Picnic

This past Saturday my wife and I enjoyed a visit and picnic lunch at Devil’s Lake State Park. We tend to visit the park at least once a year. It is the third oldest state park. The park is expansive. It is the largest of all state parks in acreage. It also offers a variety of activities, and has the second most campsites of all state parks. The park is part of what is known as the wider Baraboo Range, a monadnock among which sediment accumulation at the base, and the forces of erosion have reduced the height of a once magnificent mountain range. The range is primarily composed of quartzite, which is a hard rock and is dated at 1.5 billion years old making it among the oldest rock formations in North America. Most of the activity at the park, however, occurs at the large picnic grounds on the north and south shores of the lake, and the trails to the top of the bluffs on each side. The views from the bluff are a sight to behold and on that autumn day hints of yellow and red were showing among the distant trees in the vast bluff-top view. The wide variety of recreational offerings, perhaps as diverse as any state park, combined with its geographic location make it the most visited Wisconsin state park.

Devil's Doorway, photo by author
Some may say the rocks were stacked by aliens

Being the most visited shows not only in the diverse activities offered in the park, but also in the type of persons it attracts. You have left-overs from the 1960’s enjoying the weather. You have motorcyclists and their biker companions in their leather bike gear roaring by. You have young and old alike climbing the strenuous trails to get to the top of the bluff. There are rock climbers sitting next to a mid-level bluff trail awaiting their turn to scale one of the sheer quartzite rock faces. There are young and old enjoying water activities. A number of watercraft rentals occurred on this mild autumn day. The number of persons in the water was not significant, mostly children, but some adults. Some would wade in the water mumbling at the varied stones that make stepping difficult. The coming of age millennials, off-spring of the baby-boomers, show an energy that a boomer can now only admire, or look back on with some envy. The diversity, however, is more than the type of activity, the demographics or even the socio-economic status. It is also ethnic and cultural.

The ethnic diversity was clearly shown this year as my wife and I began our walk to the pot-hole trail. The first three groups we met, as we were just beyond the parking lot, spoke a language other than English. Two of the groups were likely from Eastern Europe, the other from Asia. The Wisconsin Dells area employs a high number of Eastern Europeans to work as guards at their water parks, and clean their hotel rooms. Being from the Midwest we tend to be friendly and provide a greeting to those we meet on the trail. Some would respond in English, although heavily accented, and then carry on a conversation in their mother tongue with others in their group.

Portion of trail map of park, google images

A trip we made to the park in the summer of 2014 was a day the park was very heavily used. People were almost on-top of one another at the picnic grounds. The parking lot, and overflow parking was so full that cars were parking on Southshore Drive as far as one could see. There were people playing Frisbee that we had to duck, you had to navigate a maze of blankets and picnic gear to get from the beach to your picnic table. People being people, piled trash in the restrooms, even though the park policy is carry-out what you carry-in. However, that summer day also showed the aromas emanating from a variety of grills wafted through the air combining to cause a mixture of olfactory pleasure. The fare was not just brats and burgers. Some ethnic groups were grilling food common to their custom. It was like being at a foreign food festival, but without the chance to taste the variety of foods.

Last Saturday a few things took my notice. First, was the Chinese family, a man, two adult females and a small child. They were dressed as if they had an important event to attend, not unlike people would dress today for a wedding. While the man did not have a tie on, he had on a dress shirt, nice dress trousers, and dress shoes. They took it upon themselves to rent a paddle boat. They were fortunate that the concessionaire, seeing their predicament, dried the dew off the seats, and waited for them to load and then pushed them in the water. The return journey required the man to remove his shoes and socks and roll his pant legs up to knee level to get out and pull the boat back to the sandy and stone shore. This was a contrast with the typical attendee in shorts and t-shirts. Also in contrast was the second group we noticed. A group of Mennonites were at the far west shelter in the south shore day use area. There you could see them, women standing in a group outside the shelter, and the men in the shelter sitting down. Some of the women would walk along the shore, their light blue shirts, and white bonnets, one waded in the water. Interesting, is that most we say were young, typical millennial age group or younger. The men in their black jeans and light blue or green shirts would walk by our picnic table perhaps on their way up the bluff. A few young couples walked by together, but that seemed more the exception. One thing I did notice, and was consistent with Mennonites we saw at the top of St. Peter’s Dome was that they did not have individual water bottles but a couple quart sized water containers for shared use. Most others, if they had a water container, had an individual water bottle. The Mennonite group was in contrast to the group at the center shelter, a fair distance off the lake. A birthday party was being held, a typical American event with balloons drawing guests to the shelter.

View from a bluff, google images

Also present were four legged guests. With the water-beach interface occupied by only perhaps 30 persons at the most, some people took liberty and would take their dogs down to the water, ignoring the “No Dogs Allowed” signs. With the number of dogs in the water at the far west end of the beach, perhaps that area was reserved for dogs. The furry creatures would run in the water to fetch a ball and then return to shake themselves out. Some persons took their dog on a canoe ride. Whether the dogs left some undesirable debris along the lake shore, I choose not to check.

Most groups that walked by had conversations, at least those in English, that seemed rather common. There was one millennial, however, who was walking down the path with a female friend, who was trashing his mother. Metaphorically speaking, he said to his partner, that “his mother can take the wind out of my sail.” He would go on to recount how one can be doing really well enjoying the day and then his mother comes along and bam, there is no more fun, there is no more joy. She would destroy his day. She just sucks the life out of the guy. While it made me chuckle a little, my wife had a discernibly different reaction, wondering if that is how her children talked when not in her presence. While moms hold a family together they also get the grief. Perhaps at some point that young man will make the recollection that was made famous (I think by Mark Twain) and apply it to his mother when commenting that he was amazed how much his father had learned over the span of four years from his child’s late adolescents to early adulthood.

Size of Devil's doorway, photo by author

One never knows what you can observe on a picnic at a state park. Our Saturday visit to the south shore showed the richness of the varied cultures that occupy the nation. One does not need go to a large American city to see the diversity of culture, you only need to visit a state park. The cultural milieu of the nation can be observed at Devil’s Lake State Park. Devil’s Lake is within the larger Baraboo Range which, according to the Nature Conservancy, is home to over half (or about 135) of the 226 bird species that breed in Wisconsin. Over 250 species of birds nest or pass through the area. Devil’s Lake State Park may be one of the top jewels of our state park system, but the richness and diversity of its natural environment and activities provided is matched by the human richness of ethnicity and culture of its guests. In the end, our visit was an example of what Pope Francis referred to in his recent US visit when commented that the nation should celebrate its differences.

What I found the most surprising is, how few digital photos I could find of Devil's Lake, considering all the times we have been visited. I thought for sure I had the camera last year, but I could not find any photos

35 Years Ago

It was on this date, 35 years ago that my mother, Mary Jeanne Sweeney Hovel, passed from life on this earth. She was born in Chicago, IL on 1 October 1923 to an Irish father and a German mother. Mom was a product of the neighborhoods in which she was raised. After schooling, and time for discernment, she would marry and then venture a few hours north to make her home with her husband in Sun Prairie, WI. She, and my Dad, were part of the Greatest Generation, which not only saw the US through a horrible conflict, but would forever change the course of our world. They, and other members of their generation, would see a rapid change in the built and social environment of the nation. With others of that generation, they would produce a demographic tsunami the consequences of which we see in our economy to this day. Mom and Dad produced their share of that demographic tidal wave, by having ten offspring. Their first child was born in 1948, just days into the new year; their last child would be born in the fall of the last year (i.e. 1964) recognized as the baby boom generation. In between in 1957 the largest population cohort of the baby boomers would be born, and so to with our family as Mom gave birth to twins. (But for my brother wanting more space and pushing me out, we were to have been born in 1958.)  Thus, the family would span the breadth of the baby boom generation. We became part of the great American experiment that changed our land use, would alter the nation's social mores, and in so doing change the fabric of the nation. In our family we were a mix of ancestry—German, Bohemian, and Irish. A combination now not unknown.

Leo Sweeney Family

However, in early 20th century America, the mix of ancestry of was in its early stages. While the US is often thought of as a melting pot, it was more of a stew, as ethnic enclaves were formed from large cities to small towns. These urban enclaves, began forming in the mid-19th century and continued into the first part of the 20th century. What resulted was a social, political and religious environment that would form the values of generations. Mom's values were formed in a big city, but my Dad’s values were formed by his growing up on a farm next to small communities in Iowa and Wisconsin. While there were marked differences in the built environments from which they arose, both had some crucially shared values of faith and family. These elements would dominate their life not only growing up, but in raising their own family.

Mary Jeanne Sweeney

Historians and urban sociologists tell us that in a number of large urban centers, particularly in the northeast and Midwest, neighborhoods were identified not by their polity, but by their neighborhood Catholic Church. Putnam and Campbell say that even non-Catholics would identify their neighborhood by that Catholic parish.  The church served not only as the religious center, but also as the social center and welfare center. One example in mass media is in the movie “Cinderella Man.” When James Braddock was fighting Max Baer, the neighborhood residents gathered in the parish church to listen to the fight on the radio. This was the depression era, and the church was the unifying institution on which people depended. Today, the German and Irish have moved on from the neighborhoods in which they, or their ancestors, were formed and with that move certain bonds and values were affected.

For some reason, even though my mother was half German and half Irish she identified more with the Irish side. You never saw her, or really anyone, celebrate St. Boniface day.  But, she did celebrate St. Patrick’s day. Perhaps it was that the German’s became more of just another ethnic group, whereas the trials which the WASP nation put the Irish through was a different matter. Ireland was dominated by the English, and so the ruling and dominant Anglo class in the US would make life for the Irish in the US less than desirable. This of course had the effect of drawing the Irish closer to their own kind, and to the neighborhoods and the one institution they shared in common—the Catholic Church. My mother would be educated at Catholic schools. My father’s family moved from rural Iowa to Sun Prairie so he could be educated at Catholic schools as well.  Even though one was raised on a farm in rural Wisconsin and the other in the then second largest city in the nation, they had common values.

Mary Jeanne and Roy Hovel

My mother would give birth to and raise ten children. She would bear the heartache of having lost a son in a tragic accident when he was only 4 years of age. As much anguish as that loss produced, I cannot help but think she was also pushed beyond her chronological age by other events. She was pushed by ten births, She was pushed by many other pregnancies which were only part-term. Maybe she was also pushed through the actions of her prodigy. As much laughter as the stories of the antics bring in later years, they probably were not very funny at the time, at least to her. Although I am sure my Dad found some of them quite funny. After all it was my Dad who caught on his movie camera a fight between my two oldest brothers.  While Mom is screaming for them to stop, my Dad has his Kodak movie camera moving around the action.  The most surprising thing is that one of my brothers did not slug him.  We would often hear the comment from Mom..."Oh, Bernard that is not funny!”  Other antics were more than my brother wearing his short tails out. Or, my Dad bringing a pony up the steps into the back hall. They were antics not totally uncommon to boys and girls of the age, but the antics tended to be multiplied by the mere fact that there were ten children, of which there were seven sons before a daughter.  We proved the adage that boys will be boys.

Being self-employed my Dad was at work quite often. He worked long hours, particularly during tax season when he would return to the office for a few more hours of work each night. As was not uncommon, he was also immersed in various civic and church groups. My mom ran the household. Again, that was not unusual for the day. It was a different era than that seen by the helicopter parents of today. We walked to school, we walked or biked to visit friends. We climbed trees and played in the creek. We would be set outside during the summer only to return for lunch and dinner. Of course, many of our activities were in our large yard, if not within a few blocks. We got hurt, but we survived, even if few stitches were required. We (or me) built ramps on which we would ride our bikes, and then would place pedal cars and tractors and try and jump over those too. It was not unlike what was in “Sandlot” or other movies representing life of an era and childhood that as we age we tend to look back on with fondness rather than enmity. Mom’s life was the care and well-being of her children. She was not a helicopter parent, but was sufficiently present to provide necessary guidance. Of course, she had eyes in the back of her head. Her mother’s intuition was very strong. Her life likely mirrored many other mothers of the day. Having grown up in an urban area, she would raise her family in the suburban culture as Sun Prairie moved from a rural farming community to a suburb of Madison.

Mom and Dad

She was a city girl that appreciated the five acres her large boisterous brood had available to roam. In Sun Prairie today, my lone brother to live in Sun Prairie notes, the term “are you one of the Hovel boys” is still asked of him. Perhaps less common than 35 or 50 years ago, but it is still present. In a then version of Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram, her phone network often had her hearing of some the antics of a child before they returned home. It was a small town where you really could not get away with anything. The words we did not want to hear were “Wait to your Father gets home.” Although her punishment was often more exacting than his. Yet, it was still the threat. Not unlike what the Barone boys saw between Marie and Frank in some of the stories told on “Everybody Loves Raymond.” We would go to church Sunday mornings at 9:00 am. Sunday was my Mom’s morning off from kitchen work, as my Dad would do the cooking—generally pancakes and bacon or sausage. Of course, the young two being spoiled had bunny shaped pancakes, with chocolate chips for eyes.  Her life was one of service, primarily to her children. Her success was not measured in the deals she cut, the money she made, or some other common measure of success. Rather, her success was in raising a large family.  She was quite self-less, not after for her own personal gain, but rather the gain of her family. Yet, her actions moved beyond the family.  When friends needed assistance she was there.  She was well practiced in the lost art of letter writing.

The institutions in her Chicago neighborhood that were important to her have been in decline. Mobility has altered the way we live; our form of development has helped to decrease the importance of some of the institutions on which families of her growing years depended. These institutions have been significantly damaged by a variety of forces, some self-inflicted. Today, it is often not the common good which is important to a person, but rather what an individual can get for him or herself. The individual nature, rather than individuals forming a collective consciousness, can be seen in many different facets of what we refer to as our post-modern world. In their basic form, institutions are a collection of persons with a common interest, which should work to advance the common good.

Tombstone in Sacred Hearts Cemetery, Sun Prairie, WI

Times have changed between my mother’s childhood in Chicago and when she raised her own family. Times have changed between my being raised and my current age. Of course, we should not expect things to not change, life would be rather dull and boring if it did not change. Yet, the aspect of community, our "common home," seems to be less important as individualism takes hold. Individualism can be good, individual activity can drive advances, but like all things, it needs to be tempered by some other aspect, and that aspect is community.  My mother showed the true value of caring for others.  A value instilled by the family and larger community of which she was apart.  She understood the value of the common good, and the role an individual plays to assist the larger institution or community in which they participate.   She would understand the comment by St. Thomas Aquinas who (as quoted recently by Martin O'Malley) wrote: “Any seeker of a higher truth or of God, must eventually and inevitably come back to the idea of community.” As time has lingered, some of the memories I had of her have unfortunately diminished.  Yet, the lessons learned, and virtues formed through the institutions that formed me, including the family unit, continue to inform.

Can Never Have Enough....

Last week my wife said something I thought I would never hear. No, it was not what you may be thinking. She said she was going to miss zucchini. By this time of year, who in their right mind would utter such a comment? One does not have to be a long-term gardener to know that zucchini are the rabbits of the vegetable family. They keep coming, and coming, and coming. By September you have pretty much have had your fill of zucchini, and other summer squash. Most would prefer not to see one again, but of course the following late spring, you have once again planted zucchini knowing that you have at least one crop that will produce. By this time of year you may be wishing for a frost more to get rid of the zucchini plant than to tone down the mosquitoes.

Two over-sized patty-pan squash

Left unattended for too long zucchini will get as big as whiffle ball bat. They get so big, JK Rowling missed the mark by not having a zucchini be the big club to fit into the giant hands of Hagrid’s half-brother Grawp in the Harry Potter series. Daily trudges to the garden are necessary to keep zucchini in check. Although, under the giant leaves they become hidden where they are difficult to notice and then they reach a size disproportionate to your desire. But, you can find a use for them, whether it is in baking bread, or cubing or cutting. This is where my wife has developed a new found love affair for zucchini. She purchased a spiralizer that can take normal sized (if there is such a thing) hunks of zucchini, and she has even done this to patty-pans, to create small noodles. I have to agree they are quite tasty, at least the way she prepares them. She has well expanded her repertoire for cooking summer squash that she actually enjoys the challenge of using this ever abundant crop. I have to say her culinary preparation of the summer squash family has had the effect of expanding my waistline. As one example, she has improved upon a recipe of oatmeal zucchini bread. I enjoy the bread which I love to, much to her chagrin, slather with peanut butter.

I need to admit that I have been an enabler for her cooking of zucchini. When I was in the library last week I happened to see a cookbook sitting for all to see titled The Classic Zucchini Cookbook. This book offered 225 recipes for zucchini and all types of squash. With zucchini being ever present I was surprised to see it not only so visible on and end cap display, but that it was still there. Perhaps it proves my thesis that all others are by now tired of zucchini and cannot wait for the first frost. An on-line search showed eleven copies in the South-Central Library system for just this one cookbook. She was as excited as teenage girl receiving seeing her rock idol when I showed her the cookbook. I think she wants to get a copy to add to her cookbook collection. As of last Sunday, she has made three recipes from that cookbook.  Three vary different dishes. Who knew you could get such variety with zucchini.  All were quite good.

Omelet made with zucchini with other garden vegetables

As fall begins to set in our summer squash crop will produce less and less.  This week we pulled the zucchini out, due to disease, and the patty-pan will likely follow in the next week or two, provided we do not have a frost.  I harvested the last zucchini for the season this past Sunday.  The days are shorter and the garden is in shade shortly after the Packer-Bear game kickoff.  Not much sunlight for a productive crop, even if it is zucchini.  For many recipes you cannot use frozen zucchini. Frozen will not work in her new toy--the spiralizer. I suppose a benefit of the spiralized zucchini is that is healthier than eating flour noodles. On the other hand, eating all that zucchini oat bread, while tasty, is probably not all that good for the body.  I can, however, justify eating it by knowing that she took the recipe and cut out some of the fat content.  The nice thing with zucchini bread is it can be made with zucchini that had been frozen.  As fall approaches and our zucchini supply has now come to an end, my wife will need to content herself with either purchased zucchini or regular noodles. As inventive as she is, however, perhaps she will spiral up some other vegetable to replace a noodle. That than gets to the question, can one ever have too much zucchini? 

Nature's Bounty

A recent post in late August discussed the beauty of our natural world and the awesome wonders which nature, or the handiwork of God, presents.  The wonders of nature are but one aspect of God's bounty.  There is also another aspect, and for which we all need to give thanks.  That is food.  Even in the increasingly secularized nation of today 44% of the United States continues to say grace, a prayer if you will, before a meal.  Our life as inhabitants of the earth depends upon water, food and shelter. Three key aspects to every animal on earth, but most important to humans.

Some of the tomato crop ready for processing

We have changed our cultural pattern to such a degree that not living with heat or indoor plumbing is roughing it, conditions which would constitute blight and make, at least in many parts of the United States, a building uninhabitable. People, at least many that we consider civilized, have evolved from hunter-gatherers to a people many of which today do not know from where their food comes.  The nation lost its path, and its connection with agriculture.  Enter the grow local movement which is now increasingly popular, if not near hip.  It is rather funny that growing food has once again become a thing to do.  Mediocre restaurants use the term to drum up more business on the idea that locally grown is better and healthier.  I was at a Madison Fire Station today, and they prided themselves on their own site produced vegetables.  It is not uncommon to hear of foods contaminated by some source or another being recalled. Spinach and lettuce are often culprits. Hence, the idea of local food is to know where your food is grown. Nothing can be more local than the food one grows with their own hands.

Cutting up to make tomato sauce

I guess you could say that my wife and I have been part of the grow-local movement long before there was a grow-local movement.  We have had a vegetable garden for the 24 summers of which we have been married.  Our garden does not receive the sufficiency of sunlight that it should as neighbor trees shade it about halfway through the day, but yet we find some success.  However, planting of a second garden a half hour drive away gets much more sun and productivity.  For example, an eggplant in our garden may produce perhaps two or three, while the more distant one with its higher level of sun, and what appears to be better soil, produces ten or more.  The distant garden is relegated to plants which can wait a week to be picked.

Tomato sauce being cooked

Some crops need picking every day.  A good example, is tomatoes.  Tomatoes need to be picked in our home garden every day.  One reason is that we have some varmint which takes a bite out of the ripe tomatoes, so we need to pick the tomatoes just before prime.  Lucky for us, tomatoes ripen off the vine.  Pests and varmints are a bane to more than Mr. MacGregor. Of course it is difficult to refer to a cotton tailed bunny a varmint.  I planted my first garden here at my home on a Monday 24 years ago.  You are probably wondering how I know it was a Monday, but it was not a journal, but my work life.  I woke up on Tuesday morning to find that about half my plants were just plain missing.  Because of a Tuesday night meeting, I could not go out and get fencing; that would have to wait until Wednesday.  By Wednesday, there were no garden plants remaining.  Darn, those Tuesday night meetings.  The fence would go up to help project the seed rising from seed.  It was a double whammy since many of plants I had started and nursed from seed in my basement.  I had to go out and buy the tomatoes, broccoli and other seedlings.

The results of Saturday canning

But, plants mature and they need to be harvested and eaten or preserved.  I try to space out broccoli, but it does not matter--they all come at once.  Sometimes you want a good amount of produce at once, like when you want to preserve food--such as tomatoes.  But, some things we would prefer, such as broccoli, to come over the course of a few weeks.  Peppers seem to behave better than broccoli, while they arrive later in the season, they seem to spread themselves out; plus they can last longer on the vine before having to be picked.

Pears being cooked down in both the dutch oven and the stainless steel pot

Perhaps a more difficult part is the work entailed in preserving the food. There are two ways we preserve food, freezing and canning.  Since we do not use a pressure cooker, we are limited in what we are able to can.  We have frozen over 15 quarts of green beans this year.  We took this on with team work cleaning, cutting, blanching, bagging and freezing the beans.  My wife has the more difficult task, as she does most of the canning.  Cutting, cooking and canning has been much of her task this early part of September.  She has made salsa, spaghetti sauce, tomato sauce, as well as canning tomatoes.  Giving the term labor to Labor Day weekend, she toiled over ten hours combined between Saturday and Monday canning.  It is one thing to can in front of a hot stove when it is 70 degrees outside, but temperatures pushing 90, and high humidity make it something else.  AIr conditioning could not keep up with her level of activity.  Besides canning the above this weekend, we also picked, cooked and canned several jars of pear sauce--think of a sauce made with pears instead of apples.  But what we mainly can is tomatoes, or the varied aspects which use a tomato base (salsa, for example).  I used to plant about 40 to 45 tomato plants, but we are now grow about half that number.  Yet, we still get plenty of tomatoes, and so her canning will continue, regardless of the number we are able to give away to friends or coworkers.

Canned tomatoes and pear sauce

It certainly is easier picking, cleaning and storing squash or potatoes.  Yes, some may go bad over time, but we have found a method to clean squash that allows us to have butternut squash from last year saved into October the following year.  We may lose a few, but at least some crops are easier to preserve than others.  Our freezer would not be sufficiently sized to freeze all the tomatoes, or pear sauce.  My wife and I make quite the team in our gardening and preserving.  Yes, some things are in her own purview when it comes to canning.  Not only does she prefer it that way, but I think she wants to keep me away from a knife so as to avoid a trip to the ER.  She did, however, let me cut up a good share of the pears.  I, on the other hand, have the work at the front end planting and tending the seedlings as they arise in our basement, and in planting, mulching, thinning and weeding the garden.

Of course, you may not want to pop a fresh cayenne pepper in your mouth

Tomorrow we will be picking more tomatoes, and that of course means more canning for my wife.  When that ends it will be grapes.  Fresh produce is a wonder to behold, and when you grow it yourself you can eat a fresh carrot just washed out of the garden, a handful of just picked (I mean just picked) raspberries, or a sugar snap pea right off the vine.  All, plus other fresh crops--onions, radishes, lettuce, produce a great tasty sensation.  When eating these fresh fruits and vegetables you can not help but think of what toil and sweat can produce when you nurture to bring about nature's bounty.

Up North

While taking a quick trip to the north woods this past June, the weather was cold and unsettled. For the duration of the trip it was mainly rain with highs in the low 60’s. Spring or fall weather, but definitely not what one would expect in mid to late June. But, that seems to be how the weather goes in the northern part of the state, if the sun does not come out, the temperatures do not rise. While Camping in July a number of years ago at Pattison State Park, the trip was nothing but clouds, rain, and you guessed it cold weather. I think the temperature never pushed above the mid 50’s. While in the north woods this past June, my sister and her husband were beginning a one week vacation and she commented to our nephew, who lives in the north woods, that she was hoping that the one week of summer they experience would be present for their vacation week. Given the clouds and cold that Sunday, chances were slim.

Wren Falls, in the middle of somewhere

This comment came to mind while my wife and I were camping up north in the middle of August. For a good half of the trip the weather was cold, cloudy and rainy. Even the sunny days were so windy that a chill was present, perhaps a harbinger of the coming autumn. Thus, is the contradiction of up north. In the north woods, trees had hints of turning their leaves, down south only distressed trees were starting to turn. We visitors to the north tend to wear shorts and short sleeve shirts. Natives seem to wear long pants and long sleeved, if not flannel, shirts. Flannel is in fashion in more than Minnesota. Up north provides a different culture from that in the southern part of the state. Here we see businesses watering their lawn, up north we saw businesses, mainly milling operations, watering their log piles. Down south deer and turkeys are now rather common, up north it is deer, but also loons and bears. Down south we have pedestrian crossings, up north near Clam Lake they have elk crossings. Down south our Madison lakes are choked with weeds so that, as an acquaintance of mine commented, they have to “mow” the lakes. Urban and agricultural use have flooded our waters with phosphorus and nitrogen, just to mention two of the pollutants.  Plants that bloom in the south, such as Indian Paintbrush, in early July, are blooming near Clam Lake in mid-August.  Down south you may need air conditioning, even during the night; you generally do not need air conditioning in the north woods; even on hot days it seems to cool down in the evening. After all the sun is no longer in the sky, and as shown by the first paragraph—no sun no warmth.

Maple leaf near Wren Falls

In the north woods on a cloudy day with rain you can visit water falls. Down south on a rainy day you may be in a museum. Each area of the state has its own distinct methods and systems, some being more enjoyable than the others. Of course, if want to grow a garden most warm weather crops will do quite nicely in the southern part of the state, but in the north woods you likely will need a green house for some warm weather crops--think squash and peppers. On our recent camping trip I was surprised to see some dairy farms up near Ashland, perhaps the lake effect moderates some of the temperatures because seldom do you see field corn being grown north of Highway 8. While hay is grown, they likely do not get the number of cuttings that are prevalent in the southern half of the state.

Indian Paintbrush in our campsite

In the southern part of the state most local roads, thanks to the dairy industry, are paved. Not so up north—most are gravel, if not dirt. Roads seem to lack much truck traffic but the truck traffic they do have moves fast and splays stones on to your car breaking the windshield. Yes, that happened on our camping trip on a newly chip sealed road with its multitude of pea gravel. However, the biggest difference I noticed was in traffic management. While a state highway was being slurry sealed on a 10 mile stretch we needed to wait about one half hour to advance beyond the man with the stop sign. I had never seen a lead “patrol” car to follow before in all my years of driving in construction zones, but there it was up north just east of Mellen. Perhaps we had just missed the lead car when we arrived, but even though travelling on the non-chip sealed side, the patrol car speed never got up past 25 mph on the state highway. A new driving experience. Down south, the traffic backup for such a long wait would have been, well let us say, catastrophic--the area would have been shut down, even with more route opportunities. I will not even touch on the slang or the accents of natives to the region.

Mom Bear

The north woods is not a state of mind, it is a state of presence in a geography,both physical and cultural, that is rather distinct from its southern brother. Each part of the state has unique contributions. The north is dependent upon the agricultural and economic power of the southern part of the state, the southern part likes to vacation, hunt and fish in its northern part, not to mention the use of some of its resources. Urbanization powers wealth.  Years ago, the north felt disconnected from the south, and there was talk of that area combining with the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to form a 51st state called Superior. It would have been superior in trees and lakes, but definitely not in population, economic output, or other measures of civilization. There is nothing wrong with each being dependent upon the other as long as one side does not take the other for granted. As for me, I take a look at the weather tonight, and in McFarland at 8:30 pm it is 78, while in Clam Lake it is 66. As humid as it is, Clam Lake appears pretty good right now. The larger question is question is how many more blog posts I can get out of our camping trip to Clam Lake?

Awesome Wonders

During a recent camping trip to Ashland County, I was able to visit two places, which trained as a geographer, I have longed to see.  The first, visited on the both way to and home from Ashland County, was Timm's Hill.  This is the current highest natural grade point in Wisconsin,  The second was St. Peter's Dome which sits above the surrounding countryside with a view of one of the Apostle Islands on a clear day.  There was more than view involved, it was being in the geography of place. In a larger sense it became the journey. This was particularly the case with our  Friday four mile hike up and back from St. Peter's Dome, with a  side trip to Morgan Falls.  It was my wife who made me ponder the journey aspect of our excursions through a conversation last Saturday evening.

On Saturday evening we attended mass at a small log church a couple miles west of the unincorporated community of Clam Lake.  On leaving the church, my wife commented on how the last song spoke to our recent excursions while camping near Clam Lake.  Most of the music at this mass was not overly inspiring, and in fact was rather slow and ponderous.  However, that changed when we got to the concluding song, "How Great Thou Art."  Her having put the song to our recent excursions, made me realize that the journey is part of the experience.  Does having a more difficult journey make one appreciate a natural site more than you would otherwise?  The more you put effort into something the more it seems to be appreciated.

Timm's Hill is quite easy to reach as a pleasant drive up a paved one lane road through the woods which will take you to within a few hundred feet of the viewing tower.  The journey is not difficult, and the tower takes one above some of the tree tops.  St. Peter's Dome, on the other hand requires a hike, most of it on an unimproved trail, and it contains what the US Forest Service refers to as a moderate grade.  While trails at Devil's Lake may be steeper, steps have been formed out of stones.  This is not the case with the trail to St. Peter's Dome.  There are small brooks to ford, tree roots to avoid and you need to make sure you gain firm footing on various rocks.  Each place, however, in its own way provided a unique experience.  On the way home Sunday at Timm's Hill it was seeing the fog form and rise from the rain the previous night--photos of which were placed on my Facebook page noting the Smoky Hills of Wisconsin.  Reaching the top of St Peter's Dome, it was the hike through what is a specially managed area by the US Forest Service.  There had been attempts at a granite quarry, remnants of what you can see from a portion of the trail.  There is also a snow mobile trail that crosses about two-thirds of the way up the trail.  A road could have been cut in and paved, affecting the natural surroundings, but then one would have missed the small brooks and other sights along the way.  These features lack the grandeur of Yosemite, the depth of the Grand Canyon, and the mass of Yellowstone, or the power of the great water falls of the west coast, but yet they still have significance and are really quite pleasing.  Maybe they could be thought of as a simple pleasure. St. Peter's Dome is at western end of the Penokee Range; this range was formed over 1.8 billion (yes, with a b) years ago, and is thought to have been at one time as grand as we know the Alps or the Rockies of today.  Millions of years of erosion have worn them to where now they are but a vestige of what they once were.  Like Rib Mountain, they are monadnocks.  Time takes it toll on our geology not unlike our human bodies, just through a much longer time frame.  Human history is but one small blink in the geologic time scale.

St George Church at Clam Lake

Back at mass on Saturday evening, not only did the organist ramp up his play on the last song, but so too did the attendees in this small log church with their voices.  "How Great Thou Art" is not the type of song one would normally consider able to rock a building, but it came close with the organ and the less than fifty gathered as part of a larger universal church.  The song, as my spouse noted to me, in fact spoke to our experiences on this trip, and in particular it related to our journey to the top of St. Peter's Dome.  My spouse would refer to this as another one of her "God-incidences."   Our journey in life is but one small section in time of the existence of the natural world, and the wonders in which we take pleasure. Things need not be on a grand scale in order for them to be appreciated.  For example, Morgan Falls is quite beautiful even though it is fed by a small unnamed creek.  They need not be overly ornate.  The beauty of God's creation, his "awesome wonder" is in how it is perceived, and what we wish to make of it.   But, it is important to let this aspect of nature inform us as we do the grand parts of creation which leave us in a different type of awe.  It is for us to take in the lessons nature can impart.  To me, the overriding lesson is to appreciate the journey and a duty to protect the awesome wonders gifted to us.  I was reminded of this coming out of a simple log church, and the memories gained made my soul sing.

Below are the first two verses from "How Great Thou Art" juxtaposed with photos from our camping trip, which can better explain than I the awesome wonders.  

O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder

Eagle over Day Lake (Toni H. photo)

Consider all the worlds they hands have made,

Part of Morgan Falls

I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder
They power throughout the universe displayed

------
verse 2:


When through the woods and forest glades I wander,

Part of the trail to St. Peter's Dome

And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees.

Just to the side of the St. Peter's Dome Trail

When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur 

From Timm's Hill tower

View from St. Peter's Dome

From St. Peter's Dome

And see the brook, and feel the gentle breeze

Brook to the side of the St Peter's Dome trail

 Unless otherwise noted, all photos by the author.

A Group of Three...

It is not unusual to see groups of threes.  In literature for example, we have the story of the "Three Little Pigs".  We also see three as having importance in landscaping, as an odd number of the same plant seemingly goes better together than an even number such as two or four.  In this case, a group of three plants can work better in a typical yard over a group of five or seven.  But, three is not uncommon in nature.

As the last of the sun leaves its red trail over the water,
a group of three make its way across Day lake

This past Friday, my spouse and I were camping at Day Lake in the Chequamegon portion of the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest, just outside Clam Lake, WI.  For many years our family camped in the Nicolet portion, and always found some event of which to relate a story.  Once it was seeing the eagle nest near Gordon Lake, or, it was raccoon's crossing our campsite at Point Beach, or it was when one of our children fell down a water fall in Marinette County causing my wife's heart to skip a beat or two, or giver her a gray hair.  But, it was also paddling by loons at one of  our favorite campgrounds.  At that favorite campground it was not be uncommon to see three loons, a mother and two young loons, swimming on the lake,  That campground had a number of sites with good views of the lake, and we became familiar with the call of the loon, whether it be late at night, early in the morning, or even midday.  It brought back memories when, while camping part of the past week, we heard the call of the loon.  Unfortunately, weather conditions of rain and cold kept us from the beach for good parts of the first two days.  On Thursday, in the evening, the conditions finally turned, the rain stopped that is, but not the cold.   Following one of my wife's delicious meals (even if it was planned left-overs from the previous day), we found ourselves walking down to the lake, and to take in the sun which had been pretty much absent until that evening.  At the lake, we could see, in the distance toward the opposite shore a loon, although perhaps the highlight of the evening was watching an eagle fly over the lake.

They are moving closer to the east shore

Having enjoyed such a nice experience on Thursday, we made our way to the lake Friday night, a little later in the evening than the day before.  We went to watch the sun set, but nonetheless with a hope of seeing some of the loons we had been hearing from our campsite.  It was during this time, that my spouse noticed three figures near the opposite shore, one a little larger than the other two. Our minds jumped to the conclusion that they were loons and we were wishing they would gradually make their way closer to the east shore, on which we were located.m  Our thoughts of loons were only strengthened when we say another loon land nearby, although it left rather quickly after making some odd sounds.   My wife followed the movement of the three figures in the water and she noted that they were gradually making their way east to our shore, and not all that far from our present location.  To get a better view, I grabbed the camera and waded into the water in hopes for a memorable photo opportunity and a Kodak moment, but one hopefully less disconcerting to my wife than a child falling down the eighteen foot high water fall  She then noted how close the three figures were to a floating bog located a couple hundred feet off the edge of the far beach buoy. At this point the group of three was hidden by the bog, and I could not locate them.  Shortly thereafter, all of a sudden a large figure quickly poked above the water, using I am sure a below water edge of the bog to lift itself up.  It was much too large to be a loon, and I commented that the it is the size of a big dog, but the animal was back in the water so quick that I could not determine what it actually was.  I began to wade closer to the group of three.  On our journey to the campground we came across a site we have not really seen before in Wisconsin, and that was a caution sign reading "Elk Crossing."  My wife's thought, building off of that sign, was perhaps it was an elk.  As the group moved closer to the east shore, The head popped up again, and I quickly said--"it's a bear!" Of course it was not just one bear, but three.

That is no group of loons

I was so struck by the coincidence of having seen three bears, a mom bear and her two children, that I had to watch with my eyes and not through a camera lens.  But, I was able to capture a few photos.  This was the first time I have seen bears up rather close.  (My prior time was seeing one cross the street while traveling down Highway 17 east of Merrill.)  This was no zoo, and the three figures quickly popped out of the water and made their way into the brush and trees of the shore.  I then made my way back to shore.  After a short discussion about the event and showing my wife the photos, a group of three appeared and asked if we had seen the bear.  They noted it apparently crossed near their site, but they did not see the bears.  Ever the practical one my wife suggested we should get to the campsite to make sure our food will not attract the bear.  After all, the food is much better for my stomach than the little sustenance it could give three bears.  While making our way back to the campsite, we could hear what sounded like animals climbing a tree, but the thickness of the vegetation prevented us from seeing if it was the bears, or our minds placing a sound unrelated to the event that was occurring.

Mom Bear looks back to check on her cubs

When my wife camped as a young girl with her family, they would go and watch bears at dump sites.  Dump sites are attractive to bears.  However, there is something different with seeing three bears swim across a lake and hop up on land.  It forms a nice memory to have seen Mom Bear leading her two cubs, let us call them Andrew and Joe, across Day Lake.  In the end they did not reach our campsite, and we placed our food in the car overnight. Life always seems to throw something to us, we just have to be prepared to be on watch.  Not that loons are not impressive, but we received that evening an event we are much less likely to see again.  It is now a our version of the story of the three bears.

Hopping on shore.  Note the other camper on a dock beyond the bears.
The photos were taken on the opposite side of the bed of aquatic plants,
which we estimated to be perhaps 100 to 150' from the bears

 Photos by the author, Friday, August 21, 2015