At the Lake
by Erick Highum 2020 (c)
Chapter one - Loons Nest
Dearest reader, as many of you may already know, my wife Julie and I are the famous parents of Magner and MacKenzie, our 2019 baby loons. Magner it seems was caught in a fishing lure and line on our lake in northern Minnesota, aptly named Lobster Lake. See, we bought a loon's nest from the Department of Natural Resources for a dollar a few years ago. The nest is actually a snow fence on top of PVC pipes. Its built in a square with rounded PVC edges secured by the purple and brown glue combination available at your local hardware store or Fleet Farm or Menards. The snow fence acts as a mesh of sorts and allows us to use a small rope to pull it taught. Once firm, we are able to pile a pancake of shore reeds and mud, sand, black dirt mixture, for the loons to make their nest. Which they do, every year.
Well, last year the pancake comes into play because we layered the materials and crisscross the reeds so some of it stays on the nest during many violent storms on Lobster Lake. We end with tying the same small rope used to tighten the snow fence to secure our pancake of materials down to the corners of the nest itself. This gives the loons a chance to stay afloat while the rain is pounding, and waves are tossing our little nest to and fro. On each corner we tie an eight-foot rope to a half block of cement. Then we toss the whole thing out to five feet of water and spit on the nest for good luck. It’s the spit that keeps the loons coming back to our nest. We are certain of this, as the same couple of loons actually wait for us to put the nest out in the same spot every year. Its uncanny really.
There they are as soon as the ice melts on the lake, and they call to us while we are busy building and moving the nest in place. Many times, the loons will circle the nest shortly after it is in place. Once, a muskrat tried to get on the nest and one of the loons poked that muskrat in the rear, a howl and a dash for the shore ensued with the loon prevailing. Usually within a day, or twelve, loons will get on the nest, and stay there until a baby loon or two are born.
Such was Magners fate last year. The year before Julie actually saw the babies coming out of their shells and named one Spring, because as soon as that baby loon realized her parent was near her, she dove straight into the water, and the other Flip, because the mother loon had to flip him into the water as he was stumbling around on the mesh nest at birth. Loons on Lobster Lake form a loon morning breakfast club for Julie at five am. She canoes out to center lake in a place we call the narrows where a wind will always be, and 10-12 loons will gather. The loons bob their heads to one another and call for others to join. Julie usually sees them do this without me unless we are on vacation when I am able to be with her in a tent on the shoreline.
Tents are rare on Lobster Lake. I've had six that have succumbed to the massive winds thus far. They are beyond a tool there. Tents allow us privacy and bird watching on shore. Just about every night we get a visit from a great blue heron we call Gradee. Now Gradee is quiet when stalking his prey. He moves ever so slowly along the shore one step at a time. It’s fun to see the magnificent huge wing-span land on shore and the shrink into a sleek circle of feathers. Stick legs mean these herons are nearly invisible in the reed beds, and therefore effective hunters. I'd say Gradee is very patient and quiet enough for us to not notice unless we are made aware by a squawk or the dance of the minnows to elude Gradees lunge.
Our life at Lobster has changed lately with the introduction of zebra mussels from the boats that frequent. It’s like humans love the outdoors and lakes so much they are killing it. Phosphorous runoff from lake owners watering their lawns is creating algae blooms, careless boaters who disregard bailing all of the water out of their tanks prior to going to another lake, are spreading invasive species of milfoil and zebra mussels from one lake to another. These chock the oxygen from the lake and thrive while other species die. It’s an endless cycle of humanity's churning engines. So, we enjoy it while we can. My view is that the winter helps the lake heal and survive since its frozen and calm. It allows the water and land around Lobster to get some balance with human intrusion. Winter cleans the lake, at least that is how it feels when I go in it in the spring. So cold, so clean, so much life around us, then gradually as summer turns to fall we see signs of cloudy water and smells like gasoline in your hair in the morning.
Chapter Two – The Proposal
It was a nice fall morning when I proposed to Julie. She was sleeping in the tent and I wrote will you marry me in the sand on the shore. A boat came by before she woke up, and ruined it though, creating a wave large enough to wipe out what I had written, forcing me start over, which I did. Then the same boat came by again and wiped out my proposal a second time. This kind of ticked me off so the third time I woke her up and married we got. It was bit of a hoot however as we needed to get into our fishing boat and actually, formally acknowledge our love. Later we got sweaty in the tent, such satisfaction we hope all should enjoy once.
The lake has its pockets of eco-systems, invaders from afar, and crusaders on land trying to instill fear in pesky geese ahonkin’ on shorelines lined with plushy and cushy lawns. It is funny watching from the canoe when one of the humans attempt to shoo geese from a lawn. Its green and full of good eating so why bother, you built it after all to be attractive. Such hunger and attraction are standard fare for air borne creatures. They can see the lushness and the lawn of choice from distant skies, and poop comes as birds land, a no brainer what to do. My proposal is to stop using perfectly good shorelines for lawns, instead add some rocks and logs, and let the reeds and weeds grow back. This will buffer your land and be much nicer for birds and bees and your love life I’m sure. But no, we see endless attempts to alter the natural world, spray untold and unknown chemicals on perfectly good shorelines. To achieve the perfect lawn for geese to eat on, humans must first spray everything that lives and, in essence, pollute the very water source they use to swim in, fish in, consuming their own chemicals through the body and skin. And then to top off this absurdity, humans drain the lake of needed fresh water, to water their lawns. Such activity ceases to amaze me or make sense to me.
Chapter Three - The Fire
We got wood for fires, lots, and lots of wood. We got elm, maple, pine, birch, we got oak and we got a lot of it in the north country. So, making a fire comes naturally you see, it makes a good cooking experience. Choose the right burning wood for the right piece of meat or veggie pack, and you got a load of fun and enjoyment. I like to use maple for indirect heat, otherwise it just burns too hot for direct cooking. We got one year, two-year, three-year, four year and five-year wood piles to choose from for making fires to cook or to bring the owl. Julie loves fires that bring the owl to the forest. More on that later.
So, our fires bring us warmth and an ability to cook outside. They also serve a spiritual purpose. We dedicate our fires to loved ones we have lost in life, making a remembrance of each, which sparks stories of their lives. We also dedicate a fire to loved ones going through a difficult time in life and pray for their swift recovery.
Julie went to a fire at sacred land where the Minnesota River meets bluffs overlook the Mississippi River. At this ceremony Dakota speakers recalled how embers were passed down from generation to generation, keeping that fire burning continuously for hundreds of years. Julie was honored with being presented with such an ember, and we do our best to keep it burning in remembrance of our native brothers and sisters.
Fires at the lake also bring friends to the shore via pontoon boats and fishing boats. One time we started with just the two of us and we ended up with a dozen people on shore. Conversations, laughter, and joy happen spontaneously as friends gather to share the light in a glowing fire.
We have spoken of what kind of lure is best to catch a musky, or a bass, or a northern pike. We have explored the nature of the universe as a meteor shower cascaded down upon us. We have fathomed the origin of the worlds’ religions and determined there is no reason for all of us to get along without conflict. We have marveled at the colors in the sky full of northern lights and been dumbfounded when the fire remained lit through a flash spring shower. Fires provide negative ions, which is good news for the human body. Fires keep us grounded and determined to do more. To sustain the fire, we need to gather wood from the forest, making use of two trees narrowly placed apart from each other, to break the longer sticks into shorter, more useful fire starters. We use tarps to keep the gathered wood in a stack over winter to spring to summer to fall. Stacked wood dries at its own pace so patience is essential. Of course, every now and again I’ll add a log that I thought was dry, only to see the smoke billow up and drift endlessly toward the tent. Julie on her pillow will wake to an awful smokey smell, alas I’ll be sleeping alone that night unless I quickly add some dry wood to the mix to bring a blaze forth.
The best fires are the ones we keep going all night and into the next day. Only when we are on vacation week can this be done as it is against all matter of common sense and county ordinances to leave a fire unattended. We call these days our off the grid days and stay up all night howling at the moon. No cell phone, no computer, no newspaper, no television, no radio, just nature. Silence is broken by a bird call, or a limb of a tree crashing to the ground. The sight of blue jay’s dive bombing each other and a morning bird symphony.
Chapter Four– The Owl
So, we get two main types of owls at the lake. The barred and the great horned. They both tend to make a boat load of racket when mating or calling to each other’s kind. I figure the call is like a GPS locator system, one does its hooting and pauses for response, then the response happens and a pause for an additional response to the response and so forth until locations are known. We may go months without hearing or seeing an owl of either kind and then bam, the forest around the lake is chock full of hooting. Mainly we are graced with the barred owl, but every once and again a great horned owl will arrive to keep us on our toes. We had a barred owl come for a visit on a vacation week one year, stayed overnight on our main path to the lake, and collect a dozen mice in the crook of a tree. That owl swooped to the forest floor in daylight and gathered mice, an unbelievable spectacular occurrence for us. Usually the forest dwellers scatter when I come a walkin’ since I tend to sing a lot. But this barred owl, Barretta, just stayed for a good long visit. Not sure if you have ever heard barred owls mating but they sound AN AWFUL LOT LIKE MONKEYS SCREECHING AT ONE ANOTHER.
One night, Julie woke me in the tent to the sound of sheer terror. We couldn’t tell if it was love making birds or an owl that killed a rabbit. Usually the sound of a rabbit dying is loud, but relatively short lived, no pun intended. This voice of wildness lasted all night, we decided if you can’t sleep to them, might as well stoke the fire, and give these owls a little romance. For us, the owl is the most mysterious of birds in the forest. I guess it has to do with the frequency or lack thereof that we are honored to see them. When one decides to grace us with its presence, we drop everything and just look at it quietly. Most often we hear owls, but don’t see them, which adds to their mystery. We do a pretty good job in building natural blinds for the wild rabbits to live in, and therefore provide a constant source of food for the owls. We also have mice running the forest floor due to an endless supply of food at neighborhood bird feeders, so we are lucky to hear and see barred and great horned owls in nature at the lake.
Chapter Five:Eagles
Eagles land on trees all over the lake. We enjoy canoe rides where we are just floating in waves and end up right under an eagle perched high up in an oak tree. It’s a special feeling to stay silent, to not disturb this majestic flyer, to allow it to remain in its perch searching for her next meal. Eagles feed to eat every other day, so important to let her be.
We have witnessed an eagle in full flight in April, right after the ice is halfway off the lake. We can see just how hungry a bird she is, trying multiple times to soar, then glide, then with talons out, attempt to pull a fish from the icy waters. I was honored to have filmed this sequence of events once but for the most part have only viewed it with my eyes.
One day we hiked out to the end of Cherry Point to relax in the silence. We came upon an eagle in the distance, soaring and then landing out a half mile from us on thick ice. Before we knew it there were five other eagles all diving down at the original first. Turns out the first eagle had some food in its talons and was trying to eat as fast as possible. It got some good rips of flesh in and then high tailed, as the rest of the eagles sort of worked together to force the issue. A feud ensued with eagles diving from ten feet toward the ice edge, and then flying back to greater heights. We were amazed.
We have also witnessed eagles on top of deer ripping the flesh off the deer, even as cars and trucks zoom by doing 60 miles per hour. Right on the side of the highway, rather unbelievable.
Perhaps the best stories came to us while out fishing, where we look up and see an eagle soaring right over our heads. Native Americans believe that good luck comes to those over whom an eagle shadow passes. It seems like time just stands still when this happens to us in the boat. The whole thing takes thirty seconds, but the thrill last for days. Honestly, I can see why so many 1st nations peoples would consider the bald eagle a sacred bird, using the feathers for their most honored head dress, to symbolize power and agility. Curious that the U.S. government also adopted the bald eagle into its money, symbols of state, and national pride.
We watch eagles soar and then lose them in the sky, only to follow them again when they turn, and have them disappear again into the sun. We are the lucky ones to witness these powerful, majestic raptors. To watch and learn just how one mate can be linked to another for a lifetime.
I've never seen two eagles lock talons in flight as part of the mating dance, perhaps I may never. Some things are just not yet to be, but I would consider an eagle an honorable and strong ally and be thrilled to view one in its flight or perched on a tree at first light. Any day, I'd gladly give up the fish on my line for this unique American treasure.
Chapter Six: Turtles
We got turtles at this lake, yeah, all kinds of turtles. Snapper are our favorite, especially when we see them on our shore after eating the head of a sunfish. One day a few years ago we had a snapper up under the fishing boat, kinda surprised us when we were loading it for a joy ride on the water. So, this turtle looks quite angry, up on all fours and hissing with an open mouth. What did we do to bring this about, not sure? Anyway, we left the shore for a bit of time to see if snappy would come ashore to leave a mark or not, never saw that turtle again.
Another day we were working on the road side of the lot, just picking up sticks for the fire when Julie came across a very large painted turtle, about 15 inches across was its smooth shell back. We both got very excited since this turtle was trying to bury her eggs under the nook of a downed tree on the lot. We ran and grabbed the camera for a picture since this was a very unique circumstance. Big mistake. We took our picture, but later that day the turtle was gone. So rather than be patient and wait for the baby turtles to be borne on our land, we got a picture instead.
Good lesson, never disturb nature if you want it to live.
We love going in the fishing boat and drift fishing. This entails using the electric motor to get into the wind, and then cutting the motor and letting the boat drift along wherever the wind takes us. It’s while drift fishing that we see the grandma and grandpa turtles. Big, fifty-year-old turtles, that come up from the lake floor slowly and stick their massive heads out of the water for a brief look around. Usually, they come and go so silently and infrequently that we are just thankful for a limited view and gaze at these turtles, knowing it will be a special moment, and will not last long. An exception occurred in April 2020 when Lindy Carjo came ashore at the old boy scout camp. Lindy Carjo is named after our good friends John and Carol Lindquist, both of whom passed away recently. Julie discovered this 70-year painted turtle while out exploring in the canoe. We went back to check on our new friend, who seems to be struggling. We determined she needed to keep her head out of water, as ice out had just occurred and she looked really tired on the shore. So, I positioned her body on the shoreline to allow her to breathe properly, then Julie went back the next day and found she had turned and was halfway in the water and breathing normally. Big sigh of relief for our freshwater friend.
Some say stop and smell the flowers, we like to say, stop, and look at the turtles.
Julie likes to walk down the road to turtle landing. Turtle landing is a small lake off of Lobster that has one house on it, some would say it’s a large pond.
We call it turtle landing because every year there are large number of turtles that enjoy sunning on a particular log close to the road. As the spring turns to summer the number of turtles multiply on this one log and by summer's end the log is jammed full of painted turtles of all sizes. We walk past silently to view but not disturb, and it brings us great joy every time. Think of it as an annual slice of paradise. As a man, you'll be lucky if you find yourself a turtle woman. Good luck!
Chapter Seven: Ice Snow and Water
What can I say, snow, water and ice are part of our lake life every day. Sometimes the snow gets to be eight feet on the land, just a hoot to try to walk through. One foot in front of the other they say, never more apt than that. We make the most of it, walking through it sideways to make a runway for the snow and ice underneath it to melt away from our storage structure.
Snow comes in bunches quickly for us in December and January every year. We hear the forecast and know it’s not too long until our shovels will grow full. I'd like to capture all the wing prints and animal prints we see in the snow but can't. Over the years we have had rabbit and multitudes of squirrel, chipmunk, and mouse leave prints. Sometimes birds will have swooped down on their prey and leave wing prints and blood in a 2-foot diameter on the new fallen snow. Such luck to see this once in a lifetime, and we see it annually, go figure. Snow also makes it easy to move wood to piles for springtime. Just take out a long sled, grab some bungee cords, and away you go. Breaking sticks is best in the wintertime, less oxygen in the wood makes it nice to snap a long stick between two trees. Snapping sticks at four feet is ideal for placing in the fire pit. Rocks placed in a circle four feet apart makes a genuine place to cook and be happy, and it’s an easy stretch from one side of the pit to the other for the cook.
It takes some getting used to for s visitor to cook in the circle but they get there eventually.
Snow melts and ice cracks along about March and April. We hear what sounds like whales under the ice at night and early in the day, when movement occurs. Long wails of sound coming from the ice. Good time to stay off of it. January and February tend to be best and safest time to be on the ice. Otherwise, we stay off it and respect its power to break at will.
I've never gone through it when toting a sled full of wood but some others we know, including good neighbors, have lost beloved pets and even others have lost vehicles in the ice. We have spring-fed areas on the lake and sometimes what appears to be strong ice, is actually very fragile. Instant instinct to survive. Once in a dream I tried to swim out of it, barely making it back to life.
Ice is really a challenge to drill into, if you use a hand ice auger it takes a bit of time to open the hole and let a line down for an occasional fish to bite. Most folks use gas or electric powered augers to make the hole in seconds. Conveniences.
I'd laugh at myself trying to do this by hand, but with enough perservance, the hole opens. Ice is also great for walking on when we use our ice walkers. Rubber and steel plates that fit snug on a boot or shoe, wiith the steel slotted plates grabbing the ice with each step. They work great and allow us to enjoy a walk outdoors in the middle of winter.
When the April showers hit, we get soaked. The ground is still frozen, or not quite thawed so the rain pools up under our trees and lowlands and become wetlands for a while. Lots of birds just love this time of year as you can imagine.
Blue Jays dive bombing, robins singing, great blue herons returning. The water in the lake is so clean right after ice melt. It’s cold, and the best swim of the year, and it happens once a year. So cold, so clean, no wonder the birds return.
Chapter Eight: Fish
I caught Elvis one day. It was an accident as I was intending to catch my usual bass or northern pike. I took Julie up on her suggestion to change my lure and fish for muskie. Since Elvis is Julie's pet muskellunge, and if you know anything about northern Minnesota fishing, you know that the muskie is the funnest fish to catch. Elvis put up a good fight for a half hour, jumping and diving back into the water twelve feet deep. She was not happy, trying everything to loosen the hook in her mouth. I let her dart back into the deeper parts of the lake water so fifty feet in front of me and then head right back at me, only to high tail it back to the deep. Eventually, if you are patient, even a muskie tires and the catch is yours. Reeling in I was full of anticipation. See, we believe in catch and release, so I had to get Elvis into shore and off that hook as fast as possible, so she did not die. My neighbor came over to see what the commotion was, and Julie returned to the shore, so the three of us were able to loosen the hook and get Elvis back into the water. Julie moved her back and forth to get oxygen into her lungs, and Elvis responded. With a woosh of her tail, she was gone to the deeps. We got a couple of pictures of Julie with Elvis prior to the release and were very happy to watch Elvis swim away.
Elvis is Julie's pet muskie because Julie feeds canned corn to the many hundreds of sunfish and bassirinos on the shore. Everybody from Elvis to our loons come and graze on those young sunnies and bass, so in turn the big fish eat the little fish. Elvis eats the little fish as Julie feeds them, literally at her feet.
Over the years a few thousand sunnies and bassirinos have most likely been consumed on our shore. We get regular visits from carp, busy cleaning the bottom of the lake, northern pike, large mouth and small mouth bass, walleye, muskie, and tons of minnows. It’s a great big aquarium effect all summer. I've tried to pass time drift fishing as I mentioned earlier, it’s a great way to feel the wind pushing you along and across the lake at various speeds. I have my favorite lures to use for catching certain fish. I find a Heddon mouse is irresistible to small mouth bass. That a jointed rapala will do the trick for larger bass and northern pike. Northern pike are extremely slippery skin-wise, so tough to get off the hook. A lot of friends love to fish and eat their catch of the day. Cooked over a campfire and dipped in a special sauce, it is a delight no doubt.
It’s great to hear the fish at night, some being skilled at lifting their body out of the water at first light, just enough to bite a fly or other water borne insect straight out of air.
Other times we see some pretty large fish jumping completely out of the surface and into the air. We have decided that these fish are being chased by even larger fish and jumping for their lives.
When we do catch a large one, our method is based on years Julie learned lessons from her Father, Chester Makowske. Always bring the fish into a net first at the side of the boat, then with wet hands firmly grip the fish in order to take the hook out. Usually one needs to go down and then out in order for the hook to be detached. Once the hook is out, let your wife play with the fish in the net again over boat side. When an ample amount of time passes, she will release the catch.
Some folks like to take pictures and then release, we just remember and talk about it later in the tent.
I'd say the time spent fishing is good time spent. It’s a bit of a guess each day as to whether we will catch anything or not, which makes it fun. It is also a good time to relax and take stock of one's life, all in all I'd say some of our best days have been in the fishing boat.
Maybe we will change the catch and release practice at some point. Until then, I just look forward to seeing Elvis back near shore, eating a sunfish right as Julie feeds it corn, and knowing the lake is alive with life and new tales await to be told.
Chapter Nine: Wind
We went off the land to run some errands in town, one day in January. The wind from across the lake was rather tame at the time of our departure. Little did we know what was to come. Upon our return, our cloth tarped portable fish house was nowhere to be found. This was a big deal. See we needed that icehouse to do any sort of ice fishing as the wind would pierce right through multiple layers of clothes, and between wind and cold, there was no way to stay on the ice for longer than ten minutes. After that frostbite could set in on hands and toes. No need for that kind of pain. Why suffer?
So we start looking for our portable icehouse, Julie suggests we look on the other side of the lake, based on years of experiences with winds of the north, we drive to the other side. And there it is. Just a lovely sight, sitting there, upright, no damage whatsoever. We look at the ice and can see the pattern the sled part of the icehouse took. Just fantastic!
We have had at least ten tents destroyed by the winds of Lobster Lake. We tried many different kinds of tents, some with high tops and others no higher than four feet, mainly a tent for laying down in.
After many experiments gone wrong, we have settled on the dome style tent from REI, an outdoors specialty store. The four-person half dome tent fits really well in the camping spot. The trick these tents employ is aluminum poles. Such poles are bendable and able to take the punishment of the winds - some that reach forty mph, on a moment’s notice.
Winds this strong tend to provide ample firewood in the form of limbs that break from fifty foot trees on the land. We get a lot of fallen limbs and gather them after each wind event. I'd love to somehow capture the wind for energy and expect to at some point in life.
Wind also makes our swimming fun. We like to wait until the waves die down a bit and launch a floatation device and float to where the wind takes us. Sometimes it’s a race, most of the time, it’s just for fun.
Now it can be dangerous, the wind. We were sleeping in a tent one night, and a storm came in quickly around 3 am. We were in the process of packing up and the tent collapsed on us. Massive water had pooled up on the tent ceiling outside, and without us knowing it. So now it’s a choice, leave your gear to the storm, or risk injury. We left it all and sought safer ground. Storms come and storms go. Some storms last a few hours, do a lot of damage and some storms are fierce and short lived. We look to survive them and rebuild for another day.
And in this particular case, we lost a tent and some blankets. I got five tents now to replace it!
Wind is also your friend. Many times, I've been in the water swimming in April and early May, when the water is really cold, and really clean because no boats have spilled oil into the water yet. Just a light wind helps get the fire going and lets me dry off quickly.
Wind is our friend when fires from Canada come in and hover over the landscape like some great northern beast. Wind takes pollution and moves it, giving us the gift of breath. We look proudly at our wind farms in Minnesota, second only to Texas in the amount of energy we create from the wind. As battery storage technology increases, we expect more of our electricity to come from the wind.
This is just a great source of energy for school systems, farmers, homeowners, landowners, hospitals, and other businesses in Minnesota. Rural communities are being revitalized around wind as energy, more power to them!
Chapter Ten: Land
My Uncle, Robert Highum used to say that one can measure his or her wealth in life by grabbing a handful of dirt under their feet and looking at its richness, its quality for growing, its blackness, and its moistness. To that end, we are so wealthy in Minnesota, and on Lobster Lake in particular.
The land is nutrient rich, it can grow one hundred-foot trees and honeysuckle. It can be tilled for a garden or provide a cool place to sleep on a blanket. It’s also a refuge of sorts from the hustle and bustle of the Twin Cities, Minneapolis and St. Paul.
Julie and I are lucky her father, Chet Makowske, walked the property that a local farmer was selling some forty years ago, and chose this land. He had a vision in place to build a small cabin and live on the land. We are working hard to bring that vision to a reality, not quite there yet, but working on it.
I often think about my Uncle's Robert Highum and Thomas Adams, and my father Glenn, when on the land. All three lived at some point in their lives on a farm or vineyard, with close ties to the soil. Each passed down some lessons to me from their lives on the land. It may come as a surprise, but I was listening to those lessons on soils and planting, fixing a fence, or using manure as a fertilizer.
Many days, I'll lie on a blanket in the tent and feel the cool smooth ground beneath me. The tent protects me from bugs and the land renews my spirit. It reminds me of my youth, with time spent in Europe, riding a bike from town to town, camp site to camp site. Moving at the pace of a bicycle really gets one in sync with landscapes and the slow changes of topography.
Every once in a while, we will wake up at dawn with the loons calling, go to the shore, and see deer hoofs in the sand. We know the land provides life a chance to thrive as we see patterns in the snow, on the beach in the spring, and walking trails through the leaves in the fall.
I like to build small blinds for the wild rabbits, just sticks and leaves piled up next to trees in such a way as to make a small den of sorts. The rabbits do the rest.
This land has massive hundred-foot maple trees and some pine, oak, elm, birch, and willow. Each species seems to grow at its own pace, with some taking off over the years, and some never quite sprouting up. The trees on the land provide strong defense against the sun and keep flooding to a minimum. I'd say the deep rich soil could grow any crop it needed, and if properly tended to, could thrive.
As we see changes in seasons, we see corresponding rising and falling lake water levels. These levels mean that some of the land will erode into the lake every year. So, we invest in rocks and let the tall grasses and wildflowers grow on shore. To us, the land starts at the water's edge, so it is a best practice to ensure erosion is under control, if possible.
It’s a happy day when we do not leave the land, When we are able to stay out of the car for a 24 hour period and focus on each other. We have had a lot of suggestions on what to do with the land over the years. Some folks think it’s entirely plausible to take down all of the trees and space for planting. Others suggest a return to wilderness and a massive influx of pines. The best news, it doesn't matter what others suggest, we have a plan and we have the land, so time is on our side. For now, we are content with a short nap on cool ground, and space to relax. I'll be forever grateful to grab a handful of soil, hold it high in the air, and exclaim . . . this land is our respite, this land is our future, this land is our shared paradise!
Chapter Eleven: Woodpeckers
The piliated woodpecker visits us quite often. We call them all pele for short. Pele's call is kind of like a mocking sound, which resonates through the forest, making it difficult to pinpoint an exact location. Combined with the natural shyness of a piliated, this woodpecker is not easy to see, even if it is making a loud racket nearby. So, when we do spot a pele, we sit quietly or stand still and observe. But that mocking sound inevitably gets the best of us, one of us laughs, and off that woodpecker goes. Pele's movements are sharp, and can do some damage to a tree quickly. Rather than jump from limb to limb like a downy woodpecker, pele picks a tree and moves up and around it until satisfied. Then spreads its wings and flies into another tree trunk. Pele is relentless on a tree once it starts a pecking hole. The tree doesn't stand a chance. When it flies, Pele dips, with its first movement rising and the dipping, then rising, and then a dip. Pele looks like a wave when in flight, very quiet.
Again, when the piliated decides to harvest a tree, look out. It does not take long for very large holes to be burrowed out, and for the tree to have a cavernous extreme at its trunk. This bird gets busy, and we enjoy picking up the wood chips that pele leaves at the base of a tree being gorged upon. Its beautiful destruction at work.
So in contrast, we also have a plethora of downies in the trees. Downies are not shy, they will sit and continue to peck away, even as we walk the path to the lake and are just a few feet from them. Downy loves the willow tree, just up and down each branch, it gathers up bugs left and right.
Although its size is ten times smaller than the piliated woodpecker, the Downy is noisy and can hold its own by disembarking a tree quickly. We find black and white feathers on the forest floor from the downy quite often. They just fly with abandon. Downies to move about fast, never loitering on a single tree for too long. This is not the case with the red headed woodpecker. The downy are not as large as the piliated but eat as much it seems.
Red headed woodpeckers are tough; they take on blue jays and prevail at our bird feeders over the winter. The red headed is not shy as well. It will stay in place through all kinds of commotion around it. Like the blue jay, red headed woodpeckers tend to make a racket when eating or working a tree.
These are three types of woodpeckers we have at the lake. All three can do significant damage to log cabins, wood docks, wood staircases, and trees. One can watch the steady progress of these hard-working birds in the trees and limbs they peck. In the winter, the knock, knock, knock sound of the various woodpeckers is a welcome sound for us. They pierce the lonely winter afternoons and remind us that work breaks down everything, slowly and steadily, and in time, sure enough, a tree falls, at the lake.
Chapter Twelve: Poem inspired by Julie
At the Lake
When I see her
then I hear her
she is coming on strong
Well I know her
then I show her
what's going on
Every day is a good day at the lake
every day is a good day
Every day is a good day at the lake
every day is a good day ... with my beautiful Julie
See her fire
growing higher
she puts on another log
And the stars in the sky
they tell us why
what's going on
Every day is a good day at the lake
every day is a good day
Every day is a good day at the lake
every day is a good day ... with my beautiful Julie
When I see her
then I hear her
she is coming on strong!
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