle with the puzzle– how much to guide them– how much to let them fill in their own blanks.

I was talking to a friend on the phone yesterday about balance, about how much steering is just right. We didn’t come up with a solution, or even agreement, but I did realize the importance of friends like this—of surrounding myself with wise advisers who care about my kids—and pick apart my ideas. It’s a lucky thing really.

She made it to Grand Marais, Denali and I are getting ready to go clear off the skiff of snow, and enjoy the sunny weather–that is 50 degrees warmer than 48 hours ago. It really is a beautiful winter at the edge of the BWCA. And for today I think I earned a solid B grade for the parent balance . Well, for the morning anyway. Life is good.

I tried to take pictures the other night, with a new little video Flip camera that I got for Christmas. Pretty slick, but not for moonlight. If you want to see a blue moon at midnight from the kick sleds shushing down Round Lake Road, you’ll have to come and experience it for yourself. It’s something, every tree is magic winter midnight blue … and it was a fine Welcome-In-The-New Year memory for our family.

I’m including photos of our road ride in the daylight,not nearly the same, but still nice. Really cold today.

I love reliving 2009 during the New Year’s holiday, I remember in high school reading Hope for the Flowers, a groovy book about caterpillars that I never fully appreciated. I saved it, because I thought maybe it was profound and maybe one day I would figure it all out. Still, I don’t like that book, but I was reminded recently of one excerpt —

“How does one become a butterfly,” she asked pensively.
“You must want to fly so much you are willing to give up being a caterpillar”
“You mean die?”
“Yes and no,” he answered. “What looks like you will die, but what’s really you will still live.”

I’m still working on that whole concept. I have to admit on New Years Eve, I found my same old self again, dragging my heels, trying to linger in 2009. I really LIKED 2009. I like my kids, I like my experiences, I want to hang on, scrapping for every minute, every memory. Guess it’s a good thing that I don’t get to choose…and now my job is to charge ahead to 2010— Onward! Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas from Tuscarora!

Whew! The days are getting longer. I love that about Winter Solstice. It puts a little extra spring in my step, a little shimmer in the snow shovel. The town of Grand Marais celebrates Winter Solstice with a puppet show event, done by a clever group of townspeople that call themselves the Good Harbor Players. It’s worth the trip. We were planning on making it, but Daniel and I were both down for the count that day– each of us held down a different couch. Except for the Harry Potter movie, when we held down the same couch. Luckily, it was a quickly passing cold, and not the dreaded H1N1 apparently, because now we’re up and free to enjoy a few more seconds of light each day. It’s really dark up here in the arctic circle, a big day when we turn the corner. Big day!

Den Discovery
The other day I think we found a bear den. On a subzero day, Andy noticed what looked like steam from a manhole cover. Only we don’t have those here. I investigated a little further, and found the steam coming from a hole in the side of the hill—about the size of a basketball. No tracks. Gave me a little neck prickle. Andy checked again the other day–and still no tracks, but frosty breath and icicles around the hole.
Since we’re not going to play National Geographic scientists, I started looking up the local bear expert, Lynn Rogers–from Ely actually. He gets pretty close to the bears he studies. And I learned a little about hibernating bears too–not a true hibernation, but more of a winter lethargy…and I learned about how they “recycle” themselves, and convert wastes somehow into proteins. Check out Lynn Rogers Study

How cool is that?

I was driving down the Gunflint Trail the other day, happy as a clam, even though it was wicked cold outside. Must be some sort of physics to the sub-zero weather that makes the sky extra blue and the sun extra bright, the landscape particularly spectacular?

I was alone, listening to the Lou Rawls Christmas album. I never think to listen to Lou Rawls any other time of year, but he is so smooooooth. Check out Christmas is the Time. You might be surprised that you have to have it too!

All was well in my Christmas card world—when I came upon a wolf, trotting down the centerline. As I pulled up to him, he spooked a little, but when I stopped the truck, he kept on his course, and ended up right next to my car door.

I had a good long time to study him.

I’ve been thinking on wolves a lot lately. We see them so often- impressive and healthy—they’re the talk of the neighborhood. I wonder how can so many wolves find enough to eat? As the temperature drops, Denali gets hungrier earlier and earlier for her dog food—predictably twice a day. How often does the pack get a snack?

As this wolf approached, I noticed he was unusually skinny, he looked a little pink. Then I could see he had no fur on his belly or legs. He was sort of bloody in spots. And when he looked in my eyes, even his eyes were looking bloody; a very sad sight. I’ve read about mange in wolves-caused by tiny mites that attach themselves to their skin or fur—causing fur loss, and lesions-this seemed like a nasty textbook case.

When I see wolves this close—and they make direct eye contact, I imagine I can read their eye language. One time, I was stopped in my car, the kids just got on the schoolbus- a big guy strolled next to me—he gazed at me and my wildly barking Denali—calmly in a way that made my neck prickle, like “I know where you live” and I said back to him (with my narrowed eyes, if he could read them) “If you come any closer my to my kids or my dog, I swear I’ll kill you.” This alarmed me, I’d never considered killing a wolf, ever, but I sent the message just the same. Once at the garbage dumpsters I was honking to get two of them to move –they looked up from eating garbage “You gotta be kidding, WE’RE not moving.” Or once I whistled Denali away from playing with two adolescents they looked at me like” Wha……are we supposed to come too?” The two gigantic ones I saw this fall, too cool for their pelts , looked at me like I was insignificant in their path—an annoyance if anything.

This mangey guy’s eyes were pleading with me…. like “Do you have a sandwich or bacon or something in that warm car?” The painful cold seemed to take the wild animal out of him. Maybe he had a pack, and they turned him out. I had my camera, I could have taken a photo, but it seemed insensitive. I can’t think that he could still be alive now. I was looking in the bloodshot eyes of death, in a survival of the fittest world.

I know, evolution is supposed to work that way, and strenghten the wolf population. But I was still sad as I drove on, I had to turn off Lou. Just wasn’t in the mood for him, or it didn’t seem respectful.

All of a sudden I realized the pristine wilderness I was driving through was as cruel as it was lovely. And I was part of it. I had to figure out if I was doing my job…after all, as a mother, I’m to prepare my children to survive in this world. Are they “fit” enough? What does that mean? Should I be teaching them primal survival skills, just in case? Hmmm, am I even qualified for that? Not so much. What does it mean to take care of yourself, and what does it mean to be part of the pack….and the bigger pack, and the world pack and…

As I approached mid-trail I saw an animal dart and thought—Woah…there goes another one. Closer I could see it was just a large fox. A very healthy fox, with a winter coat that they can fluff somehow. He was fat and fit and furry—. Wow, he was so healthy, I’ll bet he could have taken out that wolf…

I don’t have mange, but I sure felt part of a pale and furless and weak species. Should I be bringing soup to somebody today? Should I be paying for universal health care? Or should I be filling our basement with cans and working like crazy to inform potential canoeists? Too many questions, I can’t wrap them up.

So I turned on Lou again. But I wasn’t singing along. Just listening and thinking. He is really smooth.