Wren Falls

Wren Falls is a pretty little waterfall way off the beaten track. We stumbled upon it on our way home from Foster Falls (thanks to my screwy sense of direction). It was a sweet end to a wrong turn.

I just discovered a series of HDR (or hipster, as Will refers to them) presets in Lightroom and I decided to experiment with them. I can't decide if they look overdone, like Dolly Parton, or richly textured, like Sean Connery. Anyway, now that I know where (and what) a preset is— the skies the limit for experimentation. My eye  tends to prefer a more natural look but we all need to put on a pair of heels and a little lipstick every now and then, right?

The World Beneath Our Feet

It's been a banner year for mushrooms and conditions were ripe for a fungi photo safari at Houghton Falls. Time flew as I spent my morning on my hands and knees amongst the inhabitants of the forest floor. It's good for the soul to spend a few hours bathed in wonderment—it's as easy as looking down.

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

 A safe fairyland is untrue to all worlds.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

 There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

 I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers

Yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world; small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and in for all sorts of fun wherever you go.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

He used often to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river: its springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary. 'It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,' he used to say. 'You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Flower Power

And still, after all this time, the Sun has never said to the Earth, "You owe me." Look what happens with love like that. It lights up the sky.

Rumi

Lost Creek Falls With M & M

“There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says "Morning, boys. How's the water?" And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes "What the hell is water?".....

It is about the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:

This is water."

"This is water.”

David Foster Wallace, This Is Water

It snowed last night. Charlie was rejoicing, in the way only a snowboarding obsessed twelve-year-old can— with verve and volume. He was so disappointed when he woke up this morning and the snow had melted into the green grass. Thankfully, snow is on the menu for the next six months and Charlie will be bombing the hill in no time.

Last night, with the snow falling, I found these pictures in my Lightroom files and traveled back to this warm, sunny day in July. We hiked out to Lost Creek Falls with Mike and Mindy and these pictures are from that adventure. It was pretty amazing to have everyone together, in one place, for an afternoon and it made me so very happy to see Meg and Jack perched on rock, bathed in sunshine. Man, I miss that boy.

I'll never tire of sitting near, listening to or taking pictures of running water and waterfalls. They are the tether I grab when I need to find a way back to myself and towards, as Mary Oliver said, 'a silence where another voice may speak.'

Perched on a rock behind the waterfall, the 'awareness of what is so real and essential' settled into me like the water flowing over me. The lives we build with those we love are 'water', as essential as a heartbeat but easy to take for granted in the noise and busyness of life.

We spent a few hours in the company of Lost Creek, cedars, white and red pines, ancient rock and each other. It was about as good as it gets for an afternoon in July and I'll carry it with me until we all meet again among the trees and water at Lost Creek Falls.

Walking The Siskiwit River

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.  The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time.  On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.

Norman McLean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories

There is nothing like following a river on foot. The sound of the water, the light dancing on the surface, the tree-lined bank and glimpses of the riverbed through the moving water are my touchstones.

A benevolent cedar keeping watch on the river bank.

An embrace in cedar.

Our version of a water park, lined with trees and rocks 'from the basement of time'.

Stones covered with water and sunlight.

Water moving over rock shaped by moving water.

The many faces of riverbed and water.

One of Ted's favorite movies is A River Runs Through It and we've watched it more times than I can count. Since I rarely sit through an entire movie, I've never seen the end, until a few weeks ago (see the clip here). McLean was right— eventually everything does merge into one and a river runs through it. I am blessed to have found my river.

Happy Cows In Mellen

'Good farmers, who take seriously their duties as stewards of Creation and of their land's inheritors, contribute to the welfare of society in more ways than society usually acknowledges, or even knows. These farmers produce valuable goods, of course; but they also conserve soil, they conserve water, they conserve wildlife, they conserve open space, they conserve scenery.'

Wendell Berry, Bringing it to the Table: Writings on Farming and Food.

I owe my introduction to the O'Dovero-Flesia farm to my quest for a seriously good hot dog. My preferred hot dog supplier, a meat market in Mellen, exited the sausage business a few years ago and while Hebrew Nationals are a good substitute, they just weren't the same. Everything changed when Pete told me about the O'Dovero's cattle farm and meat market— I was back in all beef, natural casing with a satisfying snap hot dog heaven. And, lucky for me, O'Dovero-Flesia heaven also included dry aged beef, the perfect pork belly for pancetta and a picturesque collection of cows, buildings and pastures.

Five generations of O'Dovero's have called these 1,000 acres at the base of the Penokee Hills home and as I pulled into the driveway, I can understand why— it's beautiful. The undulating pastures are framed by hardwood and pine forest, the Penokee hills rise up in the background and two barns with field stone foundations (built in the late 1920's/early 1930's) wear the weathered patina of 87 years of Wisconsin rain, wind, snow and sun.

The extraordinary (or not, depending on how you look at it) thing is it's still a working farm— raising cattle and supporting a family who are rooted in this place as much as the trees are rooted in the hillside. After nearly 90 years of mindful animal and land stewardship, the farm and family are faced with a nearly incomprehensible challenge— legislation has been purchased by an out of state mining company to allow an open-pit iron ore mine, literally, in their backyard. GTac, a Florida company owned by the 'New King of Coal' Chris Cline, plans to detonate 5.5 million tons of explosives every nine days until the pit measures 4.5 miles long— all within a mile of the O'Dovero's pastures, barns, cattle and home.  It goes without saying, they are in a fight for their lives.

The cows on the farm reminded me of George, inquisitive and friendly. They were well taken care of and it showed in their demeanor and appearance. The best part of the day was speaking to Margaret, a member of the fifth generation and Veterinary student, about her connection to the farm and what's at stake if GTac starts to blow up the hills behind her house. The land, water and animals will be sacrificed, without consideration from a company who used money (and lots of it) to unethically re-write legislation to indemnify themselves from the damages that are inherent with any extraction industry.

Aldo Leopold said, 'There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm. One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery, and the other that heat comes from the furnace.' Since I am an enthusiastic meat-eater as well as a passionate animal lover, two seemingly contradictory terms, I spent some time thinking about the sacrifices inherent when we harvest, anything, for our consumption. How should we honor the harvest of any animal, plant or mountaintop for our dinner table, gas tank or warship? Acknowledging that sacrifice starts with mindful consumption, re-using what we can and remembering, always, that the resources we have are not endless.

Incredibly, thanks to our disconnected and pseudo-sanitized food system, we are able to purchase a plastic wrapped package of beef with an expiration date and a price on it and think the only components of the transaction are the exchange of currency at the checkout aisle. We forget, or choose to ignore, the elemental transaction that occurred on the farm, where the cow was raised and harvested. Because of this sense of separateness, we also forget that the knives we purchase, the cars we drive or the railroads used to transport our toilet paper were once deep in the earth, under mountaintops standing sentry over farms and communities. That's why farms like the O'Dovero's are important— they haven't forgotten and they understand the sacrifice they are asking of the animals in their care.

It's easy to pretend the meat we eat came from cows as happy as the O'Dovero cows or the steel in our cars came from a remote mountaintop without ties to a family's stories or traditions if we disregard an elemental truth— everything is connected. Albert Einstein said, 'A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.' Once we free ourselves from the prison of separateness and we evaluate our consumption in the context of what sacrifices are necessary to fill our bellies, drive our cars or build warships, it's a game changer.

I drive a car, I use appliances and I'm sure there is a steel I-beam somewhere in my house but I can no longer ignore the fact that these conveniences extracted a cost somewhere, to a family or community who sacrificed their mountaintops, forests or clean water. The recognition of the inherent sacrifice in everything we consume begs the question— what do we value as a society? If the only currency that gets any traction is the almighty dollar, how do we begin to assign value to clean water, unmolested forests, healthy communities and happy cows? What is a sustainable and good way of life really worth? I know it feels like cool water rushing over my feet when I'm walking down a river bed. I know it sounds like the waves of  Lake Superior lapping along the shore on Long Island. I know it looks like a group of cows resting in a bucolic meadow of a family farm. Why is it so hard to convince people that it's worth protecting? Is it because we are using the wrong currency?

Is a family farm like the O'Dovero's reason enough to stop a mine? Are the sacrifices GTac is asking of us worth it? On the surface, it seems like a simple proposition— Northern Wisconsin needs jobs and the iron ore in the ground has value, so the sacrifice of one family farm is a fair trade for 'economic prosperity'. But if we dig deeper and look at what's really on the chopping block, it becomes clear that considering only the economic component of the deal is short-sighted. What is the true cost of removing five generations of a family's stories and legacy from the land? What is the inherent value of the Bad River Watershed? How can we quantify what destroying hundreds of acres of trees, ferns, flowers, wild berries and mushrooms will mean to the people and animals who live in the Penokees? Maybe the most precious currencies go beyond empirical value and as a result, require very, very careful consideration when we are asking for their sacrifice. The Penokee hills, the Bad River Watershed, Lake Superior and the O'Dovero-Flesia farm are worth saving— the sacrifices are too great.

Saturday Morning On The Square

When we were in Madison for Jack's orientation, we spent Saturday morning on the square at the Farmer's Market (the first one of 2013). It has been a tardy and cold spring everywhere, including Southern Wisconsin, and it was slim pickings at the market but it was cheese heaven at Fromigination. I realize I tend (heavily) towards hyperbole but I love, love, love cheese and Fromagination had a thoughtfully curated collection of cheeses that put a huge smile on my face.

I wonder who hauls the buckets of sap at the sugarbush— Dean or DeLuca?

To be honest, I wasn't terribly excited to visit the Capital building but figured it was our civic duty as parents to show the kids. I'm glad I went in, it's a spectacularly elegant building.

Liberty— the state of being free within society from oppressive restrictions imposed by authority on one’s way of life, behavior, or political views. Words to live by.

The symmetrical design was absolutely beautiful.

The way home was clearly marked.

There was so much to photograph, including an action shot of Will.

A badger stands sentry over the Supreme Court— I wonder if he's related to Honey Badger?

The highlights of the Farmer's Market were: pickled things, 'frost-kissed' spinach, flowers, cheese and bread. I can't wait to visit in July when the stands will be bursting with fresh fruit and vegetables.

These cow cookies were seriously good.

The kids were wondering why a stuffed lioness was hanging out in a shop window in Wisconsin. I couldn't come with a plausible explanation so we decided to take a photo of her and move on.

Who doesn't like hot and steamy buns?

The Teddy Tantrum Zone and pasties. I'm not clear what the two have to do with each other but like the stuffed lioness, we chalked it up to Madison wackiness and went to lunch.

There were musicians on every street corner— cellos, guitars, banjos and accordions. After a morning in Madison, I know Jack is going to have the time of his life when he leaves in September. There are so many colors, textures and experiences waiting for him around the square, it's a vibrant place for a young man to start his next chapter.

An April Afternoon In Mineral Point

Jack's campus tour was in April and we decided a good old-fashioned family road-trip was in order. We packed everyone, and all their stuff, in the car and drove six hours south to Madison. Friday morning, Ted and Jack headed into Madison and Kelly, the kids and I headed to Mineral Point, an old mining town and the birthplace of the Badger State nickname. The 'driftless' region of Southwestern Wisconsin was untouched by the glaciers that rolled through millions of years ago and that glacial detour left the minerals close to the surface and easily accessible. Some of the early miners lived in holes they burrowed in the ground that resembled badger holes and the name stuck. In the 1820's, the Cornish arrived and built the beautiful stone buildings that line the streets today— more picturesque than holes in the hills.

Most of the town was closed the day we visited, it was still early in the season, but the first shop we visited, Longbranch Gallery, was a treasure trove of beautiful and interesting artwork. The oil painting of Onions and Leeks by Lois Eakin caught my eye when we walked in the gallery— the warmth of the painting appealed to my color starved eyes.

The artist in residence at Longbranch Gallery, Tom Kelly, welcomed us into his studio to take photos and ask questions about his extraordinary collections. It was literally a feast for the eyes and I could have spent hours exploring the shelves, corners and cabinets. He was so gracious to the kids and they walked away from our 20 minute encounter with a new appreciation for the creative and artistic process. I can't wait to go back and visit this summer.

The stone buildings were beautifully preserved— it looked like a Cornish village (the grey skies added a special authentic touch).

Our last stop on our way to lunch was de la Pear, a textile and architectural salvage shop. Will and I just about fell over when we walked through the door into the salvage shop— it was a photographer's dream.

There was something about a room full of forgotten, although once useful or treasured, items that resonated with me. It was such a contrast to Tom's thoughtfully gathered collection but equally as beautiful.

I can add Mineral Point to my list of 'food firsts'— I ordered a pasty for lunch, when in Rome, right? We sat at the lunch counter of the Rooster Café, drank malts made with Schoep's ice cream and planned the next leg of our journey.

On our way to Hook's Cheese Company (they had fresh curds advertised— another 'food first' for us), we stopped at Shake Rag Alley, a non-profit school of arts and crafts.

According to the Shake Rag Alley website, 'there’s a local legend that miners’ wives used to shake a rag outside their doors to call their husbands mining the hillsides home for dinner, but that’s a bit fanciful. Truth is, in several mining towns, “Shake Rag” was the name of a poor residential area'. What was once a poor residential area is now a picturesque little campus for the arts, how cool is that?

Au Revoir Ice Road, You Were Fun While You Lasted

Ice road conversations have a particular cadence— a) is there going to be an ice road this year? and b) is the ice road still open? In between those conversational poles, there are cars traveling back and forth and enjoying free and easy access to Madeline or the mainland. While the appearance of an ice road isn't a given, the death of the ice road is assured. On April 3rd, the United States Coast Guard Cutter ALDER came through and delivered the fatal blow and we said au revoir to the 2013 ice road.

The ALDER is a big boat— 225 feet long, 46 feet wide and way, way bigger than any ATV, wind sled or human on the ice that morning.

The ALDER and I have something in common— she gained her 'Great Lakes Cutter' status on my birthday, October 12th. A Libra ice cutter, who knew? I always thought ice cutters were Aries or Sagittarius, it's amazing what you learn on an April morning at an ice road funeral.

The ALDER stopped in front of the entry to the Apostle Islands Marina, turned around and headed back towards the big lake. I guess it had done all it could to unlock the ferry and fishing boats from their winter irons and was headed back to Duluth. It was hard to believe just six weeks ago, Will and I were on the ice road, headed to Madeline for our Sunday photo safari (read about it here).

She made quick work of the road, breaking up sheets of ice that had carried Islanders and Mainlanders back and forth for six weeks in the spring of 2013. It was a good road while it lasted but I wasn't sorry to see it go. Summer is coming and that means beach days, Long Island Cocktail Club, gardening, farmer's markets and bonfires. Plus, there's always the 2014 ice road to look forward to, right?

Madeline Island Ice Road

Every year, once the bay has frozen, there's a row of Christmas trees between Bayfield and Madeline Island. That's the sign that maybe, with the weather gods blessing, there will be a two-mile ice road connecting Madeline with the mainland. It's taken seven years but on February 24th I did it— I drove over the ice road to Madeline all by myself (and Will). We wanted to go to Big Bay Town Park if the ice road re-opened for business for our Sunday photo safari. Since Ted went skiing with Jack and Charlie at Whitecap, it was up to me to get the car (with all the windows down and seatbelts off) across the ice in one piece. I called Madelaine to inquire about tips and pointers for our voyage— she said drive slow and go between the orange cones (the road had cracked earlier in the week and the road had been re-routed prior to opening). I followed her directions to a 'T' and we made it across in one piece.

About half-way across we saw this guy fishing on the side of the ice road (officially Wisconsin County Highway H)—adds another dimension to the term 'road kill'.

The windsleds were parked at the Madeline Island approach, waiting for another chance to ferry people across in the window between hard ice and flowing water.

Of course, we brought George along for the ride. Will and I have decided he is the official dog of the Dougherty Photo Safaris. He brings elements of joy, vigilance and snowman manicuring skills to the adventure.

Big Bay Town Park didn't disappoint, it was definitely worth the ride.

The reflection of the shoreline in the water was framed by ice and snow. Everything seemed to be differing shades of grey, white and dark green but glimpses of the water outside the bay gave me hope for the eventual return of summer.

Since it was a monochromatic day, I decided to capture the delicate, crystalline structure of the ice and icicles.

The orange moss seemed eye-poppingly bright after spending ten minutes kneeling in the snow photographing icicles.

We decided to head back and my first thought was, 'what time does the ferry leave'? Then I remembered, we drove across the ice road and could leave when we wanted— a pretty unusual feeling on Madeline Island. We rolled down our windows, unbuckled our seatbelts and pointed the car towards Bayfield and home. It was another beautiful afternoon with Will and George, I'm a lucky, lucky girl.

St. Peter's Dome On Easter Sunday

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When Easter and photo safari day coincided this year, I knew exactly where to go— St Peter's Dome in the Penokee Hills. The 1600 foot red granite dome is the highest point in the Chequamegon National Forest and trust me, it's a challenging hike on snowy/icy paths. We kept reminding each other to think like mountain goats when we encountered a particularly slippery patch. I think it worked because we all walked off the trail in one piece.

What a change from Easter five or six years ago— the bunny has been unmasked, the kids sleep in until a civilized hour and they are game for a 4 mile hike instead of sorting their candy and blowing bubbles. While I enjoyed those early mornings looking for the Easter baskets, today was about as close to a perfect Easter Sunday as I could have imagined.

While it was not all wine and roses on our hike and there were plenty of comments about the cold, wind, ice and a slow-moving Mother with a camera, we all experienced moments of wonder. Wonder at the wind howling at the top of St. Peter's Dome, at lush green moss on a tree trunk, at the feeling of walking under very, very old trees or at the perfection that is the heart of any untouched forest.

St Peter's Dome 1

St Peter's Dome 2

Of course, I had to include a couple of pictures of George— he is just so terribly handsome.

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The water was beginning to flow, it's a sight and sound I never tire of. I can only imagine the roar of rushing water during the spring thaw— there's a lot of snow on the ground.

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Even under the deepest blanket of snow, green things are awakening. The early risers are such a contrast to the whites, browns and evergreens I've been surrounded by all winter.

As I was walking along, I wished I had the right words to describe what I was seeing and feeling. We got to the top and I saw Jack looking a piece of paper attached to a tree. There they were, the words I was searching for, in a poem by Marvin Bell. Places like St. Peter's Dome, the Apostle Islands or the Penokee Hills are lifelines in a noisy and too human world.

Around Us Marvin Bell

We need some pines to assuage the darkness when it blankets the mind, we need a silvery stream that banks as smoothly as a plane’s wing, and a worn bed of needles to pad the rumble that fills the mind, and a blur or two of a wild thing that sees and is not seen. We need these things between appointments, after work, and, if we keep them, then someone someday, lying down after a walk and supper, with the fire hole wet down, the whole night sky set at a particular time, without numbers or hours, will cause a little sound of thanks–a zipper or a snap– to close round the moment and the thought of whatever good we did.

Regalia & Drums At Northland College

Jack and I went to Northland College for the 39th Annual Spring Powwow on Saturday— it was a glorious display of sound and color. The drums, jingle dresses, feathers and ornate regalia were mesmerizing; the two hours we spent in the bleachers flew by.

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The intricate bead work was mind-blowing and the colorful regalia was a relief from the monochromatic winter world outside the gym.

Jingle dresses were everywhere and their tinkling sound was a beautiful counterpoint to the deep resonance of the drum.  According to the program at the Pow-Wow, 'The dress itself is said to have been conceived as a means of healing a medicine man's granddaughter. This elder was told in a dream to construct this Jingle Dress and have his sick granddaughter dance in it and she was healed'.

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There were quite a few kids dancing, getting ready and observing the action. As I watched the parents get their kids dressed in their regalia, I was reminded of the countless times my Mom helped me get dressed for Easter or Christmas Mass. At the end of the day, it's all about passing on traditions and legacy to our children— whether it's in a church or around a sacred drum.

A Snowy Walk To The Sugarbush

Spring officially starts on Wednesday but you wouldn't know it by looking outside, there is a lot of snow on the ground (and more on the way tomorrow).  Last year, the kids were at the beach in their swimsuits (check it out here). What a difference a year makes.

The Bayfield Regional Conservancy hosted a Full Moon Luminary cross-country ski out the Nourse Sugarbush at the end of January and the kids and I signed up for a little night skiing adventure. We skied the Sugarbush Trail, lit with luminaries, in a light snowfall— I remember thinking I needed to imprint that night in my brain, it was absolutely magical. When Will, Sadie and I were looking for a photo safari destination, I knew just the spot. A hike out to the sugarbush while there was still snow on the ground was just as magical in the daylight.

According to the Bayfield Regional Conservancy website, 'For hundreds of years, the sugarbush was a spring destination for Ojibwe people, who were the first to tap those maple trees for producing maple syrup. Slash marks from those days are still evident on the oldest trees.  The Nourse family has continued the tradition since the 1920’s.  A small cabin (c. 1920) and tin storage shed used for maple syrup production still exist on the property and are used for annual sugaring operations by the Nourse Family who retained lifetime rights to harvest syrup'. Walking among the old growth maples, before they were tapped, was the perfect way to recognize the passing of winter into spring. Although, I bet we have a couple more snowfalls in our future before 'real' spring settles in for good— this is Northern Wisconsin, after all.

Will's Penokee Photo Safari

Sadie's Penokee Photo Safari

A Photo Safari In The Penokee Foothills

A Ritual To Read To Each Other

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider--
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give--yes or no, or maybe--
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep. 

William Stafford

The last stanza in William Stafford's poem resonates with me now more than ever— awake people need to be awake because the darkness around us is deep. We went to the Penokees this weekend for our photo safari because I knew standing among all those beautiful trees and ancient rocks would be a balm for my frazzled mind. Walker signed SB1 into law today and while it most likely will be tied up in litigation for years, mining in the Penokees is a very real threat to the ecosystem of the Bad River Watershed and Lake Superior. As I started down the path to Copper Falls, I asked the trees, rocks, moss and water to show me what to capture with my camera. They spoke loud and clear— there is so much life in the forest if you slow enough to see it.

I found another raven in wood, this time in a pile of snow, not on the beach (see the beach picture here). When I caught sight of him, I knew our photo safari in the Penokee foothills was going to be an afternoon to remember.

Sadie and Will had the entire Sunday free (which hasn't happened for months) and I was so excited to spend a couple of uninterrupted hours with two of my favorite photographers. I was curious to see what would capture their attention as we walked along the trail (you can see Sadie's photos here and Will's photos here). Will, Sadie and I spent the hour drive to Mellen talking about why the mining legislation is bad, why we need to be good stewards of our environment and what happens to society when we lose touch with the Divine and worship the almighty dollar instead. I know, with every fiber of my being, that my kids 'get it' because of their access to the natural world. The only way to appreciate something is to experience it. I doubt any of the men and women who voted for SB1/AB1 know what's it's like to stand on the shore of the Lake, listen to the roar of Copper Falls or look for clues to a tree's identity in the shape of a branch or a whorl in the bark.

Bark has endless iterations of texture, color and movement— it's almost like the bark is a testament to the tree's experiences.

The afternoon flew by— Sadie's feet were cold, Will was hungry and I knew if we encountered one more set of ice-covered stairs, I would go mad or fall flat on my face. We hiked back to the car and found a perfect little snowman on the hood. The kids swear they didn't put it there so I'm sticking with my original story— the forest spirits gave us a happy snowman as our parting gift. It was truly a beautiful afternoon.

A Dog Sledding & Skijoring Photo Safari

Last week was one for the record books— goat midwifery, Jack's first solo dog sledding run and skijoring. A beautiful, sunny, warm-ish March afternoon spent with some of my favorite people (and dogs) in the world was about as good as it gets.

Okay, I have to admit I have a favorite sled dog— Vader, the lead dog and enforcer of orderly behavior (as he defines it). He's nearly as photogenic as George and Viv and certainly more useful in the 'working dog' department. I met Vader two years ago at Good Thyme— Julie and Charly brought the dogs to the restaurant for a dog sledding field trip for Meghan and Caroline's class. I barely knew Julie, let alone a pack of what seemed to me to be feral, wild sled dogs but as I watched them pull the kids around, I fell in love with their smiling faces. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship and an introduction to a bunch of honest dogs.

I wasn't exactly sure what a skijoring/photo safari entailed but I knew a bunch of handsome Siberians would make for some seriously awesome pictures. The pictures did not disappoint, the Honest Dog kennel is such a handsome crew.

There were some good-looking humans as well. Jackson isn't the biggest fan of having his picture taken and I'm completely baffled how I captured his beautiful smile. I think he was distracted by lobbing snowballs at Sadie and Gina. He's such a good kid.

They all came racing back with smiling faces (dogs and humans, alike).

Jack and Bisoux— a perfect match.

Jack took off towards the kennel and we headed back to Bayfield. It was definitely an afternoon for the record books and another reason I thank my lucky stars I ended up in Bayfield with the greatest group of friends and dogs a girl could hope for. Julie and Jill, bloggers extraordinaire, wrote about the afternoon as well— check it out: Honest Dog and Garlic Pig.

A Sassy Nanny Birthing Day

'Two goats working on it. Come when you can if you want to witness a birth!'. It's not every day I get a text like that and I wasn't about to miss my chance to experience the miracle of birth as a spectator, not an active participant. I have eaten pounds of Michael's goat cheese and even taken pictures at his farm (read about it here) but I've never attended the birth of baby goats (or anything else for that matter). I grabbed a bottle of champagne (to celebrate the little ones), Tom Kha Gai soup for lunch and bones for Zuzu and Rex, jumped in the car and went off to my very first goat midwifery experience.

You'd think a woman who delivered five 10 pound babies would be an old hand at the birth game, not true. I took one look at the two girls, Lena and Donatella, getting ready to usher their little ones into the world and felt like Prissy in Gone With The Wind when she said, 'Lawdy, Miss Scarlett, I'se don't know nothin' 'bout birthin babies'. Thank God, Michael knows a whole lot about birthing babies and he delivered each one with a sense of hard-won, calm competence. Watching the babies enter this world and literally come to life in front of my eyes filled me with a sense of wonder I haven't felt since I met my own babies for the first time all those years ago.

As we were waiting for Donatella's second boy to arrive, her first decided to stretch his legs and stand up. Michael said he was one of the biggest babies he's seen and he was easily double the size of Lena's boy. He was only about 45 minutes old when he took his first unsteady steps towards Mama— a Herculean feat and so incredibly tender at the same time. It was nothing short of miraculous, witnessing the beginning of four new lives in Michael's barn.

Lena's last baby, a girl, entered this world with a nearly showstopping manuever; she had her head tucked under her back leg which caused a tremendous amount of chaos. Michael tried to grab ahold of her legs but she was good and stuck. I started to get a little panicked but he kept his cool, methodically working to free her head. Time seemed to stand still while Michael tried to get her straightened out (it probably was no more than 3 or 4 minutes) and we all breathed a sigh of relief when the little Miss lifted her head and looked around.

I walked outside to gather myself after the last baby was born. It was an intense afternoon for a woman who up to this point had a) fainted at the sight of blood and b) hated the smell of amniotic fluid— not the most logical choice for a birthing day companion. I stood outside in the sunlight and looked around at all the life Michael has ushered into the world and the lyrics from a 10,000 Maniacs song popped in my head. It was the perfect theme song for a beautiful afternoon spent with a good friend and his goats.

These Are Days10,000 Maniacs

These are the days These are days you’ll remember Never before and never since, I promise Will the whole world be warm as this And as you feel it, You’ll know it’s true That you are blessed and lucky It’s true that you Are touched by something That will grow and bloom in you

These are days that you’ll remember When May is rushing over you With desire to be part of the miracles You see in every hour You’ll know it’s true That you are blessed and lucky It’s true that you are touched By something that will grow and bloom in you

These are days These are the days you might fill With laughter until you break These days you might feel A shaft of light Make its way across your face And when you do Then you’ll know how it was meant to be See the signs and know their meaning It's true Then you’ll know how it was meant to be Hear the signs and know they’re speaking To you, to you

Christmas Day Photo Safari

We took a Christmas photo safari this year, a first but I suspect it's going to become a tradition. Kind of like the Jimmy Dean sausage strata for brunch, opening one present on Christmas Eve and prime rib for Christmas dinner. It started to snow midway through our safari, those huge flakes that meander and float on their way down. It looked like we were inside a snow globe, absolutely perfect.

Charlie struck a mischievous pose on the first leg of our adventure. He was cold and decided photo bombing the pictures was a good way to make sure we got back into the car. It worked. We warmed up on the way to Little Sand Bay— I wanted to visit the lake on Christmas Day.

The icicles were magnificent— the rocks and picnic tables were encased in frozen tusks of Lake Superior's water.

It was a monochromatic but austerely beautiful day. We weren't there for long, it was windy and cold, but it was enough to reconnect with the lake that has become an integral part of my life. It was my favorite gift of 2012.

Canal Park Safari

Julie and I took the kids to Duluth before Thanksgiving for a photo safari and lunch at Pizza Luce. We walked around, snapping pictures of whatever caught our fancy and finished our safari with caramel apples from Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory. All in all, a successful safari.

We stopped into the Maritime Museum mid-safari. It was windy and cold outside and a respite in a warm building sounded like a good plan of action.