There is a lovely palette of colors in our landscape now. The rains and the sunshine have encouraged all the plants and flowers to burst into bloom and fullness. And with light winds the colors seem to dance before our eyes.
My garden is filled with this lovely orange and yellow columbine. The first plant was a transplant from my mother-in-law’s garden near their lake house. The columbine have multiplied and spread, and now stand tall and full in my garden. Behind is a stand of large lupines. These too were a gift from a dear friend who shared the lupine seeds. It took a couple of years for the plants to produce their lovely blue and purple blooms, but quickly they have spread and provide a lovely backdrop to the columbine.
A few days ago I awoke to an early, cool morning with the promise of a warm day ahead. Gradually the sun cleared the house and it’s brightness flooded the gardens. The birds chirped, a soft wind started to rustle, and I enjoyed a magical few hours surrounded by color and song in the garden.
The land of big sky, big trees, big rocks, and big lakes – we’ve just returned from a camping trip to Voyageurs National Park in northern Minnesota. This park is unique as it’s a water-based park, and all campsites are boat-in. Lakes stretch 55 miles creating the northern boundary between the U.S. and Canada, and were traversed by the French-Canadian voyageurs during the late 1700’s and early 1800’s. Prior to that there were 18 American Indian tribes associated with these lands and waters.
We departed from the Ash River Visitors Center with our 16-foot Lund fishing boat packed with camping gear and food. Reading lake navigational maps (a first for me!) we motored from Kabetogama Lake to Namakan Lake and found our campsite – a beautiful point on an island facing the southwest. The sunrises and sunsets are immense and envelop you from all sides. And here the rocks and trees go right down into the lake – part of the ruggedness of this area.
We explored an old logging camp in Hoist Bay that operated between 1913 and 1929. At the time, a railroad trestle extended out into the bay so timber logs could be floated to the trestle and loaded onto the railroad cars for inland transport to the mills. After the camp closed the area was turned into a resort, welcoming guests from 1939 to 1973. We wandered another island, amazed at the I. W. Stevens Pine Cove Resort which was opened in 1937 and operated for 22 years. Stevens purchased the island in 1932 and called it home until 1979. His house and cabins remain to give setting to his amazing story.
Another day we pointed our boat north and motored to the eastern tip of the roadless Kabetogama Peninsula to Kettle Falls. Here we marveled at the dam that was built in 1914, allowing enough water to move the timber industry’s logs to the mills and also supply water for paper production. We enjoyed lunch at the historic Kettle Falls Hotel, serving customers since l9l3. And no stop at the Kettle Falls Hotel is complete without a visit to the bar with its famous sloping floor. When the hotel was constructed the foundation was built on clay soil. Not the best for a long-term choice as it can sink over time, which it did. In the 1970’s when the National Park Service renovated the hotel they kept the bar room floor at its old slope, only raising the pool table so it would be level.
We returned with an appreciation for the history of this area and an admiration of the lives of the people who worked and lived here. And I have a great gratitude for the rugged beauty and wildness of this unique part of northern Minnesota, and the calmness that can be found here.
Summer is usually filled with bright and vivid colors – the deep blue of the sky, the lightest whites in the clouds overhead, the bold red geraniums, the intense orange tiger lilies, and the vibrant gold of sunflowers. Yet this morning when I stepped out into the garden I noticed a welcome softness. Maybe it was the cooler temperatures or the haziness of the sky blocking some of the sun’s rays. The purple cornflowers were the same color they had been yesterday but there seemed to be a touch of delicateness in the garden – a softer light that spoke to me more than the primary colors of summer. It was as if it was telling to me to breathe deeply, and to enjoy the summer and this very moment.
Spring has arrived in the north, and we are marveling in it’s colors and textures. It is all a great awakening from the cold and quiet of winter. Spring rains have brought green to our grasses, and caused the flowers to open and burst into bloom. The daffodils, magnolias, and crocus are all basking in the warm sunshine. The rains have brought gentle showers and also thunderstorms that roll through quickly and seem to clear in an instant. If we’re fast enough and the conditions are right, they also grace us with wondrous rainbows of color – sometimes even complete double rainbows!
We are dancing between winter and spring. The calendar says mid-March which can mean any type of weather and conditions, especially since last year at this time we had over two feet of snow on the ground. This year is a much different story with record-breaking high temperatures and no snow, only brown grass and drought conditions. People are taking advantage of our early spring temperatures, and it seems everyone you see outside is smiling as though we’re getting away with something.
The lakes are loosing their ice, the birds are calling, the days are lengthening, and heavy coats, winter boots, gloves and hats are not necessary. I’ve marveled at daffodils and tulips that have pushed up through the ground, certainly a month earlier than usual. But I was stunned to see blooming crocus the other day while I was out walking in our neighborhood. Granted, they were near a wall that could capture the sun’s heat and keep it much warmer than the air temperature, but the crocus were a wonderful welcome to spring’s promise.
Deep down I know we have not turned the page completely as our forecast for the next few days shows a return of more seasonal temperatures and even some snow. But I’ll hold on to the crocus’s promise and know that spring will be here soon.
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