Nothing to hear, either

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeach!

Starts high, and slowly bends higher over about 3-5 seconds.

For a long time, I thought it was distressed squirrels, but they are usually quiet at night.  It all started at night, when open windows in the woods invited a full orchestra of nature's players and singers.

Then we started thinking more judiciously, and ruled out rodents.  We were open to the idea that the many barred owls in the area have to mate, and maybe that crazy sound was coming from a nest.

But then, the sound started to be heard during the day.  And never really from the same exact place.

So, I decided I would locate the source.  It took a few weeks (I didn't try too hard at first), and finally saw one of the two critters responsible for this.

Today, Hannah and I stumbled out with the binoculars to inspect more closely.  At one point, the two babes shared a tree within about 30 feet of hunting mama.  They are big, but still quite a bit smaller than the adult barred owls who frequent our place.  And fuzzy.  Unlike the adults, who betray no care for our presence, these kids follow us with their huge eyes and dance to try to focus.

I am holding out hope that it is such things that will prevail when she is called to live in the "civilized" world, you know, the city.  Overcrowded and rhymes with shi....never mind.

Maybe she will think of the animal preserve she once called home from time to time and long for it.  But then, I am just sappy enough to believe memories more powerful than the smoke and mirrors of highly populated human containment zones.

Well, it would be gloating, if it wasn't Minnesota...

Full moon.  Still evening in the woods.  Nope, nothing to see here.

Traffic Jam

Oh yes, there's also the matter of May being the official month of the great "don't fit the turtles" commute.

Only the diameter of your average frying pan, but these dudes are mean.  When they take command of the road, it's time to hit the brakes and hope you turned off the stove.  Last year, one tried to lay eggs in my driveway.  A scary world, indeed.  I can see why the city folk stay away!

Bird is the Word

This charming fella just can't keep away. In fact, that empty suet cage was full about 6 hours before this picture was taken. Makes me wonder who the wild animal really is. But then, that goes with the turf when you live in the middle of (ahem) nowhere.

 

Morning Stroll

May 4 and the lake is still (half) frozen over.

NBD, says Eddie the Eagle.  Though he is looking a bit scrawny at the moment.

I need to stop looking out the back window.  Nothing to see.

Spring Surprise

Again, our regular visitors are back.

Though this time, a solo appearance. It is amazing how quickly the girls have learned to be quiet and still, to savor these moments.

But who am I kidding? Surely we are catching illusions, a life far too heathen and distant from the places where real humans dwell.

The girls don't seem to know that, yet.

Hope endures.

A Drippy Outlook

A garbage can full of, water?

Some sort of sick dialysis for trees?

An outdoor incinerator?

And a jar of dark goo?

If it looks like nothing, it must be.  Or so might conclude the untrained eye, upon assembling these disparate pictures of a Spring tradition in Minnesota.  But we know, of course, that this is a contemporary take on an old practice, a mode of survival for our ancestors and families of the non-so-distant past.

No doubt, this Spring has been among the oddities of what is otherwise a cherished time in the land of 10,000 lakes.  But do not hasten to call it a disappointment.  What began here as a project to collect a dozen gallons of maple sap has blossomed into a battle to contain more than 100.

In less than two weeks, two large plastic garbage cans and about 20 pails of slightly sweet water will be converted into one of God's treasures for the creative, unrelenting, stubborn minds of Northern dwellers.

But don't be confused if it all seems more than a little strange.  Just avert your eyes.  Nothing to see here.

Curious Cat of the Trees

Over the past week, I have been been gathering supplies in preparation of collecting my first maple sap.

The first stage involved buying splines, tubing and buckets.  Not terribly interesting.

The next stage was considerably more engaging, with two trips to the hardware store for parts; A cinder block evaporator now graces the area behind the workshop.

In the past two days, I have tapped a handful of trees, placed buckets and waited.  Not much happening.

Yesterday, I assembled the evaporator, and was detoured only by a collapsed chimney in the workshop.  Not an insignificant event, but nothing to stop the fun.

In a nutshell, these and other various tasks have kept me busy, out in the sun and away from studies for some time.

Today, my friend returned and watched me work for about 2 hours.  Must be slow in the woods.

And the cat came back...

It seems my previous two encounters with this fine fella were not enough.  I took a short walk down the ice-covered drive and noticed his favored perch was empty.

No big deal, I thought, figuring perhaps he saw the light and got out of Dodge.  NOTHING To See Here, remember.

But, swinging an about-face, I caught sight of feathers and two black eyes, only two feet off the ground, waiting to spy dinner.

That provided me enough time to fetch a good camera, and when I returned he located his favorite hang for an early evening portrait.  Like a chummy tomcat, he gave me a look, then closed his eyes as if to disappear from the world.

NTSH, folks.

Little Whitetail Lost

I blew it.

Four whitetail deer sightings today, and no camera to capture them.

First; on the way to work, four young deer ransacked the neighbor's compost.
Second; during a morning class, students pointed at three deer walking the path near Lake Sagatagan.
Third; at the end of that same class, a single young deer found something to munch on the path across from the lower steps of my school building.
Fourth; on the road home, a stubborn young deer started down the car, turned and ran down the asphalt, reluctantly zig-zagging into the ditch and eventually over the fence of a neighboring farmer.

That's nine in one day, and I didn't even go looking.  But why would I do that?  After all, there is NOTHING to see here.

Are you lost, Mr. Owl?

This poor soul.

I cannot tell if it was this feathery chap or a relative who visited us last weekend for Saturday morning sledding in our woods.

But this morning, he stopped to watch me plowing the heavy, wet snow.  I stopped and we exchanged glances for quite some time.  I asked if I could take his picture, and he seemed to nod, "Certainly."

So, his portrait appears below.

If only he knew that there is NOTHING to see here.

Motif

This past Summer, I attended an international teaching conference in the great Southwest desert of the US.

The conference was fabulous.  The setting? Absolutely serene, being tucked deep in the mountains beyond Santa Fe, far from the sights, sounds and smells of civilization.  What better place in which to gather and discuss how we might more authentically shape tomorrow's people to become actual people?  I loved it--even with the shortened breaths afforded by the thin mountain air.  Daily walks, a comfy rocking chair in the sunshine and a few dips in the hot springs were tonic to my more typical mode of preparing for a year of teaching.

Teachers from around the world populated the conference, and not all were so pleased with the surroundings.  They hailed from nearly every continent, though the majority called the US "home."  The most dissatisfied among them were living and teaching in large cities.  One in particular, who took interest in my home being Minnesota, felt it most appropriately to school me in the heathen truth of the land of Paul Bunyan.

"Why would anybody live there?  There is NOTHING to see in Minnesota!"

It's not that I'm so defensive of my home, but this moment struck me differently than I could have anticipated.

It seems endless as the days of Winter drag on that my fellow Minnesotans complain of the snow and cold and rhetorically offer the grand cliche, "Why do we live here?"

We take a certain comfort in this conversational ritual, often taking turns in who gets to say the predictable, but nearly sacred tongue-in-cheek words.  Such things pass the time and assure us we are not alone.

But this person was about as baffled and serious as any I have ever seen in my life.  And asking the question once was not enough, though I may have contributed to her honest baffled state when I responded, "I'm sure you are right, ma'am."

After that, the rest of the lunch table heard her near-rage over my unsatisfactory answer devolve into a tirade about rural life, rural people and how the world was held in a state of misery because of them.  The 9 or 10 heads of the other guests at our table nervously watched as other heads turned to hear this person spouting, attempting to bait me into debate.

Unfortunately for her, I saw no need to take the bait, and simply smiled and nodded with her every word, as though it was the most interesting monologue I have ever heard.

After several minutes, I asked her from where she traveled to this "dive" in the mountains.  She responded, "Singapore, and I can't wait to go back.  But I am originally from Canada.  Just like Minnesota, nothing to see there, either.  I went to school in the US, and got out as soon as I could."

I wished her well and apologized for troubles.  By then, I was convinced I had not made a new friend.

It seems the others at my table were not impressed with her speech, but I assured them that Minnesotans would survive the onslaught of her testimony against our barbaric lack of major, overcrowded, poverty-ridden, pollution-filled cities.

This has become a badge of honor for me, perhaps to a fault.  I am proud to live in a place that has NOTHING to see.  This blog shall be my depository of things that testify to what that NOTHING really looks like.

In the years to come, I trust that my children will be the ones who can determine more clearly whether or not my friend from Singapore is correct in her assessment.