Collections

Collections....I read recently that nearly everyone has one of some kind. Though I don't want to admit it, I probably do have one myself, of yarn and fabric and beads. It's my stash, but it could be classified as a collection as well.

When I was on garbage detail the other day, I took a look at the walls and realized that the beer bottle collection had grown to epic proportions. Greg started this group of souvenirs long before I knew him. At one point after we were married, he thought about recycling the whole lot, mainly for lack of a place to display them. The boys were against it, so he hung on to them. Time came to build a new shed for the garbage and recyling cans, and he realized that it would also be a great place to display all of the beer bottles.

For several years now, these have graced the shelves. Occasionally they stir up some conversation, and once in a while we find a new bottle added to the group. Mostly, I don't notice them, since I head in to drop off bags, or to sort the sacks of bottles, cans and plastics headed for the recycling trailer.

But the other day, the light shining in the windows was just right, and it made me take another look. I had to snap a few photographs, as a result. It's fun, having things like this in unexpected places. It makes sense for a bottle collection to be in this shed. The only downside is that it's not the nicest place to linger to study things over. But an upside to it is that I don't have to worry about dusting all those bottles off!

Model Butterflies

The butterflies are out and about....and and sometimes they land in places that make it easy for me to photograph them. Yesterday I spotted a luna moth on Birch cabin, and last evening, a white admiral posed for me on the screen porch.

I actually had to look up the latter butterfly. Maybe, like birdwatching, this will become an area of continued interest for me. And once I have the butterflies down, I can tackle the many moths that show up. Already from reading the guidebook, I know I have seen some of them, just not recently. So many things to see, so many things to learn.

Summer Lovin'

Though it shouldn't matter, something about the calendar officially registering the start of summer yesterday has actually made it feel more seasonal. The temperature got up into the seventies, it was humid while I was mowing the lawn, and the sun was with us for a large portion of the day. The length of the day stretched out nicely, though the cloudy skies in the evening prevented an extended dusk. Still, it was definitely a good midsummer.

One unusual sight prompted me to grab the camera and head to the lake. Not far off the end of our main dock, I saw three mature loons swimming along together. I left my lunch on the screen porch, and was able to make it to the dock at Tamarack without upsetting the trio. They continued their fishing/swimming expedition, while I snapped a few quick photos. Tiring of the model mayhem, they dove and went out for deeper waters. Later in the day, I heard a report of a baby loon seen on its mama's back, somewhere on the lake. Unfortunately, I still have not had the pleasure of seeing that.

But it is baby season, or in this case, juvenile. The raven pair that has taken up serious residence here at Heston's came in yesterday to get a better look at the garbage bags I was loading in to the pick-up. When I turned my back, two more flew in , so I was a bit surprised when I saw the four looking over at me. (Shades of Hitchcock's The Birds?) As I went about the task of gathering cardboard to recycle, they kept trying to get to a garbage bag, undoubtedly to tear it open and scatter the contents. We've see them do this in about three minutes. With four of them, they could go for a new record. To their chagrin, I finished my packing, and was off to dispose of the load at the canister site. I did toss them a token dead mouse, found in an empty garbage can. They were on it in seconds. Hungry little dudes, I guess.

Later in the day, Greg scattered a handful of pizza "bones" out in the parking lot. I call them bones, but they are the end crusts from the slices. Not caring to eat them himself,he used to save them as a treat for Moses. Now they get tossed out for the ravens or squirrels or whatever lucky scavenger might happen upon them. Soon the foursome of ravens was back. We were able to get a closer look at them, and realized that two are immature. They must be the offspring of the original pair. Addie has been grumbling a lot lately about the amount of ruckus these birds cause at about six a.m. each day. So she was initially not pleased to see the new additions. It didn't take long for her to be won over. Who can resist babies? She sneaked out the side door, armed with the big camera, and was able to take some close-ups of the kids. They were a hoot to watch, as they teased each other. One would grab a crust, and the other would steal right out of the beak of its sibling. Then mom would pick one up, and the two little ones would rush over and caw loudly with their beaks wide open. "Feed me, Mom! Feed Me Now!" We could almost hear them demanding it. At one point, she actually did feed the morsel to the cantankerous one. Paul asked me if he had ever acted that way. I said not quite. The young ones have a mottled brownish black coloring on their feathers, and they seem a bit unsteady on their feet. They tend to dance around a lot. But when it's time to follow their parents, they have full command of their wings. Pretty cool to watch.

So for the next ninety-three days, we get to enjoy summer. How will you be spending it?

The Best Berries

Where are the best berries? Sometimes we hear that during the picking season. Ever since the Ham Lake Fire, folks from near and far have been able to enjoy all the glory of a fantastic blueberry season. It's interesting to me that in the aftermath of a fire, which causes so much devastation, can be something so grand as a marvelous berry crop. Just another one of those silver linings, out there waiting for us if we are of the mind to look.

Friends up towards the end of the trail emailed me on the weekend to let me know that they had picked a handful of ripe berries while out on a walk that day. They estimated that in about ten days, a lot of them would be ripe. Time to get those buckets and baskets ready....Greg is doing so. He looks forward to the solitary time when he is out in the woods, on the hunt to fill his bucket. Maybe he gets that from his mom, because she is a blueberry-picking champ. Sometimes she will bring a whole bucket over to us, a gift of extraordinary proportion. She will tell us that she has enough in her freezer, but she so enjoys the activity, that she wants to share it with us. Needless to say, we never turn them down.

As a kid, my family would occasionally go on berry-picking adventures. A mile from our home in Duluth was Hartley Field. It wasn't a nature center back then, it was just a patch of woods full of raspberry bushes. We would head out and work to fill our little containers, while listening to my dad tell stories of the place. He grew up in the same neighborhood, and would spend time there when he was a kid. There was an old structure on the property, like a half-buried root cellar. He told us that it was the potato house, and that there were holes on the top of it, for airflow, I presume. We were constantly warned to watch out for these holes, so as to not fall into the potato house. I did not want to do that, for sure, as it looked dark, damp, and loaded with spiders whenever we passed by its open doorway.

The best berries back then, we often found, were not at Hartley, but actually up towards Brimson. We would pack a picnic and drive up there for a Sunday afternoon. Imagine this: a family of ten (my youngest sister wasn't born yet), all spilling out of the station wagon, fanning out to the nearby bushes, to gather the ripe fruit. I picture it a bit like migrant workers. We would work hard for several hours, filling and refilling our containers, and then we would have a classic picnic on a blanket, a bit of relaxing, before heading back home. Afterward, my mom would spend hours over the pans of berries, cleaning out all the leaves and sticks that inevitably were mixed in. We weren't necessarily clean pickers at that age. The jam that she would make was a treat we enjoyed throughout the winter. That's probably where I got my love of raspberry jam.

But back to that question: Where are the best berries? Almost anywhere you go, up towards the end of the trail, will lead to at least a few bushes. Most serious pickers will not reveal their favorite locations, so one just has to get out there and start exploring. But yesterday, the answer to that question was a bit different. I think the best berries were right in front of us. Addie and I collaborated on a blueberry pie, in honor of Father's Day. A beautiful slice, fresh from the bread oven, on a plate in front of me, was where I found the best berries. Topped with a scoop of Addie's homemade vanilla ice cream, we all agreed, it doesn't get any better than that.