Blufftop Wind In The Boughs

It sounds like the ebbs and flows of traffic on a busy street or distant highway; but it’s not.  There’s nobody else here—upon this bluff overlooking the Sugar River.  The skies are partly cloudy, but constantly changing due to the light winds; those same winds blowing like a horde of cars through the leafless treetops of the oaks and hickory and the needled boughs of the tightly clustered white pines behind me.  There’s momentary silence but also low moans from the wind, and rattles from last year’s leaves still hanging on—soon to be kicked out of the nest once this season’s buds begin to burst forth.

I’m not deep in a secret wood, or on forgotten property, I’m right here.  I’m in plain view and out in the open.  It’s just that I have it all to myself at this moment in time.  I can hear the spring peepers and chorus frogs singing in the vernal ponds across the way—in the marshes on the other side of the river.  Wild places.  Mysterious places.  I’ve kayaked over to that side before and walked amongst the dead grasses of spring.  It’s intimate there even in its openness—before things leaf out—because you’ll find that your spirit latches onto the simplicity and complexity of it all when your senses are alert and on fire.  I can see the door stoop to that area from this bluff.  It’s comforting to know it’s there with its seasonal pockets of stagnant water, helping to warm the water and earth and kick-start into action the life that’s always there; so that we with our limitations can actually see it!

While here on the bluff I’m soaking all of this into my body; absorbing it into my memory for safe keeping.  There are a myriad of trails nearby that I could hike, and I may do so as I’ve often done.  Typically I’d have been running them as well, as I love the softness of the paths and alert nimbleness it takes to navigate the twists, turns, roots, and ruts.  But, I had surgery on my right knee not too long ago for a torn meniscus, so I’m trying to be patient; trying to slowly build a foundation of strength that will get me back to that activity that I love.

In the meantime I’m sitting here in a camp chair on this bluff.  I’m sitting here where history planted itself nearly 90 years ago when the W.P.A. built this limestone shelterhouse.  A good friend of mine once shared a story about a time when his grandpa attached half of an oxen’s iron work shoe—from the beast of burden's cloven hoof—to this very pavilion; shared history.

I love that there’s a huge fireplace both inside and outside—where the two flues are shared by the same chimney.  And while the structure is sound, it will require some tender love and care in the near future.  I can only hope that a few timbers are replaced and some tuck-pointing applied so that when I’m older, and can no longer hope to run or walk the trails, I can still sit here on this bluff and listen to both the flicker and red-headed woodpecker, and the wind in the boughs.

The Outside Fireplace Of The
Limestone Shelter Built In 1939.

Today within the beauty of an early spring day, I chose to build a small fire in the outdoor hearth of the fireplace.  Soon I’ll make a potato, egg, and sausage scramble in my old iron skillet—upon the still hot coals.  It’ll be a hearty lunch to carry me through the rest of the day; like the resonating warmth radiating off the stone work.  Afterwards I’ll take my walk on the trails along the bluff, and water’s edge, and back into the river bottom at the base of a ridge.  Like the nearby squirrel gnawing on the husk of an old walnut found in its hidden pantry, the croaking calls of the sandhill cranes in the distant marsh, and the winds off the bluff through the white pine boughs, walking will give me the opportunity to reflect on life and the important things.

See you along The Way…

Spring Beauty Flowers

A Vernal Pond

Warmth From The Cold

 

‘Tis normally the water fresh,

     That cleanses the soul within,

But air that’s crisp can do the thresh,

     Freeing mind from stalks of din.

The cold sinks deep and makes it hard,

     For nimbleness of fingers,

Mittens fall short without regard,

     The painful numbing lingers.

On-ward I hike throughout the woods,

     Hiding tracks on bottomlands,

Stealth my trek under snow that would,

     Cover deeds with icy bands.

A tarp that’s strung, blocks wind and blame,

     Maple limb is cut to length,

Grass, twigs, and sticks ignite the flame,

     Easing pain with veneered strength.

‘Twas by my choice for such exploit,

     Where I find myself to hide,

Frozen fingers that do not point,

     River’s edge my only guide.

My sidekick dog is wrapped up twice,

     Once by snow and once by quilt,

Griddled food cooks and smells entice,

     Heaped coals without trace of guilt.

Unheralded taste, sense delight,

     Cockles of the heart are warmed,

Fingers don’t store such heat to spite,

     They don’t at all, so be warned!

I pack with breaks, hands plunged in fire,

     Attempts ward off frozen flesh,

Pup’s patience often belies her,

     Plunged headlong, our prints are fresh.

We traverse North against the wind,

     Powdered snow, thick sheets of ice,

Adventure we’ll never rescind,

     Until next, mem-ries suffice.

Destination and hastened glee,

     Our journey comes to an end,

Prayers battled cold on bended knee,

     Such outings my heart depends!

See you along The Way…

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The Painful Numbing Lingers

A Tarp That's Strung Blocks Wind And Blame

My Sidekick Dog Wrapped Up Twice

River's Edge My Only Guide

Griddled Food Cooks And Smells Entice

Unheralded Taste, Senses Delight

Cockles Of The Heart Are Warmed

Pup's Patience Often Belies Her

I Pack With Breaks, Hands Plunged In Fire

Destination And Hastened Glee,
Our Journey Comes To An End,
Prayers Battled Cold On Bended Knee,
Such Outings My Heart Depends.

Transfer Of Energy

The morning started cold, under clear skies, as the nearly full moon set to the rising sun.  The frost on the ground quickly dissipated under the dry breezes, making it difficult to contemplate the nearly winter-like temperatures in what was still considered an early fall season.

Including myself, six of us gathered for the day’s adventure.  Four were former or present teaching colleagues, and the fifth was my Dad.  We loaded the kayak trailer, given to me by a friend, after adding the padding from some foam noodles that my Dad had picked up at a dollar store.  We halved the noodles and used electrical tape to hold them tight to the angle iron crossbars; a perfect resting place to haul our vessels to the river.

I personally had started the early morning in a stocking cap, but by the time we launched into the water, I had transferred to a billed hat.  Warding off the slight chill, we all started in sweatshirts and coats under our life jackets.  However, the sun shone forth throughout our journey, gradually gaining strength, sharing it with us, and therefore encouraging us to peel layers.  By the time we stopped on a stretch of sand to make a fire and cook our breakfast, we were down to long sleeves.  Breaking up and cutting some dead silver maple branches also helped convert the resting and stagnant potential energy into mobile and useful kinetic energy.

A perfectly cut branch in the shape of a “Y” held our giant frying pan while allowing the food to cook.  My dog Kora, who had slipped off the front of my kayak (the result of zigging when I had to zag to avoid some half sunken deadfalls.), laid in the tall grasses nearby to bask in the sun; all the while eyeing our food’s progress.

Our giant skillet of potatoes, brats, eggs, and cheese quickly transferred into our gullets, after several helpings each (Kora included).  From food to bodies, the energy would soon be used to provide us the paddle power needed to propel ourselves over the several miles that we still needed to go.  Following a cupful of orange juice and hot cocoa, we erased our presence from the shoreline, took a group picture, and eased back into the water.

Doug, (Kora), Dad, Justin K, Justin B, Zach, and Me

We stopped once more for a quick stretch break and to look over some potential pools where fish might reside.  I’d been marking key spots in my mind along the route all morning with the hope of still having an opportunity to test my theories before cold air set in for good.  Simultaneously the sun burst forth with its greatest amount of force for the day; a nearly 40° swing from the mid 30’s of the morning to the low 70’s of the early afternoon.  As we crawled back into the kayaks we peeled down to T-shirts.  It was a comfortable way to travel the remaining rest of the river; set in the fall colors and within the gentle winds out of the southwest.

By the end we were all thankful for the chance to get out, cook a meal, paddle a river, and hang out on what amounted to an absolutely beautiful fall day.  Transferring the energy from food, sun, and companionship to mind, body, and spirit has a way of doing that.

See you along The Way…

Dad In His Kayak

The Fleet Of Kayaks

Kora Loves A Good Adventure!

After Loading The Kayaks Onto The Trailer
It's The End Of A Great Day On The River.

Renegades

“Go forth and have no fear.”
X Ambassadors (Song lyrics from “Renegades”)

        The wind was blowing today; strong wind.  Perhaps I read more into the wind than what it is, but I love it and feel close to it.  Here at home I like it because it helps drown out the constant hum of the nearby highway; all I can hear is the wind through the spruce boughs and feel the shake of the house when an extra strong gust hits.  It’s strangely comforting.  I say strange because it’s a sign of moving and changing air masses; air moving on currents from high to low pressure seeking some unknown destination.  At the same time I like to picture and sense God’s movement in the wind; movement as the Spirit. Wind is the confirmation of that presence for me.

        The group Kansas sang a song entitled, “Dust in the Wind.”  It’s a classic song played on an acoustic guitar.  While it is a good song, it is admittedly a melancholic view of life as if nothing matters.  Although it could be argued that the song is simply stating that when all else fails or expires, life will somehow prevail and carry on despite loss - so I guess that means we are to make the most of it.  Regardless, life matters, people matter, and what we do matters.  We are part of a bigger story.  We play a role and live out our purpose or niche as an integral part of that story.  “Every story, great and small, shares the same essential structure because every story we tell borrows its power from a Larger Story, a Story woven into the fabric of our being...” (Epic - Eldredge)

        In other words, this is it!  We can live a life with meaning, a life with purpose, and learn from both the highs and lows along the way.  Because like it or not, those extremes are part of our story - as well as everything else in between.  How do we begin living when life is full of pain, regrets, and indecision?  Each of us walks in our own pair of shoes, and so who are we to judge when that time begins?  I'd like to think that at some point we can live with a sense of freedom like the wind itself - moving in any desired direction; like a renegade.  Perhaps the fact that time marches on creates a basic and guiding structure for us to live. Although strangely ironic, that structure could provide freedom.

        Speaking of renegades, the unofficial/official Gulo Adventure Clan gathered this morning after an evening of parent/teacher/student conferences.  It was a repeat performance of last year (See Past Entry "Un-Common Core") but at fifty something degrees outside, it was almost sixty-five degrees warmer this year.  We gathered early and drove out to one of my favorite areas.  It’s open and vast and wild in some areas, and yet thick and close and embracing in others.  It is flat and it is hilly.  It has prairies and it has forests; both highlands with hardwoods and bottomlands with softwoods.  Today we walked through all of those environs, including a wide marsh.  We had to; there was so much ice on the trails that we chose a course where we could walk with some sort of footing.  It was the result of the remnant snow and warm weather.

        It was a long walk in, but it was perfect in that it allowed us to talk and dialogue and enjoy both the effort and beauty of it all.  Along the route we crossed several creeks and made our way to the bank of a large river.  I quickly made a fire while the others put up a tarp to block the wind - or looked for firewood.  The wind was blowing hard from the West by Southwest at 30 to 40 miles per hour, with gusts up to 60; although the woods helped to block some of that.  

   

        Conversations covered school, sports (heroes and underdogs, both legitimate and fallen), and a host of other side topics on the heels of the wind.  Our prayer was to be a constant within the winds of change that happen throughout our lives.  We ate and then ate some more.  We needed to with all of the food we had cooked.  With eight guys and two dogs our skillet included 18 potatoes, 20 eggs, a dozen stadium brats and 20 ounces of Colby Jack cheese.  I forgot to add the salt and pepper, and a few of the potatoes got a little dark, but ask any of them whether they cared or not.  The cocoa was only slightly warmer than lukewarm (wrong side of the windblown flames), and the orange juice was sitting comfortably back in our refrigerator at home, but ask any of them whether they cared or not.

      Trust has come to this bunch of renegades by spending time together over the last few years; time hiking and paddling a river in addition to working and teaching at school.  Because of that trust, you feel as though you can pretty much be yourself, and that alone is comforting.  After packing up we began our hike back.  We stopped once for a group picture and then emerged from the woods - where we suddenly realized how much windier it actually was - and then came again to a little creek. 

Scott, Joe, Justin
Merel, Ted, Wes
The Pups, Louie & Mike

The creek really wasn’t much of an obstacle, and luckily the temperatures were moderate in case someone slipped in.  It did provide, however, the opportunity to act as pioneers.  Through the use of ingenuity and perseverance we were able to forge ahead.  It also provided us the chance to act as boys; both running and jumping and acting free, if only for a moment.

Video:

        Walking the rest of the way back in wet boots was at a minimum.  The “who, what and where” stays with the wind in the woods.  Like most good stories, it’s with friends where those stories happen and with friends where those stories remain.

        That same wind that carries our stories in fact is our story; or at least a part of it.  I like that this group of men all come from different places, with different backgrounds, and different up-bringing.  When I consider those things - our difference in ages, our different world views, and the way we band together and appreciate each other’s company - I can’t help but smile.

Video:

        We drove back and then said our goodbyes.  I unpacked a little, picked up my daughter from a friend’s house, and then fell asleep for a solid hour or more.  I only awoke when a blast of wind slammed against the front of the house.  The wind, like my morning with the Gulo Adventure Clan, was strangely comforting.

        See you along The Way…

“Life, you’ll notice, is a story.  Life doesn’t come to us like a math problem.  It comes to us the way that a story does, scene by scene.  You wake up.  What will happen next?  You don’t get to know – you have to enter in, take the journey as it comes.”

(Epic by John Eldredge-Nelson Books, Nashville-2004)

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Epilogue:

I like the X Ambassadors song entitled Renegades; it's been used before in an advertisement for the Jeep Renegade vehicle. While I do drive an old Jeep - with two years of dust caked on it from the dirt trail roads of Northern Michigan - I like the song for its acoustic guitar, lyrics, and how the it's video portrays achieved dreams and challenges - Blind people lifting weights, skate boarding, and riding bikes...a one armed boxer...the wrestler and rock climber with no limbs...not to mention the very end of the video where it shows the band members of X Ambassadors getting out of their Jeep Renegade (not covered in Michigan dirt) and walking through an alley to where they are playing in a concert. The lead singer/guitar player (Sam Harris) is helping to guide his older brother Casey - who is the keyboard player and who happens to be blind - into the concert venue...

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And if you like the song, here is the hour long version.  I often times put it on at school when I’m working, and listen to it over and over…

X Ambassadors - Renegades {hour version}

Un-Common Core

        

        Standards.  Probably in the grand scheme of things standards are set by numbers; numbers that can be applied in any fashion or form to verify or prove what you're trying to attain.  Although, when used for good and not evil, numbers do have the potential to inspire us to greater heights, and possibly set us free.  I suppose it's in the way that you use them.

        Yesterday I awoke at 3:00, couldn't fall back asleep, and so instead I got up to correct some papers I wanted to return to students at school.  I also had time to write in my daily journal and read.  My day had begun early and was only interrupted twice before everyone else got up.  Once was when our older dog Kati came out to the living room in confusion as to why I was up, and needed to be ushered back onto her pillow in our bedroom.  The other time was when our puppy Kora threw up something she had apparently eaten in the yard that afternoon.  Dogs; got to love them.

        After a busy day at school, and a night full of parent/teacher/student conferences I came home by 9:00.  As a family we talked and caught up for an hour or so before they all headed to bed and I began prepping for the following day's adventure.  I cleaned up the kitchen to give myself some work-space; washed up the dishes and utensils I would need; cut, cubed, and grated the food I would cook; and then went to bed a little after midnight.

        They say that there is "Strength in Numbers", and I believe there are. After having been awake for twenty-one hours, I got three hours of sleep before Kora began lurching for the second night in a row.  It was 3:30 and we had another chewed object that came back up.  The dogs were taken out.  Dogs were brought back in and returned to bed.  I got up a little before 5:00; after tossing, turning, talking with my wife, and deciding to start the day.  I journaled and then read.  6:00.  I organized our necessary gear and put antifreeze in the van so my wife could drive it to a shop to be worked on today.  I also drove over to school to pick up some forgotten supplies.  7:00.  I began getting dressed for the outside and putting the gear into one day pack and one framed backpack.  8:00.  My wife headed out to take our kids to high school as men tied in some way to our school district, past or present, began arriving at our home (we had the day off after the late night conferences).

        Excited chatter.  Excited dogs.  Negative twelve degree temperature.  Negative twelve with zero wind.  Three vehicles.  A twenty minute drive.  Blue skies and zero clouds.  Four of us don packs filled with food and supplies.  It was simple pleasures, for simple men, on a simple adventure.  We had a forty-four minute hike along bluffs, beside the river, and through the woods and bottom-lands.  Over a foot of snow was on the ground.  A single file line of men.  Light conversations, in tight air, that left puffs of smoke with each breath.  The destination was "just around the bend" on the last hook of land possible.  One fire fueled by sixty to seventy small pieces of wood, monitored by two to three men.

        Two large frying pans were pulled out of the pack.  One large pot of water was set beside the fire to (sort of) boil.  Eight personalized cups were readied for an appetizer of "Not from Concentrate" full-pulp orange juice that froze around the outside of the cups.  Five pounds of cubed potatoes were split into each frying pan.  We used one stick of real butter; one half for each pan.  

        Once the taters were cooked to perfection, each individual pan received its own contents of six cubed Johnsonville stadium brats, a dozen eggs (minimal roughage of calcium/shells), and six ounces of shredded Shullsburg Colby Jack cheese.  A couple dashes of salt and a couple dashes of pepper are all that was needed, as the food was cooked and finalized.  More wood was added, and then two other members joined in to hold the handles of the pans and stir its contents while eight plates and eight spoons (large size) were passed around to each of the eight ravenous men.  One thankful prayer was said to God; a prayer of unity given in the face of life's typical hecticness.  Sighs of contentment were evident while eating.  A moment of peaceful silence ensued–other than the scraping of utensils on plates.  Second helpings were offered all around.  Two plates were set for two hard working dogs.  Zero food left.  Another round of orange juice topped off with a generous cup of lukewarm cocoa (complete with orange pulp floaties).  

        Zero whining from eight men who shared three stirring spoons and heartfelt laughter.  One massive clean-up left everything packed.  Order restored, eight men hiked out on both conversation and silent reflection along the long line.  Two dogs led the way back through the woods.  Heat was again generated through physical labor.  One break was taken to induct four new members into the unofficial "Gulo Adventure Clan".  Four membership cards were passed out.  Four of the five core adventurers (for one couldn't make it today) welcomed four into the fold.  Membership has its privileges when adventures are deemed necessary and/or worthy every so often.  We witnessed infinite beauty in nature.  One hypotenuse cut off the bluff trail section on the return. We endured one and four tenths miles of "man-up" trudging.  Ages ranged from thirty to seventy-two.  Eight smiles of satisfaction were seen.  We had one drive home in three vehicles.  Four hours of time together.  Eight core men who enjoyed four hours of a simple adventure of hiking, cooking, eating, and re-hiking.  Simple core men; with a simple task of living life as an adventure (for at least that one moment in time).

        A standard was set, seven years ago, when we first thought about the idea of gathering men together and doing something out of the ordinary of everyday life; something uncommon.  It's something uncommon, but also something simple.  For as they say, one of the simple desires of a person's heart is the quest for some sort of an adventure.  A desire like that sets a standard beyond any typical standard; which makes it much more than a numbers thing.  

        See you along The Way...

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