My Pilgrimage To The Shack

 "The Shack was everything and it was nothing." Nina Leopold Bradley (Aldo Leopold’s daughter)

I’m sitting here observing, listening, soaking in stories from the land, from The Shack, from the family, from Aldo.  Whether learning from those aspects or learning of those aspects—perhaps for the first time; it’s simply a matter of prepositional schematics.  The stories permeate my soul—like the sweet breezes keeping most of the heat and bugs at bay and the serenading discussions of the yellow throat, towhee, pewee, and wren amongst the lofty branches of white pine, walnut, sugar maple, and red oak.  The stories trickle down from what I’ve read, what I’ve seen, what I’ve lived, and what I’ve listened to over the years.

I’ve wanted to make this pilgrimage, this sacred journey to the Leopold Shack for quite some time.  I first read Aldo Leopold’s Sand County Almanac book back in 2009.  I taught his principles to my 5th grade science students for many years.  For decades his words were inscribed upon a spirit stick hanging in my classroom that stated, “Only the mountain has lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf.”  A toy Beanie Baby wolf sat upon the top of that stick as if to bring life to those very words.  How entertaining it was when students made the connection between the man they were learning about and the words they saw each school day.  How strange and yet thrilling it is to be sitting here now upon this land that I had learned so much about while teaching others his principles and beliefs.  It is a holy of holies.  It is a riverside sanctuary.

It was in 1935, when the 5 Leopold children were between the ages of 8 and 22 years old, that Aldo purchased this old 80 acre Dust Bowl farmstead; sandwiched between Baraboo and Portage, Wisconsin within the bottomlands along the Wisconsin River.  The property was purchased by paying the back taxes—at a time that was smack dab in the middle of the Great Depression—after being abused and abandoned by a previous owner who had literally run the land into the ground; depleted of nutrients and richness.  Barren.  The only building was the ramshackle chicken coop—filled with frozen decomposing manure.  After the blessing of Aldo’s wife Estella who thought the whole place was wonderful, and who helped to begin cleaning it out, the building was soon refurbished as a refuge from the elements and a place to overnight; for the family otherwise spent most of their time outdoors.  With supplies picked up at local dumps and junkyards, they added windows and eventually what is now referred to as the West Wing—the side lean-to where they built several bunk beds.  There was no electricity, no plumbing; just an outhouse they called the Parthenon.  It was a perfect getaway for the family!

Aldo Framing In The New Window.

Son Starker Leopold Building The Outhouse.

The Parthenon.

I love it here on the land surrounding The Shack.  I also love what Aldo Leopold stood for as a pioneer for environmental conservation.  It’s not his end product that’s so alluring, so much as it is his process.  His was a process of learning and gaining knowledge; connecting.  Yes, he connected himself to data and recorded observations—linking and placing the puzzle pieces where they fit—to make sense out of a time and era when the preservation and the protection of land and water were unheard of across our country.  Certainly areas were starting to be set aside to be enjoyed and safe guarded, but the healing and restoration of what had already been destroyed by ill conceived practices was foreign prior to Aldo.  This was a new concept for an old problem.  It was exciting!  Or at least it is now; now that we know that the practices he first developed, put into fruition, and then documented, worked in the past, are working now, and will continue to work in the future.

But Aldo also connected with the land and water itself.  He connected to it through his life’s work.  He connected to it through the time spent with his family.  His view on the natural world and his land ethic were intertwined with how he lived his life.  What we know about his external life is a display of what he thought about internally.  I find a deep pull to someone that gives us a glimpse into their world; a world born of renewal, insight, discovery, and second chances.  Hope for our environment!

Aldo’s ideas, now known as his Land Ethic are so practical; conceived and crafted through scientific research, trial and error, and work as play.

As for scientific research, when you see black and white pictures of Aldo he’s wearing a button down shirt with pockets; pockets that typically held a small memo notebook.  It was commonplace for men from that time period.  Such a notebook was an avenue for notation and the linking of recorded facts and figures that needed to be jotted down on the thin blue lines.  For Aldo that meant information found in the classroom as well as out in the fields and woods or out on mountains and waters.  While on assignment—for work and pleasure—the environment provided the education.

Aldo Building Up Another Layer
Of Bricks On The Chimney.

Aldo & Estella Planting Pines.

It reminds me of my Granddad Fagerlund; himself an electrical engineer—as well as my Great Grandpa Bender on the other side of my family tree; a tool and die machinist by trade.  Both wore shirts with pockets that held notebooks full of lists, sketches, and calculations.  I like to imagine that Aldo’s pocketbook held pertinent environmental information.   Aldo and my two grandpas would have enjoyed each other’s company.  What a wonderful opportunity and experience it would have been to simply sit off to the side and listen to them talk.  I did such things as a boy—listening to stories from days gone past.  Learning about how one of them dipped their personally purchased metal tools of the trade in a liquid plastic to keep from being shocked while working electrical towers built throughout the rocky hills of West Virginia, or how the other worked as a small lad in barn stables that housed huge draft horses; trying to harness them for the day’s plowing without being pinned against the side of the stall.  Each was born of an era; Granddad, Great Grandpa, Aldo.  Peering into the notebook journals of those three men would have been like waking up Christmas morning—excitement at the prospect and world of what they knew and what they were learning.

As for trial and error, when working for the U.S. Forest Service in New Mexico, Aldo and fellow rangers shot into a pack of wolves; killing a female and wounding a pup.  While attempting to help area ranchers protect herds and flocks, he also held the belief that fewer wolves meant more deer—and that no wolves would be a “hunter’s paradise.”  From that pivotal moment, and with the country’s gradual attempt to eradicate all apex predators, Aldo’s thinking began to change.  In time he witnessed the overbrowsing of mountain hillsides, wood plots, and remnant prairies; various species of deer eating vegetative foliage to their starvation and demise.  Like sticking fingers in a fire, Aldo learned firsthand from mistakes.  I appreciate and respect a person that can change direction—seemingly midstream—when they suddenly see things differently and in a new light.

As for making work as play, when Aldo & Estella’s children would come to The Shack during school’s spring break, they helped plant tens of thousands of pines along the Wisconsin River.  They also took breaks to play in the water, sing while strumming a guitar, and relax in the good nature of the outdoors.  Together with family, and at times with friends or graduate students, weekend retreats were often spent working, but it was also a time of connection to hunt, fish, identify birds, nap, and shoot archery.  Estella was a 5 time Wisconsin state champion with her bow!  While working in Madison for the University of Wisconsin as a research director, Aldo pioneered the very first prairie restoration; ironically just a hop, skip, and a jump north of where John Deere invented the steel plow in Grand Detour, Illinois.  It was an instrument better suited than the plow made of iron to cut through and turn over the deep rooted plants of the fertile prairies and plains.  Since many of the plants from the prairies had vanished, Aldo searched and found native plants and their seeds still growing in out of the way locations along railroad tracks, original roadways, and within the confines of old gravesites and cemeteries.  The seeds were collected and sewn in specific locations—including around The Shack—and instituted some of the oldest restored prairies found anywhere throughout the world.  What fun it must have been for the family to throw seeds and caution to the wind and upon barren sand, only to witness the gradual germination and growth of a prairie reborn.

Estella With A Cross Cut Saw
Used To Buck Firewood.

Daughter Nina Walking To The Shack With A
Guitar, Shotgun, School Books, And Picnic Basket.
As The Story Goes, The School Books Were
Never Opened While Visiting The Shack!

Aldo Taking A Nap At The Shack.

Today I could have sat upon one of the benches outside of The Shack to write this entry.  It would have made sense and would have tied things together in a nice tight little bow.  It’s a bench designed by Aldo himself; common now in many nature preserves.  It’s comfortable to lean back upon in the forward position and perfect for bird watching with one’s elbows propped upon the back brace if sat upon in reverse; an easy way to stabilize one’s binoculars while looking afar.  I smile at the engineering, simplicity, and practicality of such a bench.  I could have sat upon it, but I didn’t.  Instead I brought my own chair and after looking around inside The Shack, taking a few pictures, and listening to familiar stories told by the curator, I sat back in the shade of the trees and on the edge of what was once the Leopold garden and orchard; taking it all in as I put my own pieces of the puzzle together; making sense of it all.  While sitting, I ate my lunch, sketched out The Shack, and wrote this entry.

This was a pilgrimage for me today; to a place that some have described as the Walden Pond of the Midwest.  I understand that; something meaningful being compared to something else that’s meaningful.  It makes sense; The Shack, the surrounding land, the stories.  Thank you Aldo, and Estella, and all of the children—all of whom have now passed.  Your stories of The Shack and what you learned and accomplished through science, trial and error, and play have left a legacy of hope; hope through restoration.  I love that.

See you along The Way…

The Memorial Marking The Location Where
Aldo Died Of A Heart Attack Helping To Fight
A Neighbor's Grass Fire That Had Spred
On The Hills Overlooking The Shack.

The Leopold Children
At The Shack In Later Years.
Each Of Them Became Environmental
Conservationists In Their Own Right.
They Are A Part Of The Legacy!

Estella And Her 5 Children
(Starker, Luna, Nina, Carl, & Estella)

Urban Adventures

While it’s true that I love the outdoors—cloaked in wildness or carefully maintained in procured natural areas—there’s something alluring about an urban setting.  There a different wildness exists; still adventurous, still with spontaneity and unpredictability, still with its own innate beauty.

In the middle of a crazy week of unstable storms, full of heavy rains leading to flash flooding and swirling winds leading to destructive tornadoes, my nephew Ethan and I headed into downtown Chicago.  He graduated from Beloit College last year with a degree in philosophy and computer science.  And while he currently is working and saving money, he is contemplating the pursuit of his Master’s Degree; perhaps in Chicago with its opportunities to major universities, public transportation, and unique cultural environment.  Our trip and Ethan’s interests were a perfect meld for a day in the city.

I picked him up early with the tailings of the previous night’s storm still playing out with the morning rush hour traffic.  We had planned accordingly, however, and after exiting I-90 on Fullerton Avenue, we headed east to The Lake—Lake Michigan; passing DePaul University on the way to Lincoln Park.  The urban gods found favor in our efforts and granted us a free parking spot along North Stockton Drive.  The only required compensation was a tight maneuver of parallel parking; miraculously nailing it perfectly after one slight adjustment and an aggressive turn of the wheel.

Although Ethan had hit some of the same attractions we were planning to visit with a few of his friends during his senior year, they’re the kind of places a person can enjoy time and again, and never really tire of what can be observed and learned.  Different facets of time and experiences cut from the same diamond of a city you might say!

Through a gentle drizzle we used our ticket reservations and went to the Lincoln Park Conservatory.  It was just as wet inside as out, but warmer of course; like an easy walk through a tropical jungle.  So many unique varieties of plants exist there within the behind-the-scenes gardens; with different species blooming at various times of the year.  Ethan and I talked while focusing on the colors and patterns of fronds, leaves, and branches.  In order that my daughter could borrow our old Canon Rebel camera for an upcoming trip, I took numerous photos in the Conservatory to use up its film.

Sacred Ear Cycad

Giant Maidenhair Fern

Philodendron

Lobster Claw

Yello Alder

Once finished, we walked down to the Lincoln Park Zoo.  It too is free, and also a good one as zoos go.  I know there are some people who don’t like zoos and the fact that animals are kept in pens and cages.  Personally I see zoos as an opportunity.  If people come and see different animals from around the world, then perhaps they will bond, learn something, and care about a specific species.  And if a person cares about a specific species in captivity, then perhaps they’ll care about that same species still living in the wild.  And just maybe, if those people learn about the locales of where that animal lives in the wild they’ll be more apt to do what they can to support the preservation of those environs.  Zoos give us a glimpse of the ambassadors that represent the wilds of their species and the habitats where they live.  Ethan and I enjoyed visiting the seals, big cats, and primates—places where we could enter to escape the gentle drizzle that at that moment had escalated to a steady rain.  Despite the precipitation, the urban setting—with its many plants and flowers—was in full bloom; a week or two ahead of us back home some ninety miles to the northwest.  Perhaps it was because of the location along Lake Michigan; the third largest freshwater lake in the world if measured by surface area and the second according to volume.  I’m guessing that the water altered and escalated the coming of warmer temperatures.

We stopped back by the Jeep to shed our coats and switch out some gear as we prepared to take the bus downtown; while the weather gradually became a bit more agreeable.  At the bus stop we waited for a good half hour.  According to a few locals from the area, that particular bus route typically ran late.  As Ethan and I waited and talked, other people and buses came and went.

One woman, who had originally offered us advice on how the buses ran—and was waiting for the same bus number that we were—struck up a conversation.  She asked straight forward if I’d been to Kenya.  With the slightly warmer temperatures, and me now wearing a T-shirt, she had apparently noticed the beaded bracelet around my wrist.  I had gotten it 8 months prior when my wife and I had traveled in Africa to visit the home of our son and his young family.  The bracelet had black, red, and green stripes separated by thin white bands and was covered with two Masaai shields with criss-crossing spears.  Ironically, Ethan was wearing a similar bracelet that we had brought back as a gift for him following our trip.  Unless someone was acquainted with Kenya, and the flag’s design, it would most likely have gone unnoticed to unfamiliar eyes.

As it turned out, the woman had been to Kenya’s capital city of Nairobi several times through the World Vision organization whom I was familiar with—having helped raise money for them when I ran in the Chicago Marathon 3 or 4 different times.  While waiting for the bus we shared stories of our experiences in Africa, the people, and things we had personally learned while visiting.

Our bus finally arrived; guided by an experienced driver and partner in training.  How they constantly maneuvered the long vehicle through the traffic and avoided wrapping it around parked cars, poles, or any other object remained a mystery!

A hop, skip, and a jump south of the Magnificent Mile and the Chicago River we stepped off the bus across from and in front of the Art Institute.  All told, we spent a good 3 hours walking from room to room—through various displays, genres, and time periods; immersing ourselves in the creativity, message, and purpose behind each medium.  We walked through the special Henri Matisse exhibition; “Jazz: Rhythms in Color”, and then made our way through the Institute's maze of hallways, levels, and wings.

Ethan and I saw most everything.  My favorites were nature and water scenes—especially with reflections and tree branch outlines—in addition to eras long since passed.  I also felt a connection to the statues depicting body and motion.  Lacking proper descriptive and artistic wordage, I found myself enjoying smooth lines, classic imagery, and colors that lured one to take a closer look—whether dark or vibrant.  I liked dreaming of walking into a painted scene.

Vincent van Gogh - Fishing In Spring
the Pont de Clichy (Asnières)

Clude Monet - Water Lily Pond

Alberto Giacometti
Walking Man II & Tall Figure

Piet Mondrian - Farm near Duivendrecht

Pablo Picasso - The Old Guitarist

Hamo Thornycroft - Teucer

John Atkinson Grimshaw
Lane Scene at Night

Grant Wood - American Gothic

With that being said, we also toured all of the contemporary and modern art exhibits.  Some of them I enjoyed; with their textures, colors, and use of abstract or unusual materials—ones that made you think.  Some remained a puzzlement, and that was okay.  Admittingly there were a couple that in trying to gain perspective and studying them up close, they would suddenly spring forth into focus and I would nervously blush and back up; embarrassed by my intent concentration and curiosity prior to the stark revelation of what I was actually viewing.  Well done unknown artist!  Your efforts were accomplished and rewarded and I can appreciate that; despite being a bit self conscious.  I’m not sure what my nephew thought—if he even noticed—crazy uncle!  It just took me a bit longer to understand what it was that I was actually viewing; yikes!

By the afternoon we were primed, ready, and hungry!  It was our intent to fully enjoy our day so we could dive into the experience of a restaurant that’s been a family favorite for as long as we can remember.  I believe the first time that my wife and I went to the Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinder Co. was shortly after college in the late 1980’s or early 1990’s—with some close friends.  Since then we’ve eaten there whenever we can and most times that we’re down in the city.  It’s become a destination for our kids now as well.

Following a bus ride back to Lincoln Park, and a walk over to Clark Street, Ethan and I got right into the restaurant and seated—something that doesn’t always happen but felt apropos for the day.  Being his first time eating in that unique “hole in the wall”, we got the traditional Mediterranean Bread as an appetizer.  It’s a lot for two people to tackle, but we gave it our best effort and knocked out most of it.  The bread with its herbs tasted great; bordering on addictive!  Next came our half pound pizza pot pies as the main course.  With the combination of crust, sauce, cheese, and sausage, the word divine came to mind.  After a long day it was well worth the wait!  After a long day it hit the spot!  After finishing, we each left with a small amount we would have for lunch the following day!

Upon walking back to my Jeep, we got situated, headed out of the city, and started back home.  As we drove, talked, and listened to music, the skies darkened.  In fact, far to the west—where we were headed—the heavens were in full display of their power and intentions.  Clouds swirled and lightning flashed in constant plasmatic blasts.  As we neared home, tornado warnings were issued and within minutes of our exit from the tollway, the rains unleashed.  We had been so close to making it!

Ethan texted home and as we pulled into his driveway the garage door opened so we could enter and spare him getting soaked.  With a quick goodbye, I drove the short distance to my home with the windshield wipers going full bore; before it got any more dicey outside!  Surprisingly it was the second night in a row with that same type of weather.  At the same time, it seemed like a perfect ending to what amounted to a perfect day.  It was a day that became an urban adventure with my nephew Ethan within the city of Chicago.

See you along The Way…