A Return to the World of Blogging

Obviously I have been out for a few months. Work got in the way of my life here. As spring time comes I should be able to return here more often. It is likely however that Halestorm is going to take on a little bit of a different life than it had the first time. Initially I was hoping to discuss many ideas of interest, but somehow I seemed unable to get away from the cabin at Blueberry Lake. I will still write about Blueberry, the land it occupies, and what the place means to me, but I would like to explore the depths of my world a bit more. Expect a new entry within a few days.

Along with an occasional return to Halestorm I have also started a new blog: In Search of Birkyness. I have a goal, and this blog is going to help keep me focused and committed. Feel free to check it out and let me know what you think.

Rain and Rewards

The cabin is filled with people. My wife's sister and her family from New Jersey are in town and enjoying a long week at Blueberry Lake. My in-laws are there and we have brought our entire crew. Lots of laughter, lots of fun, and yet very little elbow room.

Along with my wife and my five-year old, I slept lakeside in the tent. I awoke early to the sounds of rain. Silently I laid in the sleeping bag and listened to the calming rain. The lake is low, things are dry, and the rain is needed. But with the rain comes a very crowded cabin, and a couple of games of Scrabble.

After several hours of intermittent rain the skies cleared and it looked as though we were finally going to get some sunshine. Several of the adults moved outside to play some Bocce Ball. However, instead of participating in the game, I look for some brief solitude. I grab my rain gear, my fishing rod, and hop into my kayak. Because of the threat of rain I leave my camera behind. Truly a mistake.

There is a nesting pair of Bald Eagles on Blueberry, just north of the cabin. It has been fun this summer watching these adults raise their young. In May we discovered their nests atop a lakeside white pine. In late June we could hear the constant chatter of eaglets. In July my in-laws watched them trying to learn how to fly. Now, in early August their chatter is constant and their wings take them on short trips around our side of the lake.

As I paddle towards the lake's small island I can see the white head of a Bald Eagle perched on a branch and can hear the eaglets squawking. Although I am certain there are two eaglets I can see and hear only one of them running around and flapping its wings. Then as I move slowly around the island I notice that the second adult is also perched on a branch. Neither adult is looking over the water, but is instead observing their eaglet. But then as I move just a bit farther I see that there are indeed two eaglets on the ground. Silently I position my kayak so that I can drift by the island and watch the eaglets play with each other. And then it starts to rain.

Shortly after the rain begins I hear the call of a loon. I know it is close. Minutes later I hear the call again and this time see the loon off the starboard side of the kayak. I put my paddle in the water and noiselessly maneuver the boat. I try to stay out of the loon's space as I do not want to frighten it away. But instead the loon continues its haunting call and continues to paddle towards me.

I am captivated by the moment.

In front of me I am watching two adult Bald Eagles and two baby eaglets. To my right is the loon. I am so close to the loon that I can see its beak moving as it provides me with its call. Eventually the loon comes within about three to four paddle lengths of my boat, moves silently behind me, and eventually ends up on the other side. After several more minutes of observing these great fishers I paddle away, leaving the loon and the eagles to continue to do their thing. Thankful that I was able to witness this splendid theater.

What is a Pine Tree Worth?

My wife and I married in August of 2002. Along with the promise of our vows, so came a promise to my daughter (8) and to Carri's daughter (6). We knew that blending two families together would be a challenge and that our relationship would need to be strong and deep. We also knew however that the rewards could be long-lasting.

Because the four of us had already planned a summer vacation together before we got engaged, we decided to forgo a traditional honeymoon, and instead take a "family honeymoon." My friend Jeff Wiley provided us with his Spider Lake cabin, just east of Mercer, Wi. Here at Spider Lake we began to build the foundations of our new family.

After a week in the woods we made a trip to the back of his property and dug up a small white pine. It was 13 inches tall (probably in its second or third summer) and fit snugly into our tidy white pot. When we returned to Madison we transplanted the tree in our back yard. We surrounded the pine with mulch, watered it daily, and hoped for its survival. Its roots and its stability were an important symbol for our family.

Months later, after the warmth of spring had melted the snows, our seemingly fragile pine had sprouted its trunk upward and its branches outward. Amazingly, after an August transplant, it survived a Wisconsin winter. A good sign!

Then in the late winter of 2005, eight months after our third daughter joined the family, we moved to a larger home as we had simply outgrown our cozy ranch. When selling our house we added language to the sales contract that would allow us to come back in the spring to dig up our white pine once again.

This time we transplanted the pine directly out our front door, in a spot where we would see it several times a day. I was a little concerned that another transplant would hurt its chances for survival, but my wife assured me that it would be good for its long-term health. It appears she was right. After surviving a hot and dry summer, the pine then made it through another Wisconsin winter and was again providing us with its inspiring spring-time growths.

During the late winter of 2007 we were hit with a horrible ice storm. Everything was frozen and everything was shut down. My neighbor came over to find out why I had a hair dryer attached to an extension cord in my front yard, melting the ice off of the pine. He could only smile and nod his head as I tried to explain the significance of the White Pine.

Then later in the spring we noticed that the entire pine had very suddenly turned brown and that its needles were falling off. I panicked. I thought we had lost it. I thought I had killed it. I poured over books and reference pages and came to the hopeful conclusion that the browning of its needles was natural. That sometimes white pines just shed their needles. But all we could do was wait. Then almost as quickly as the needles turned brown, they recovered, and once again lifted themselves towards the sunshine. Another good sign!

Now, during its 10th or 11th summer, the pine has grown taller than me. It's no longer a fragile tree, but one that can withstand strong winds, deep snow, drenching rains, hot, dry weather, and even neighborhood children thinking it is a toy. It is healthy. It is growing.

Sure its just a tree, but when I leave my door in the morning I see a companion and a protector. I see widespread roots and growing branches. I see shared struggles and shared joy. I see a symbol of strength and courage. I see a white pine, the most majestic of all Wisconsin's trees.

A Pileated Performance

Traveling to Minneapolis to see some friends last week, I decided to stop by the cabin for one night on the way. Although the detour added an extra 2.5 hours to the trip I didn't hesitate to make the drive.

On Friday morning I decided upon a kayak trip instead of a hike. I believe I made the right choice.

Although I wasn't feeling great motivation to fish, I still grabbed a fishing rod and hopped into the kayak. Force of habit I suppose. After only a couple of casts I was distracted by the distinct hammer of a woodpecker.

I put aside the rod and silently paddled to the shore. Even though I did not capture a good photo with my camera, I was fortunate to get the following video:



And then I paddled away, leaving him to his work, and me to my fishing.

A Morning at the Lake

John Muir admitted in his journals that "[he] shouted and gesticulated in a wild burst of ecstasy..."

It was kind of like that:

Up for the sunrise...














but someone beat me to it...














A tree to dance beneath... (need my wife around for that one)




















The boats beckon...















A Pileated moment...

The Rewards of an Early Start

Sunday morning promised rain. I therefore awoke early, knowing that I needed to get outside for a bit. What awaited me was an absolutely glorious morning.

My reward for waking before sunrise was arguably the most spectacular dawn I have ever witnessed. The fiery eastern sky drew me out of the cabin and towards the lake. The silence was as riviting as the sky: no one was around, the lake was still, the birds were just beginning to stir and a bright mix of pinks and purples were lighting the horizon. An inspiring sight. I felt fortunate to have witnessed it.

After a quick breakfast and a bit of coffee, Ezra and I headed out for an early morning stroll. Even with a light rain just starting, my hike through a mixed northern forest added to the splendor of the day. This ATV trail is the closest thing we have to a trail around here, so there is always the reality that a four-wheeler could come around the corner. But considering the time, and the fact that I am near the end of a dead-end trail, the chances of being disturbed by these machines are quite slim.

As far as hikes go their is very little to rave about. Because it is an ATV trail, it is wide and fairly well used, there is very little terrain to speak of, and in the middle of a hike are the results of a "100 year" forest-cut. Although the hike makes its way through a pleasant woods it is not difficult to recognize it as a managed forest. I see no "old trees" and the majority of what I see are similar in size. But at least I am alone and moving.

Towards the far end of my out and back hike I stumble across a decomposed carcass. It is the remains of a large animal, probably a deer. What is interesting about this is that the carcass is pretty far gone, and yet when I walked this exact same path on Memorial Day weekend I saw nothing. The only thought that makes sense to me is that of a poacher. I hope I am wrong. I hope it is wolves, or wild dogs.

But after seeing the carcass I moved forward, eventually turning west onto what is called Boundary Road. It is a seldom used gravel road that cuts around Blueberry Lake and connects Hwy CC and Hwy H. I had not taken this route before, and because of the rain I figured this would be less wet. The road was quite straight with a small gradual climb up a lengthy hill.

As my eyes climbed the hill, trying to decide where I should give up on this weather and turn around, I noticed two black spots at the top of the gravel road. Before I could make sense of it they had moved across the road. "Damn! Those were bear" I said aloud. I stopped, angry at myself for not recognizing it quicker, and for not having my camera in my hand. Then just as I grabbed my camera they reappeared, one at a time. Just for me. They hung around for a bit, and then both slowly moved off to the woods, back to where they came from.

No this wasn't the same heart-stopping, pulse-racing bear encounter that I have had in the past. It was nothing like the face to face meeting I had when I was backpacking and fly-fishing in "The Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness" in Idaho in 1997; or the "sow and her cub" crossing the trail 50 yards in front of me in Colorado in 2007; or even the big male running in front of our van in Rusk County in 2002. It was nothing nearly this exciting. Yet it was still a bear. Two of them to be accurate. And bear are good karma. Bear are good for the soul. I know my summer will be better because I saw a bear. Two bear to be completely accurate.

A Blueberry Kind of Day

Last July my in-laws bought a cozy cabin near Hayward, Wi. It's a great spot and one that we hope to get to know quite well over the years.

Here are some photos from a peaceful late-June morning on Blueberry Lake:

Looking east, around 6:15 a.m., nearly an hour after sun-up...

The pier at rest, long before the kids set up camp for the day...

The cabin in the early morning sunshine...

Mom and daughter, covering "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..."

An afternoon and a magical moment to cherish...