The Quiet In Between

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The resort is currently at the time of year that I think of as the "in-between". We're busy with the fall chores, some extra cleaning, and in general, trying to catch up after the summer season ended. Though it started out cold and rainy, the summer and fall turned out to be just the kind of weather we long for, and expect to see.  That gives me a good, warm feeling as we head into winter.

Our biggest annual autumn task, the processing of firewood, is mostly complete.  Last year's deep cold really took a toll on the stacks in our main woodshed.  Originally when Greg built and filled it, we thought that it surely held three years worth of wood.  My, were we wrong!  Stack after stack disappeared as we fed the hungry wood stove.  We partially miscalculated, because we didn't expect to be going through so much wood well into May. Hopefully, this winter will be kinder in that respect.  Despite the seemingly endless tasks of bucking, splitting, moving and stacking the wood, we still feel it is worth it.  Every time I sit down in front of the stove, I am grateful for all of that work.  Nothing warms me up quite like wood heat.

The docks are all out, high and dry on shore, safe for the winter and from spring ice break-up. Greg and his skid steer are quite a match when it comes to this job.  His skill at developing and executing the process really pays off in fewer sore muscles at the end of the day.  The same is true of taking the boats out of the water and storing them.  It seems that equipment gets heavier every year.  I feel a mix of relief and sadness when that job gets done.  Did I get out on the  lake enough, I ask myself?

This is also my chance to tackle tasks that get put off, and eventually stack up too high. In other words, the boxes of stuff. We all have them.  Collections of things that need to be managed--either used, stored well, or passed along. Now that the kids have moved out, opportunities for re-allocating space have opened up.  What better time to begin the process of sorting and pitching.  I always make a huge mess when I am doing this.  "It has to get worse before it can get better" is my modus operandi. When it is done, the clear spaces feel much improved.

So while it is the quiet time, it doesn't necessarily feel so. The days remain filled with many things to do. But evening comes sooner now, and then we can sit and relax, and enjoy that fire in the stove.

And Then It Was Summer

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After a seemingly endless winter, the ice finally retreated from the shores of Gunflint Lake on May 19th. Though it wasn't the latest ice out date we recall, it still was later than we hoped. Fishing season opened without us on May 10th. A nearby neighbor mentioned that it was a little alarming to look out on the lake to see an intrepid fisherman sitting on a lawn chair, fishing through the ice!

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I don't think that fisherman had much to worry about, as the slabs of ice that I was seeing and photographing were at least sixteen inches thick.  We never experienced a wind strong enough to start breaking up the ice mass, and while there was some drama with a few big sheets pushing up on shore, it was mostly a quiet ice out.  The west end of the lake cleared first, then the shorelines, and eventually it was moving out of the view in front of us. On Sunday night, May 18, Greg launched a boat to take a ride to the east.   We had thought that the ice was mostly gone, but surprisingly, he reported that roughly four miles of it still locked in the southern shore.  He was able to travel all the way to the East End beach, and then into Little Gunflint, but only by traveling the Canadian side of the lake.  The remainder of the ice left the next day.

The weather stayed cool, even with the sunshine we were seeing.  Spring started to peek out a bit, and the last remnants of snow receded.  As of this writing, we still have ice in the creek near the rustic retreat driveway, and there may be a bit of the snow drift left behind the boats. Finally, we moved into full-blown summer, when the temps took a decidedly nice hike up the thermometer last weekend, and stayed there for a good part of the week.  In the space of about five days, the leaves literally popped out, from sharp chartreuse, to a softer shade of spring green now.  Soon enough, that fleeting brush of color will have passed, and we will be into the deep, rich full-on green of summer leaves. 

The lake has not kept the pace of rising temperatures in the same fashion.  Early reports from boaters noted that it was about 44 degrees in Little Gunflint, and 38 in Big Gunflint.  I imagine it has increased some since then, but a group of canoeists who came by on Friday told me that it was still very cold.  Looks can be so deceiving! When the thermometer says 87 degrees, it is hard to believe that the lake can still be only in the high forties.  One of these days it will catch up, and then it will be possible to swim comfortably.

So we're getting there! At times, I admit that I felt like I might never be warm again. I would go wash dishes just to feel heat on my hands.  The power of the sun this past week really helped things along.  Lots of green to be seen, and soon the flowers will be blooming.  It's a great time to be on the Trail.

The Cheep Goes On

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It seems that this winter the most activity that we have seen has been with the birds. Keeping the feeders full has been an ongoing job--one done with pleasure, I might add.  Mostly it's been our usual cadre of chickadees, nuthatches and blue jays.  One morning when I went out to replenish the supply of sunflower seeds, it was really quiet.  No birds at the moment to be seen. But as I opened the can and dug into the seeds, I heard one lone "Cheep!"  Whether it was a wake-up call or a breakfast bell, I cannot say.  But as soon as I went back in the lodge, the feeders were all aflutter with hungry little birds.

On a recent trip to Grand Marais, Paul and I noticed a large figure in the upper branches of one of the trees on the roadside.  The stark outline of the tree on the blue sky made it easy to spot the solid being that turned out to be an owl.  Fortunately, we were at a good spot in the road to pull off to the side. Paul hopped out, camera in hand, to see what he could capture.

Barred Owl

Barred Owl

We watched him for a few minutes, Paul snapping the camera away. But then approaching traffic made the bird decide that it was time to leave. 

Appreciating the scale of these birds is definitely easier when they are in flight like this.  The graceful flapping of those huge wings is a sight to behold. I also like the roundness of their heads.  Most birds have a pointed profile, because of the position of their beaks.  These guys project an air of purpose and determination to me.

 

Off he went, deep into the woods.  Soon we will be hearing their calls, once we are able to have our windows open at night again.  I'm looking forward to that.

Marching Towards a New Season

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When the calendar turns to March, I look forward to the abundant sunshine that generally arrives at the same time.  This has been true so far this month, and my Vitamin D levels are grateful.  It’s been an amazing winter in several ways, one that many of us up here term a “good” winter.  Lots of snow, lots of cold.  When I look through my pictures, there is an incredible abundance of white.  My mind has a tough time finding words to write about all of that white, which accounts for part of my radio silence these many months.  A seasonal change inspires new thoughts.  Sometimes, the best way for a blog post to take shape is when a title or a snippet of a phrase rolls through ticker-tape-style in my head. I look forward to getting back to some regularly writing. 

In the meantime, here are a few photos from recent meanderings around the property.  We had a brief warm-up the last couple of days, but in no way did it dent the piles.  More than once I have found myself wishing that I still had a little boy or two around here, as the fort-building opportunities abounded.