cloth.paper.string

edge

she suggested we go somewhere new.  
and then led me to the edge.
when i pay attention i see that she does this every day, in every way.

a treat

The big lake near my home is like a sea in so many ways, but it's not a substitute for the real thing.  When I saw that it was going to be warm in South Carolina this weekend, I packed our swimsuits.  I never imagined it would be warm enough to swim, but it was.  Halloween delivered tidal pools and seashells; back floating in the waves and sand between the toes.  The best treats, really.

times two

We went to the woods twice in the last week.  Dropped the little one off at preschool and ventured out as we used to regularly.  Two daypacks.  A thermos of soup, another of tea.  Chocolate bars and salty chips.  Honeycrisp apples and peanut butter.  Knitting for the car.  Cameras for the trail. 

Oranges and yellows and reds everywhere.  That autumnal smell of decaying leaves.  Noisy birds feasting on mountain ash berries.  Quiet walking.  Uninterrupted conversation.

Today, on the Superior Hiking Trail, the far off sound of a foghorn.  We passed by a remote campsite and I found myself yearning to spend the night beneath the falling leaves.

film

I gambled.  One camera + one of my new-old lenses + one roll of film that had spent at least three years in the extreme climate of my attic + one hour processing at the neighborhood pharmacy.  So far, I think I'm doing all right....

the edge

We went into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness this week.  I was immediately reminded just how unbounded the wilderness can be.  We paddled downstream along the Little Isabella River, to the Isabella River and then portaged to Quadga Lake, which we had to ourselves.  Our campsite was on a point with split rock ledges.  From the site you could watch the moon rise and the sun set at once.  It was pristine.

Being spring in northern Minnesota, we prepared for all weather, packing hats and mittens, rain gear, boots and sandals.  We thought we'd beat the mosquitoes, but brought the ridiculous-looking head nets anyway.

We experienced beauty.  Layers of evergreen and spring greens pulling up from the horizon and reflecting back.  The constantly changing sky.  Sunsets.  Moon rises.  Loon calls from across the cove, snowshoe hares thumping through the campsite. 

And we experienced all sorts of stresses.  Mosquitoes, howling wind, rain, cold, dampness, thunder and lightning.  Shortages of cooking fuel and bug repellent.  Rubber boots filled with water while pushing the canoe off a pile of rocks.  Misjudged portages.  Had it been just me and J, there surely would have been a lot more swearing.  In the end we cut the trip short by a day, as we realized we definitely needed a break from our break.

But I'm glad we went, and while I felt pushed to the edge in ways I haven't in a long while, I consider the trip a success.  She didn't want to come home, and is already talking about our next trip.

changes

I am tempting Mother Nature, I know it.  I put the snowshoes and skis and snowboots and sleds away today.  I even had the nerve to pull out the sidewalk chalk.  We splashed in the puddles, got freckles on our noses and played in the sand at the beach.  I sat hatless on the sunporch didn’t shiver.  It felt like spring.

Early spring, that is.  When the warmth brings not daffodils and tulips, but the big mess that is mudseason.  The time of year when snowmelt finds the low spot that is our basement floor, when the hound finds and rolls in all sorts of freshly thawed nastiness.  I’m embracing it.  And hoping that Mother Nature sees that I didn’t pull out the flip-flops, and goes easy on us in the coming weeks.

Also, in the coming weeks I’m going to be here less frequently.  I’m taking a break as our little family figures out just how we’ll navigate a new schedule that includes two full time jobs and one almost full time preschool.  We’ve been spoiled over the last three years, with one parent home with the babe, an incredibly flexible schedule, and each week, a three day weekend together.  It’s a big change for us.  In so many regards, it’s a good one, but it’s a change that feels incredibly stressful in this moment.  I’ll continue to post my 365 : solstice to solstice photos over on flickr, and will contribute to habit through the end of the month (which I’m enjoying more than I ever imagined).

May the changing of the seasons be good to you.

winter's beach glass

The big lake doesn't have discernable tides, but it is forever changing.  The ongoing tussle between freeze and thaw in winter makes for some amazing scenery.  I brought the snowshoes for my walk along the point today, but most of the snow had been blown away.  I wore them anyway, using their sharp metal teeth as crampons so I could climb on the mounds of ice and get a little closer to the place where the liquid and solid meet.

Along the frozen shore, chunks and shards of ice were softened and tempered by the sun.  They sparkled.

Another sparkly thing for me today is that I'm one of this month's guests here.  To say that I'm thrilled to be a part of this exciting project is an understatement.  Emily and Molly sure know how to throw a party.

the caves

We recently ventured out to the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore to see the mainland caves.  I've heard them referred to as 'sea caves' but this doesn't make much sense to me since the sea is about salt, and the great lakes are as fresh as can be.  I've also heard folks call them 'ice caves' but this name is seasonal, of course. But never mind the name, this place really can't be summed up with words.

In the warmer months, the caves are accessible by kayak, and only by those with paddling expertise.  As the temperatures drop splashing water freezes, layer upon layer, on the red rock walls of the chambers.

Eventually the lake itself freezes solid and for a few weeks each winter, it is safe to hike out to the caves.  It was amazing, and admittedly, a bit unsettling out there.  I could hear the lake, its dull bass thump and bump reminding me of its power.   Every now and again I'd step on the uneven surface and it would give way -- just the top layers, but enough to stir up my adrenaline.  And twice, a popping crack left me wondering just why I was out there.  And then I'd look up. 

simple decadence

Can you imagine how the setting sun tints the snow covered lake orange and pink?  Pine boughs laden with the weight of soft winter white?  What about a retired sled dog exchanging yips and yowls with a pack of wolves?  Or a star-filled night bookeneded by the steaming warmth of a Finnish sauna and the chilling cold of a woodstove extinguished in the wee hours?  I'd love to share images of the beauty found last week at the edge of the wilderness, but my camera doesn't capture much without a memory card.  

Instead I'll leave you with a cinnamon roll made from a hunk of the Artisan Bread in Five dough that's sitting in my fridge.  Because they were painfully easy to make.  Because they're delicious.  Because I can't post without a picture.  And too because there's something about homemade cinnamon rolls that feels decadent in the same way that going on an overnight without the little one for the first time felt like a complete luxury.   Thanks Nana and Papa for making it possible!

daylight saved : crab apples

Around the corner, prolific crab apples trees show off all of the sunlight gathered through the summer.