So How's Moses?

On occasion, we get asked how our buddy Moses is doing. It's been five years since this donkey came to live at Heston's, and he has definitely become one of the family. The picture above was taken last week at our bonfire. Greg thought that he might want to come and enjoy it with us, but we weren't letting him help out. Without opposable thumbs, his "help" is a little..shall we say clumsier...than really helpful.

He watched as we got the fire started, but then retreated a short ways up the hill. We think that the fire bothered him a bit, although he did enjoy being around his people. He also had a sled full of hay to occupy him. That kept him out of the bratwurst, too.

The fall was a bit rough for Moses. We didn't expect it to happen, but he was really missing his donkey buddy Jethro. In early September, Jethro moved to Montana, after accepting a part-time position there. He left in a trailer, and now resides with two other donkeys in the western part of the state.

He had an interesting fall, as he had to learn how to be a pack animal. His job involves carrying camping equipment up in to the mountains for hunting trips. If the hunt is successful, he is asked to carry down fresh meat. It's not a job for the fainted hearted or the weak. We always knew that Jethro was a strong boy, but we didn't have those kinds of jobs for him. (Somehow, I can't see a donkey packing off to a cabin for me, carrying my clean linens and vacuum cleaner.)

When a donkey is carrying a load, if he stops and lays down, he is unable to get back up by himself. It means that the load has to be removed from his back before he can stand up again. Then he gets re-loaded, and the trek continues. Jethro tried this a couple of times--shall we call it a work stoppage? But he soon realized that he didn't like the feeling of not being able to get back up when he wanted. After that, he signed on to his fate and learned that packing is really quite enjoyable.

Like Moses, we miss Jethro, too. One of these days, we'll go out and visit him. Maybe Greg will even get a chance to go on a camping trip with him. That will be a fun reunion.

Brats on a Rake

Several years ago, we were confronted with a challenge: How do you cook hotdogs and bratwurst over a bonfire? The traditional sticks that we used for campfires were not a good option. Long sticks tend to bow, and the meat ends up in the ashes. Short sticks can't be held safely, since you have to stand so far back from the fire. Our best way to recruit the kids to help with these fires was to offer a cook out, and so Greg came up with the perfect solution. He built a special tool to hold the brats near the coals, without risking the safety of the chef. Thus, a new tradition was born: Brats on a rake.

This rake is pretty cool. It's about eight feet long, has straight tines, and two large loops of metal that hold it up off the ground.

We load the rake up with brats and then slide it into the fire. Then we sit back and watch them cook.

It's a little tricky sometimes, to turn them, but the straight tines make a big difference. We give 'em a little quarter turn and send them back into the fire.
The heat of a bonfire cooks the brats quickly, and so soon we were enjoying these tasty little morsels. Some were made of elk, while some were traditional brats, and they all were scrumptious. Eating outside in any type of weather is a real pleasure when the food is this good.

Campfire Time

As was predicted, the weather warmed up this weekend, above zero, and that made it a lot easier to be outside having fun. The fishermen were very happy, as the fish cooperated and several people were able to catch their limit. We were the fortunate recipients of trout and northern pike from some generous guests. I cooked it up for dinner tonight, and we all enjoyed the flavor of fresh fish. It's been several months--last summer--since we tasted trout right out of the cold water of Gunflint Lake. It's hard to beat. (.....though Addie admitted that she prefers fresh ciabatta bread to fresh fish!)

We got new snow on Saturday, and Addie reported excellent skiing conditions. She hit the Amperage Run trail, shortly after the groomer had been through.

Going to School at Forty Below

Many folks reading this already know that our kids are homeschooled. The commute for this is only as long as the stairway--unless if they choose to study in their rooms. These days, the only student we have left is Addie, as both boys have graduated and gone on to other pursuits. Our homeschooling adventures didn't start at kindergarten, however. All three kids attended school in Grand Marais through the fifth grade, so "back in the day", the commute was much longer.

During these cold January mornings, I often remember with fondness the winter of 1995-1996. Anyone I talk to who lived up here at that time also can't forget that one. For those who love snow and cold, it was the best. The snow started to fall in early November, and went well into spring. I remember telling someone that I thought that my mukluks would see use for at least ten months that year. Our total snowfall at the end was 160 inches, while the average was 110. It was also typical for us to see the thermometer at 25 below, or lower.

Robert and Paul were both in grade school then. The morning routine was to get them up about 5:45, make breakfast and read stories, then bundle up and off to the bus by 6:40. We drove the three miles out to the Trail, where we would then wait for the bus to come. On the mornings that fresh snow had fallen, Robert would jump out of the van, and go out on the road to check out the tire tracks, aided by the headlights. He would come back to report on what he saw. One day, he said that we had missed the bus, so we may as well turn around and go back. His self-declared snow day was not to be, however, as the glow of headlights soon was visible around the curve north.

As is typical for us, we were then driving an older van, and it needed extra help if it was going to start up in those cold early hours. I adjusted my schedule so that I would get up at 4:30 to plug the engine heater into the outdoor socket. The snow had piled up so high, it was even with our porch railing. I would use a footstool to climb up on that snowbank, and then I could reach the outlet and plug in the heater. An hour later, Greg would get up, and he would fill an old kettle with red hot coals from the woodstove. He would take these out to the van, and slide them underneath in the approximate location of the oil pan. Using two methods to pre-warm the engine proved to be effective at getting the engine to start and the tires to roll smoothly.

The temperatures that year seemed to stay in the twenty to thirty below range for many weeks. These are unoffical temps, of course. But when two different thermometers are within a few degrees of each other, you know you're pretty close to the mark. I asked Greg what was the coldest number he read that winter, and he said minus 48. I remembered that morning, and also that it was a Saturday. The coldest range he could remember was 38 to 42 below, when heading out to meet the bus....So when our kids have their own children someday, they can tell them stories of how cold it was when they had to go to school.