Goliath

            In the past, the weather gurus only gave names to hurricanes or tropical storms.  Since 2012, they have also given names to winter storms.  In each instance, a specific set of factors has to be met in order for a name to be assigned.  Right now winter storm “Goliath” is moving across the United States.  In the form of tornadoes, rain, sleet, ice and snow, “Goliath” has leveled neighborhoods, caused severe flooding, and left many without power as lines have fallen, in addition to contributing to major accidents and pileups on roads and highways.

            Today’s adventure in the storm started as a text to my cousins when I sent them a copy of a picture last evening that my Dad had from the opening of trout season back in 1971.  It was taken near Wolverine, Michigan on the ridge above the West Branch of the Sturgeon River.  It’s simple enough as it shows an old friend of my Dad (Lee Sperry) and his station wagon.  Apparently Lee had driven in, and then they had parked at the top of the hill and hiked down to the river (Dad’s journal says the water temperature was 39 degrees).  The crazy thing is that the picture was taken on the last Saturday of April.

Opening of Michigan's Trout Season-1971

            In the texting dialogue that transpired with my cousins, someone stated, “I thought we were dedicated.  We’re cupcakes compared to that.”  What we may lack in snow when we go out fishing, we make up for in endurance. (See Past Entry: “Bogged Down”)  I’m sure if we had the opportunity to fish in such conditions, we would.  The stories my Dad tells that ensued from that snow laden trip of 1971 are legendary; big brown trout and steelheads both caught and lost.  In addition, my Dad hooked a brown trout that wouldn’t even fit in to Mr. Sperry’s net.  He ended up losing it, but Mr. Sperry went back a few days later with twenty pound test line, caught it on his own, and only managed to store it in his freezer by bending its tail to fit it in.  Who wouldn’t want to be a part of an adventure and story like that?  Hence my texting response of, “Speak for yourself…it’s suppose to be nasty out tomorrow and I’m going to be out in it…guaranteed…and you know you’d join me if you lived closer.”  It was friendly texting banter, and set the challenge in place.

            It was about that time last night that my sister Becky showed me a quote she thought I might like from a cookbook she had just gotten as a gift (entitled “Scandinavian Christmas” by Trine Hahnemann).  It stated, “Remember there is no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothes.”  If you’ve read any of my blog entries from last winter you’d know I would agree with such a statement.  I’ll go out in most weather if I’m dressed for it.  With the storm that we had predicted for today, the correct clothing would make it great weather to be out in.  Perhaps that’s why the cousins texted today to see if I’d gone out.  They wanted to be a part of it.

            Unfortunately the outing today wouldn’t involve trout fishing since it wasn’t the right time of the year or season.  Fortunately I was able to get things together and head out for a few hours.  I debated on whether or not I would take our older dog, Kati.  She’s almost 85 years old now in human years.  She limps and moans more than she used to, but when it came down to it, I just couldn’t keep her back.  For as long as I’ve been hitting the woods and cooking out, she’s been with me.  I wouldn’t want someone to hold me back from going at that age, so in the end, I lifted her into the back of the Jeep with Kora (who leapt in as easy as a light, summer breeze).  It wasn’t really that long ago, maybe a year, that Kati would have jumped up and in just as easy.  You can’t blame Kora; it’s just that in her zest and zeal of adolescent nimbleness and quickness she doesn’t realize ole Kati would have matched her in her prime.  Luckily Kati doesn’t hold it against Kora and Kora listens and follows everything Kati tells her.  They are a perfect fit for each other.

Kati and Kora eagerly await the command "Come!"

            The ride out to the forest preserve was slow going as the roads were covered in snow and slush.  It had started at 6:00 this morning and had been consistently precipitating all day at a rather steady rate.  It wasn’t snow or rain that was falling, and I wouldn’t have called it sleet either.  Instead it was closer to little BB’s of ice.  Once parked, I put on my packs, took a quick picture of the dogs and then hit the trails.  We hiked through the hardwoods down to the river’s edge.  

Due to the unseasonably warm weather this winter, I couldn’t get through the wetland areas to places I like to visit.  Typically they are frozen over.  I could have thrown some logs across the waterways to walk on, but the dogs would have gotten wet and suffered.  Instead I worked my way upstream and eventually to the campground area where I decided to make a fire and cook a meal.

            Perhaps only two or three times out of all of the years I’ve cooked out in the winter have I had to resort to a match when I couldn’t get my flint and steel to work.  Today was not one of those days.  In fact, today was a first.  I couldn’t get a fire going with my flint and steel or the matches.  One other time did exist, when I was out with my friend Louie.  That, however, was more due to location and available tinder/wood supply, because even though we did get a fire started, we just couldn’t keep it going.  I worked at it quite a while today, with both tinder I had brought, and tinder I had collected, but it was too windy and everything was wet.  It was a “one-two punch” I couldn’t overcome.  By the time I finally looked up, Kati, who had lain down beside me, was covered with a layer of ice.  I apologized to both dogs and then packed up.  They had been looking forward to their cut of the meal I was going to cook.

            On the hike out I found some bark from a yellow birch tree.  I collected some and brought it up to the old, limestone picnic shelter made by the CCC back in the days between The Great Depression and World War II.  I tried to get a fire going in the shelter’s fireplace, since its roof and partially walled sides blocked some of the wind and precipitation, but it was still to no avail.  I was able to get a spark on my char cloth and produce a nice glowing ember with smoke, as I had back in the woods, but it just wouldn’t pop into flame.

            We continued our hike and piled back into the Jeep.  The dogs had done great.  Kora was a picture of energy and Kati seemed to gain strength the longer she was out in the elements.  By the end, Kati was steadily running and doing so without a limp from the arthritis.  You could tell she was proud of herself, and indeed she should have been.  I think Kora even took notice, and indeed she should have.  After letting Cindy know we were back to the Jeep, I was notified that I needed to pick up some pizza on the way home.  It’s one of the perks of living near civilization, especially when one can’t get a fire going.  Traveling out and back I averaged 35 to 40 miles per hour, under sub-par conditions, while driving in four wheel drive.

Once home, the dogs got their food!

I picked up pizza for the family on the way home

            Goliath won today, but have no fear, I’ll restock my tinder supply and chances are I’ll get a fire going the next time I try.  I had had visions of writing about how I had slain the giant of a storm, but sometimes the weather has other plans.  One must always be adaptable or risk serious consequences.  It’s probably best not to be vain because in light of the fact that as this storm has raced north and east across America, it has left people homeless and dead.  Obviously nothing can be done to conquer such power when unleashed to its fullest potential.  May the people affected so dramatically by the storm, find relief and peace.  Still, for the winds, temperatures and ice pellets I had to deal with here in Northern Illinois, it was definitely adventurous.  Perhaps someday I’ll go trout fishing in such circumstances; perhaps with my cousins.  Perhaps, like my Dad, we’ll catch brown trout of 12, 13 and 15 inches, see and lose some big steelhead, and battle an unseen brown in a deep, dark hole.  At this point I’ll simply be glad to get outside, have my dogs with me, get a fire started, and cook a meal.

            See along The Way…

The Gift

            Christmas this year was a day home with family.  We spent time with Cindy’s family yesterday and will with mine tomorrow, but today was with our immediate family.  We kicked Christmas off watching the movie entitled, “The Nativity” last night.  It’s a tradition that helps us remember the reason for the season, and why we do and believe what we do.  I’d highly recommend watching it.

            Many of us enjoy giving gifts this time of the year.  I suppose that’s why the saying goes, “It’s better to give than to receive.”  The process can be stressful to find something that the recipient will enjoy; something that matches their interests.  But when you find just the right gift, it feels good.  I think the whole idea of gift giving is symbolism and a model of what our Heavenly Father gave us.  Regardless of whether you believe this or not, the idea of God giving us His son, Jesus Christ, is a gift that is beyond our understanding.  It was a gift given sacrificially.  The idea of God being the Trinity, the Trifecta (Have I mentioned before how much I love that word?), is itself mysteriously wonderful.  God is three distinct parts and yet distinctly one.  He is the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  By sending his Son to Earth as a baby, an event known and expected through prophesy, he came in under the radar wholly God and yet wholly man.  Many in the day thought he would come as a king and help overthrow the Roman Empire and its grip on the known world.  Instead, the little boy Jesus, who was raised by a young girl and wood-worker, offered freedom of another kind.  His freedom came through sacrifice that gave us, the common man, a chance at forgiveness and second chances.  Even after his death and resurrection back into heaven, to be reunited with his Father, he promised to always be with us, if we accept our humanness and need for him while allowing the Holy Spirit into our heart.  It’s nothing fancy.  We don’t have to do anything; in fact we can’t.  How strange in a world where we constantly want to do something, that when it comes to eternal salvation, the only “doing” is admitting, believing and committing to following him as best we can.  Due to our humanness it will never be perfect, but we press on and with that ultimate gift of forgiveness, given with grace and full of mercy, we utter those words we often hear when we give our loved ones and friends a gift; “Thank you.”

            And so on a day where a few gifts were given and received, time was spent together, and we remember the reason we have Christmas, I say, “Thank you God for giving us your son as a gift; the ultimate gift who became the sacrifice on our behalf.”

            See you along The Way…

PS-The Lauren Daigle Song “Noel” (Below) is well worth the listen...You may have to "Skip" through the Ad in the beginning.

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The pictures are from this afternoon’s family hike with the dogs at Sugar River Forest Preserve-On Christmas Day 2015.

Winter Solstice

            It was the shortest day of the year yesterday; Monday, December 21st.  We’re a land of seasons, here in the Midwest of North America; a temperate climate.  We don’t get the extreme cold like they do at the “poles” of our planet.  Nor do we get the extreme heat like they do around the equator.  Instead we are the recipients of both worlds, both the cold and the warm temperatures; although moderately so, compared to the ends (or middle) of the Earth.  In addition, we also have more of the “in between” spring and autumn weather; the time when the Earth’s tilt, in relation to its revolution, is halfway between its lean toward or away from the sun.  Some explain our seasons by saying our tilt changes, but in reality it’s all about the revolution.  The actual tilt remains the same.  If our tilt changed as we revolved, we’d be stuck in the same season; probably irritatingly so, like an old vinyl record that skips.  I suppose it’s like “two rights make a wrong,” or two factors in an experiment that skews the outcome.  Basically, when all of the scientific jargon is stripped away, it’s the seasons that make life interesting.  It’s the change of seasons that we look forward to.

            And so on this day, the shortest day of the year known as the winter solstice, the sun was scheduled to rise at 7:22 am and set at 4:26 pm.  This was when the sun was expected to rise and set, if you could see it through the steady rain and thick cloud cover.  For two years now we’ve had a cold, snowy winter like those of my youth in Northern Michigan, but not this year; El Niño.  I can’t complain, we’re at least getting the moisture, albeit in the form of rain, but when we go for weeks at a time without seeing the sun, and we couple that with shorter and shorter days, I need to get outside to the woods.  It’s typically hard to get outside this time of the year when it’s dark as I leave for school and dark when I return home.

            I grew up going to the cedar swamps or pines with my Dad and our beagle dogs to hunt snowshoe hares.  At the time, my gun was a little wooden one he had made for me.  When my kids were younger I took them to a friend’s hardwood forest to hunt squirrels and familiarize them to guns, life, death and sitting still in the woods.  They sat with a little wooden gun I had made them.  Not everything that moved was shot.  Most times I observed and let it pass.  I saw deer and red tailed hawks within only a few feet, foxes, coyotes, and of course the squirrels.  What squirrels I did decide to shoot, we ate.  Growing up, it was Mom’s great cooking that filled our palate with mouth watering goodness.  With my own family, we fixed the squirrels in a slow cooker with cream of mushroom soup, potatoes, and carrots.  The words and actions of my then toddler kids became legendary within the ranks of the extended family.  Todd’s response was him holding out his plate and saying point blank, “More squirrel please.”  Jodi simply gave him a sideways look and spit shot out of her mouth, and onto her plate, before taking another bite.  Both were classic responses.  Quite a few years have slipped by since the last time I hunted though, and it was time to head back out.

            Yesterday I got together with a teaching colleague of mine.  We decided to go hunting.  To most it wouldn’t seem like a very big deal, but for Chuck and me, it is something we’ve been talking about for a while.  State land to hunt on in the “Land of Lincoln” is in short supply.  Most land in Illinois is private and often planted in corn or soybean.  Chuck and I headed toward a small portion of land we found that was actually open to the public, to hunt squirrels and cotton-tailed rabbits.  By the time we arrived, the rain had quit, and although there were patches of fog, the temperatures were in the mid 40’s with only a touch of wind.

The Ridge Overlooking the Hollow & River Valley

            We hiked into two different, steep-sided hollows, under a canopy of oaks, walnuts and red cedar, and sat as still as possible looking up into the branches or down into the ravine.  We saw two big bucks, turkeys and bald eagles; but no squirrels.  There were the sounds of drips off the trees but no scurrying squirrels.  Actually that’s not entirely true.  In the second hollow I didn’t sit as still as I could.  I sat for over an hour picking small, sticky burr-seeds off my pants, coat and gloves.  They were everywhere.  I think they were the seeds from the plant known as “tick trefoil.”  Even so, I hunted with my ears while busy with the annoying burrs I had evidently walked into while in route to a log to sit on.  I didn’t hear any sounds of squirrels, but I did hear the crows chasing the eagle with the fish that Chuck did see off to the left of the ridge we were on.

            After sitting for about forty-five minutes in the first ravine and then over an hour in the second ravine, we made our way down into a valley with a winding river.  The scene was beautiful.  The skies were still gray and dark; but with areas of green grass next to grayish-brown bushes and trees, set in front of sapphire-blue water tipped white from rapids and a wall of rock, it was impressive.

            As we walked along the bank, a big gray squirrel finally showed itself and tried running up a walnut tree.  Chuck was able to drop it, and we skinned it out right there.  I like to look at hunting as a harvest.  I enjoy nature; in fact I thrive on it.  I also like to partake of it from time to time with an occasional meal of fish or red meat.  So if I decide to catch and keep, or pull the trigger, I try to do it as respectfully as possible.  It is a gift that should not be taken lightly.  

Chuck with a Bushy-Tailed Gray Squirrel

From there we continued up river until we came to the edge of another wooded area lined with thick brush.  Chuck spotted a cottontail moving into the thicket, and after waiting a moment for a clear shot, I downed it.  We cleaned it out right there as well.  It had a lot of meat on it.  I rinsed it off, along with my hands, in the river and then we started the hike back.  We walked through a thick, marshy area to see if we could kick up some other rabbits, to no avail, before heading back up through the hills to my Jeep.

Cotton Tailed Rabbit

Making use of Moving Water

            We spent well over six hours in the woods and lowland, enjoying periods of talking, periods of walking, and periods of the kind of silence only nature can provide.  We each gained some meat that we will cook as a meal later this winter.  Although it was a rather dark and dreary day afield, it provided us the chance to get out, the chance to hunt, and the chance to be in the woods and share the experience together.  It’s a day known as the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice, and thankfully the days will now grow longer and lighter from here on out.

            See you along The Way…

And Now You Know

     Paul Harvey used to have his afternoon news reports broadcast over the radio.  I remember listening to them.  In particular is the memory of standing at my Grand-dad’s workbench, in the tack room of the barn, up at their farm on Lansing Avenue.  I don’t recall what we’d been working on; probably sharpening some tool so that we could cut something down after lunch.  I do remember the radio being on, and listening to the news or the story of someone whose name wouldn’t be revealed until the very end, when he would say, “And now you know the rest of the story.  This is Paul Harvey.  Good day!”

     Being six days out from having been socked with sixteen inches of snow for our first snowfall of the year, I reflected back on a few trout fishing trips that I didn’t write about in my blog this season. 

In the midst of the Storm

     The first was from a father/son trip to Marquette County, in Wisconsin, back on Thursday, July 2^nd.  I actually did write about that trip, but due to the loss of the school’s camera I had used on the trip, I didn’t have all of the pictures and videos documenting it.  (Past Entry: "Thanks for Nothing")  This fall, while teaching, I suddenly got an email at school.  It was from a man living just across the Stateline in Beloit.  After a series of emails back and forth, he returned our camera that he had found on the ground after my family had left the 4^th of July fireworks show.  Apparently I had left it next to where we were sitting.  After using the camera this fall to take pictures of his daughter at her school’s homecoming, he went to download the pictures, and saw my last name printed on the memory card.  When he did a search of my name, up popped my email and the contact was made.  It was a miracle to get it back, and now you know the rest of that story…

Sunrise on the Way to Adventure

Thirteen Inch Brown Trout

White Pine

           

Tamarack

Sugar Maple

British Soldier Lichen

Bankside Wildflowers

Currents on the Water

Reflections

Ripple in the Shallows

Finishing the Day

Sunset on the Way Home

     The second undocumented trip came in the late afternoon of Tuesday, August 25^th.  It was at a secret creek that I was able to get to; an hour or so before the sun set.  In the beginning I saw three really big browns in the same run.  None hit solid, but more or less played with their “food” (my spinner).  I finally managed to hook an 8” brown that I quickly released.  Later I caught a 17” brown.  I took a picture and then released this one also, after working to get it back into the water and feeling good about its revival.  Within the next couple of feet I caught two 10” browns that I decided to keep.  At the next big bend, my turn around point, I pitched up under some over hanging grass on the far bank.  Immediately there was a wake and surge, and I had a thick 18” brown on the line.  It jumped several times and was a load to bring up and into my hand.  Due to the fight and the size of the trout, I didn’t take any pictures but elected to perform a quick release.  It was a fun trout to catch and hold briefly due to its size and spunk.  Typically when I turn around in a creek, “that’s that”, and I’m finished.  This time I worked my way back to the run I started at just an hour before.  Within a cast or two I hooked into a beautiful 16” brown.  I ended up having to keep that one as I couldn’t get the hook out very well.  In fact, while trying to, I actually ended up breaking off one of the barbs on my spinner.  With the time and stress on the fish to do this, I didn’t feel right releasing it. This still wasn’t one of the big browns I had originally seen in that run, as one of those jumped at a fly while I was working on the 16 incher, and sounded like someone was chucking firewood into the creek.  It was a lot of action in a short amount of time, and now you know the rest of that story…

     The third of my unwritten summer trips came on a tributary of the Sugar River on Sunday, August 30^th.  We had had a lot of rain the previous day or so, but I felt like I’d still be able to hit some potentially deep bends, and possibly wrestle some big browns out as the autumn spawn was quickly approaching.  The wading, as it turned out, was difficult and deeper that I’d expected.  I spent more time hiking in and out of the river, or walking past sections that would have been above my waders, than actually fishing.  When I did have an opportunity to get in and start pitching my spinner ahead to dark pools and grassy overhangs, my pole busted.  This was the second pole I’d broken this year (this one right at the sleeve joint).  Either it’s the cheaper poles, or catching bigger fish periodically on these ultra lights; or just plain bad luck.  It happened on a light snag.  When I lifted my pole it simply bent in half as the fiberglass tubing gave away.  Luckily the sunset was beautiful.  It was a lot of work with not a lot of payoff, and now you know the rest of that story…

     My next unwritten outing came on Monday, September 7^th; the morning of Labor Day.  I fished my “Home Creek” for two hours and only caught a few chubs, and saw one massive snapping turtle, before I finally managed to catch and release my first little brown trout.  (Past Entry: "Home" Waters)  Soon after that first catch I did have one decent hit, but I didn’t set the hook well and I lost him.  I decided to back out and have my morning lunch on a log that had once fallen across the creek.  When I had eaten and rested a spell, I worked my way back to where I had just missed the brown trout.  By the time I’d had my fifth cast, I had him back on.  It measured at 14 ½ inches.  I quickly released him after a picture; the least I could do for stalking him.  It ended in that way, as a good morning, and now you know the rest of that story…

     
     The last of my unwritten outings came as an end of the season run, with my Dad, on a creek we’ve had marginal success on, but always feel as though it has potential.  It’s not too far from the Kettle Moraine State Forest.  We went on Tuesday, September 29^th following a day of teaching.  We listened to each other, made an attempt at casting, but probably spent more time simply catching up and letting each other talk, than concentrating on what we were doing.  Apparently the trout realized it and took the night off too.  We did not see or catch any sight of one the entire night.  The evening was beautiful, however, and so we fished and talked until dark.  We even found a different section we could fish in the future, and shared some of our knowledge with a young man who also was fishing that same creek as part of his end of the season run.  Sometimes the season isn’t about the fish, and now you know the rest of that story…

                 
     Five unwritten trips.  Five trips previously undocumented.  Five trips with all of the highs, lows and mundaneness of trout fishing.  It makes the season what it is, and now you know the rest of the story. 

     Happy Thanksgiving; and we do have much to be thankful for! 

See you along The Way…

Downright Spooky

            We awoke to darkness as we had to get our daughter to the high school by 6:15 a.m.  She was traveling with her cross country team to cheer on the teammates competing in the State Sectionals.  As it slowly grew light outside, it revealed gloom, cold air, and drizzle.  It was going to be one of those days.  Not a bad day, just one of those days to get some chores done.  It started with cleaning up dog poop from the backyard, taking down the fencing around the garden, and then taking out the stakes and wire baskets that marked which vegetables were which; in addition to holding up the cherry tomato plants.  As the drizzle increased, I moved inside and cleaned off the dust that had built up on the fans in our bedrooms after a summer of use.  I was inside until the drizzle increased to a steady rain that was building up in our eavestroughs.  Those of you who own houses near mature trees know what came next.  Once in a blue moon you clean the troughs of the leaves when it’s warm and beautiful out.  The other forty-eleven times it is closer to what it was today; cold rain, soaked clothes, cold water, wet leaves and a slippery ladder.  In the end, the down spouts were cleared and the water released out into the yard.  I hooked up the hose to our rain barrel and ran it out to the arbor vitae bushes.  They like the extra water.  I like to think that when they receive the extra water, the bushes pretend they’re like their white cedar cousins, in some swamp up North, where the waters of some head-water stream are bubbling up out of the ground.  It was about then that the flocks of geese flew overhead, bucking the head wind and heading south.

            I threw some potatoes and eggs into my iron skillet for brunch, and finished cooking it up just before my son came home for a quick visit from college.  We split the meal, ate, and talked. 

Some of my cousins texted back and forth about life stuff; funny life stuff, and then I went and picked up my daughter when she and her team came back from the race.  I trimmed both of our dogs’ nails and then brushed them out in the garage.  Those were the necessary tasks before tackling the vacuuming; otherwise the shed dog hair quickly replaces what you clean up.  After a brief run over to school, to get some stuff to help prepare lesson plans, I stopped by and saw a neighbor who was out getting ready for Halloween.  He also works at school.  We talked about cabins, fish, family, students and birthday presents.  Soon kids were walking the neighborhood, so I got home to help pass out candy to “trick-or-treaters.”  I’ll admit that it’s fun to see past and present students.  For dinner I had a baked pasty, made from a real, live “Yooper” (person from Michigan’s UP - Upper Peninsula) that lives and has a restaurant down here in Roscoe, Illinois. 

The pasty was a part of a gift given to me by a student back at the beginning of the school year.  It was then that I started the fire in the fireplace.  It was perfect for today; a perfect way to end the day.

            It was a perfect way to end the day except it was bitter sweet.  It was bitter sweet because I was burning some of the last of the green ash tree that used to stand in our backyard next to the house and next to our patio.  True, it added to the leaves that built up in our gutters, but even more, it provided shade for a good six months of the year.  It was a great tree, that even in the few years we have lived here; I had been trimming into a shapely tree that centered between the house, the patio, and the neighboring spruce tree.

The year we bought the house-Ash Tree next to our home

            Enter an invasive species; the emerald ash borer.  It was first identified in North America in 2002 but it most likely was here in the early 1990’s; having come over from eastern Asia.  The guess is that it came over within the wooden boards used for crates, or the wooden braces used to stabilize the cargo on ships hauling freight.  The emerald ash borer is a metallic-green colored insect that during its larvae stage, chews through the live part of the tree between the outer bark and inner cork.  After a while the tree has so many holes in it, that it can’t send its life-blood sap up and down through the vascular tubes in its trunk and branches.  It’s a sad sight to witness, as the tree fights to live by sending out shoots and runners from areas that are still “alive.”  But the fate of the ash tree is inevitable.  Its devastation is downright spooky.  In addition to the tree that used to stand in our backyard, whole sections of forests in many states are now dead, with only the bare, branched arms left standing and lifted skyward.  Streets that were once lined with beautiful, old, American elm trees; trees that formed tunnels alongside houses with front porches in many neighborhoods in towns across America, became barren due to the destruction of Dutch Elm Disease that hit North America in the 1970’s and 80’s.  Most cities replaced the elm trees with the green ash tree.  Now those same streets are bare again, and it makes you wonder what’s next.  It honestly scares me when I think of other species of trees that I enjoy.  What will happen to them?  It’s like the “Dumbing Down of the World” when things destroy other things in areas where there is no natural checks and balances.  Ax handles and tool handles are just some of the items made from the ash tree; by-products of a shapely tree that’s been an important part of North America’s forests and a resource for development.

            The ash tree that died in our backyard came down this spring.  I wanted it gone before my son’s high school graduation open house.  I cut it down and cut up the main trunk and branches.  I burned up the smaller branches left behind.  The wood up to six inches thick, I stacked for firewood.  The ashes from the small branches, I sprinkled into the woods to share its nutrients with other trees and plants.  The larger chunks left from its trunk I will split this winter when the air is cold and crisp.  Ash is straight grained; it will pop and snap and split under the direction of an ax and wedge and mall.

Cut down & up over one weekend.

Before being cut down.

           

Cut & Stacked-A fire burns the twigs.

Burning branches put to good use.

We’ve already burned some of the ash this summer, to cook brats and roast marshmallows out in our fire-pit.  We’ve burned the ash wood during family fires and fires with friends.  Today is the first time I’ve burned its wood in our fireplace.  The wood from this tree will last throughout the winter.  Burning in our fireplace will be its final tribute, to a worthy life cut tragically short from an unwelcome insect wrecking havoc at a spooky rate across North America.  It is, however, literally going down in a blaze of glory.

            After a day of chores that allowed me to complete tasks, tonight is an opportunity to sit, relax and reflect.  Tonight our old green ash tree is providing me with warmth while I write.  It’s time to add another log onto the dying embers to keep the fire alive.

See you along The Way…

“I have been told some people have fireplaces but never start fires in them because they might leave a residue of soot on the firebricks or otherwise smudge the cleanliness of a room.  Each to his own, but for me, a fireplace without a fire is like a house without people.  Just as it takes warm beating hearts to make a house a home, so it takes flames to make a fireplace.”

-Mel Ellis (Notes from Little Lakes)

Tired dogs soaking up the heat.

C.F.A.

“When in doubt, head for water.”  -  John Jerome (Blue Rooms)

            A few Monday’s ago we had the day off from school; Columbus Day.  I’ll admit, it’s a nice three day weekend on the eve of autumn, but I truly wish it was to honor someone else.  Leif Erikson came to the “New Land” of North America as a Viking, before Christopher Columbus, to the Newfoundland area in what is now Canada.  That was around the year 1000 AD.  It was 500 years later that the Italian Columbus, sponsored by Spain, arrived in what is now known as the Caribbean Islands.  Perhaps it’s because Columbus had ulterior motives.  Perhaps it’s because he established slavery on his second journey, to force the natives to dig for the gold he hoped for.  Regardless, it makes me a bit uncomfortable celebrating someone who represents such things.  It just seems weird that we ignore the tens of millions of Native People that lived here, prior to Europe’s push for colonization, to celebrate this guy.  I’m not taking away from his adventuresome spirit.  Heading off into what seemed like an endless sea had to be a bit spooky.  It proves, I suppose, that he was brave, if not power hungry, and allows you to at least find something positive in his persona.  It doesn’t, however, mean that we should have a day off from school to honor him.  While it is refreshing to have the extra day, I’m with the growing number of communities who are now using the day to celebrate Indigenous Peoples Day.  I’d feel a lot more comfortable heralding the lives and efforts of the many tribes nationwide who have fought the struggle to survive; many against what you can only describe as insurmountable odds.  While speaking with an Ojibwe educator when I was working on my master’s degree, he noted that within schools, we should first talk about how First Nation people live and work in today’s world before we teach how they lived in the past.  It gives students a correct, modern perspective, instead of thinking they continue to all live in wigwams or teepees and hunt bison for food with a bow.  It would allow classes to discuss the advancements and struggles of various native tribes and avoid stating, without refute, that Columbus was First to the Americas (CFA).

Homework Page for the Week at School

            Still, I made use of the day off by rallying and gathering some of the members of the “Gulo Adventure Clan”; men tied either past or present to our school, to head out for a morning adventure on the Sugar River.  We met early in the morning, threw our supplies and gear into two vehicles, the kayaks/canoe on to a trailer, and then headed out.  By 9:00 we had dropped off our equipment and transferred our vehicles for take-out before getting on the water.  It was cool, overcast, and a little breezy.  After paddling for a half hour or so, it sprinkled for a few moments.  From that point on it slowly cleared bit by bit as the day progressed.  With that, the temperature rose and the winds increased.  It was the CFA we had anticipated (Clear Forecast Arrival).

            After an hour, we pulled up onto a sandbar.  While supplies were unloaded, and small twigs were gathered as fire tinder, we broke out sling shots.  The targets were various logs, sticks, and stumps.  We used smooth, round stones I had collected in a small tub.  There is something primordial about pulling back on a slingshot and notching your fingers against your cheek while taking aim through the forks.  After a release, especially when you’ve hit the intended target, it’s hard not to smile a boyish grin.  I grew up with a pocket full of rocks and a “Wrist-Rocket” slingshot, so I knew what the others were feeling.  In that brief moment of time they were all CFA’s (Country-Boys flinging ammunition) like David slaying Goliath.

            While the others were busy defending the universe, I busted out the flint and steel and got a fire going.  Soon after, we had potatoes and sausage cooking, and then eventually added the eggs and cheese.  I love cooking over an open fire, especially for others.  It’s a combination of the preparation, making the fire, smelling the smoke and food, and then listening to the activity surrounding it all. 

Eating the food afterwards is the fringe benefit.  We cleaned up, repacked our supplies, and loaded our tub into the bottom of the canoe.  We had work to do in the form of paddling, and now we had the nourishment to do it.  We had taken the time to Cook to Form an Alliance (CFA).

            We continued down river and enjoyed a great morning of talking and soaking up the river’s beauty.  Rivers, like this, have been used as a way to travel within this country for a long, long time.  By the time we paddled around the last few bends, we found ourselves battling small white-caps pushing upriver, against the current, by the wind.  It was windy now but at least it was warm.  

Deep down you felt the need to enjoy the moment, as such days are dwindling while winter begins to loom.  We made good time by using the CFA to our advantage (Currents For Advancement).  The moving water of a river can do that.  We landed at our destination by 1:00; a perfect amount of time that still allowed us to do other things that afternoon.

            All of us in the group are tied to our local schools in some way.  We are experiencing the educational winds of change, and the growing pains that come with it.  While rocking it out teaching, we are also evaluating our curriculum, tying this to state/national standards, developing Common Formative Assessments (CFA’s) while integrating this into our teacher evaluations.  I’m still learning what that means.  I’m still wrestling with what I have to do, get to do, need to do and want to do with all of the new information that comes while teaching every day.  In the meantime, and in order to put one foot in front of the other, I seem to require periodic chunks of time where I can escape.  I use these times to recharge, take a deep breath, put things into perspective, grapple with them, prioritize, sometimes compartmentalize them, and then forge ahead in one way or another.  In the meantime, I thank my God that I can gather with friends, paddle a kayak or canoe, and Cruise For Adventure (CFA) on a liquid trail.

            See you along The Way...