Life between the lakes, part 29

 

And just like that, Mother Nature told the Upper Peninsula: “not so fast.”

This past Sunday, Deer Park hit 40 degrees. The puddles on the road were enormous. Most averaged 30 feet by 10 feet in the low spots and the snow melt covered the top of my boots. But later that night we had a massive freeze and the high winds were the proverbial punch in the gut to our wish for an early spring.

It was 10 degrees on Monday morning. Everything froze again and there is now a three inch distance between the bottom of my feet and the top of the road. That is twice the amount of most ice rinks in the NHL.

On Monday, the weather authorities issued a flood warning for Luce and Alger counties with 10-14 foot waves recorded from Munising to Whitefish Point. So naturally, I had to see it for myself.

The waves crashed into the ice shelf, shifting this late winter charge into full gear. This photo shows the massive swells of the incoming waves taken with a telephoto lens, about a quarter of a mile out from Deer Park.

The edge of the ice shelf is between 5-10 feet high so my guess is that the waves would have been closer to 20 feet had they reached the shore.

I walked down to the big lake at another access point but it was brutal and I couldn’t stay there long. The wind made my eyes water and despite a thick hoodie and my winter jacket, my extremities felt the cold as the constant wind chill seeped through the fabric.

With the recent thaw, the three feet of snow on the ground went down to two feet, creating a hard crusty top that I could walk over for the most part. Walking anywhere around here is a crap shoot because the sun can give you a false sense of how heavy the snow might be that you are aiming to walk through.

If I were to try to spruce this picture up or try to add color, I would be failing to portray what the conditions were really like. Lake Superior is punishing in both the winter and summer.

Yesterday, I posted a video of what was going on in the yard. There were snow tornadoes along with blowing and drifting that measured up to my neck. The wind was so strong, accumulating snow was coming in under the door but it finally subsided by nightfall.

The moon was nowhere to be found and last night I heard a coyote howling outside my window. It wasn’t frightening, it was cool! I only heard one (not a pack) it consisted of short howls that would rise and fall in pitch, punctuated with staccato yips, yaps, and barks. If I feel there is a pack forming I will go back to carrying my side arm on walks, but I don’t think this is the case.

This morning I saw the neighborhood fox out on the lake during our morning mile. I was hoping he would pass through the yard again but he had ventured elsewhere by the time we turned around and came home.

I am still without my Jeep, so exploring has been limited. Finding the part I need and GETTING the part I need are two different things. As I’ve mentioned before, many things just take longer around here and I am getting used to it.

I’ve not done much writing these past two weeks except for what I have posted here. It seems I have hit a temporary funk.

I am trying to use the time to revisit the second volume of short stories I’ve written since “Bending Water and stories Nearby” and hope to have it released by the end of the year, either with a publisher or by myself.

Publishers tell me that short story anthologies don’t sell, but I don’t believe them. Then again, I’ve never worried to seriously about book sales because interacting with people and leaving something behind is far more important to me than royalties.

There is a communications tower about four miles south of me and even though I hate how it has changed the horizon, I accept how its presence is necessary and permanent. Tonight it is making a point to wink at me through the flurries; hopefully a signal that everything is going to be alright.

Life between the lakes, part 28

                    

 To try and recap what the weather was like in Deer Park over this past week I would say it was a veritable cornucopia of random weather patterns, and massive cloud banks, ascending and descending.  Then Mother Nature teased us and tossed us back and forth with her display of strength and power.

For a while, the muted roar from the big lake make it sound like a long freight train was constantly moving in the distance over the ridge that separates me from Superior. Some nights were dead calm and quiet while one night I could barely open my door because of gale force winds that created chest-high snow drifts in the yard.

Earlier in the week the clear and quiet nights provided excellent stargazing until Thursday, when a full moon appeared and resembled the biggest and brightest balloon you’d ever see in the middle of Muskallonge Lake.

The luster of the moon was intense and illuminated our evening walk so much that I didn’t need my head lamp.  The snow reflected the moonlight making it possible to see long distances, where I have memorized every bend and bump in the road over these last three months.

There is always a trade off when you are gazing at the night sky up here. You can either love the moon and how it lights up the forest around you or you wait for the pitch black nights as you see the milky-way form. It is magical thing to watch as it becomes a vast, detailed cotton like swath that is draped over Lake Superior like a delicate ribbon of light with millions of holes punched in it.

Both scenarios are awesome to me and I’ve learned that sometimes I can often have it both ways up here. A couple days ago during our evening walk, the stars and planets looked like shiny white marbles in the sky. They were like frozen pearls delicately arranged in my own planetarium.

The full moon and warmer temperatures brought a thaw allowing some of the wildlife to emerge. On Thursday there were enough fox prints in the yard to make me think they were having a convention. The larger coyote prints had a new presence as well and it looks like the first deer emerged down the road to check out Cranberry Lake.

On Saturday morning I watched a red fox make his way through the yard and down the shoreline, likely in pursuit of some of the red squirrels I saw earlier.  Unfortunately the trail-cam (that I just wrote a glowing review about on Amazon) stopped working. I have a suspicion that it gave up the ghost about a month ago when I had it on top of a hill to watch a fox hole and our temps were -20 and even colder with the wind chill.

When Friday night arrived the wind was gusting, howling and screeching and testing the limits of the crooked cedars and white pines in the yard.  I struggled with the door and when prompted to go out, but finally got it open. Jack and Needa turned back and gave me the “you’ve got to be kidding” look.

This morning I saw something I have never seen over the lake this winter; fog. Yesterday was the warmest day we've had so far. This ground-hugging cloud was visible for a couple of hours as the sun rose through a thin cloud base, with delicately woven blue and pink streaks.

So, to sum it up; Tiger Jack Burke and Needa continue to remain content living with me under these conditions. Needa is more prone to running through the snow tunnel in our yard and trying to get Jack to join in. But Jack is all business when he is out there, doing his business.

We completed our afternoon mile in a light rain that has now turned into a light snow. Jack and Needa enjoyed an extra helping of chicken breast and broth in their kibble. They are now sawing logs in a food coma at my feet and we continue to watch the marvels of Deer Park unfold by the hour.

Life between the lakes, part 27

 

                                    

On Monday the wind was whipping across the lake with force. The snow moved upward, sideways and forward as dense, maverick snow squalls crossed the lake. When the sun shot through the clouds, they looked like ghostly horses of the plain. Meanwhile, the windsock hung on for dear life.

There is about three feet of snow in the yard. I spent 45 minutes digging out the trench I made for Jack and Needa to get around after a snow avalanche from the roof filled it in over the weekend.

I’d like to say it was exhilarating but it wasn’t.

On Tuesday it felt like winter was losing its grip on Deer Park. Snow was melting and the temperatures were in the high thirties with sun. Muskallonge Lake is spring fed and on Monday I noticed a couple of spots on the road where the sun had melted the ice and the unfrozen soil began to allow water from the springs to seep again. It hasn’t been like this since the beginning of December.

On Thursday the snow came back and mother-nature tightened her grip on us as if to say: “not so fast.” Last evening as I tried to take Jack and Needa out after their dinner and we were frozen in. I boiled some water and was able to unfreeze the door and spent a while chipping ice, hoping it wouldn’t happen again.

I’d like to say it was exhilarating but it wasn’t.

Today on our afternoon walk a SUV slowed down and the people inside stopped to chat immediately making reference to Jack and Needa. It is not every day that you see two greyhounds in the middle of the woods.

A few days ago there was a tragic snowmobile accident near Munising where a 16 year old boy from Alma was killed after losing control of his sled. The couple inside the SUV were best friends of his family and came up here to retrieve the snowmobile for them.

They shared the heartbreaking story of how their son, the boy’s friend, asked to visit the area of the accident. Having lost my best friend in a tragic accident when I was 19, I could relate.

With the SUV idling in the middle of the road and Jack and Needa leaning into me on both sides, we talked for a while. I could hear the lump in the man's throat come and go as we agreed on what a flicker our existence really is.

The boy’s death has left a big ache for his family; a big, black, deep hole in the firmament. It’s another reminder of the fragile and finite conditions we experience being warm blooded.

A similar thing happened about 15 years ago over by the cabin. A young boy was killed after losing control of his four wheeler. I wrote a tribute to him in my book, “Places I Hide,” and the same sentiment holds true today.

Cross in the Woods

Where a cross in the woods once stood,

The flicker of a life was revealed

When a young boy met God too soon.

I tried to imagine how his family felt,

And I failed.

How deeply their lives have been changed

Heartbreak is all that remains.

God cried when the fire left his flame.

Creeks overflowed when the forest wept,

His celebrated life we cannot forget.

But the grieving has not ended yet.

There are whispers of sadness in the trees

That only his mother can hear.

Through a slow song of hope

In the quiet north woods

Where a cross in the woods once stood.

Dedicated to the memory of Thomas Timothy Watson 2005-2021

Life between the lakes, part 26

                        

 

 

Life between the Lakes, part 26

I’ve had a lifelong fascination with radio, especially AM radio. Currently, in Deer Park, I am perfectly situated to tune into stations from across America. But on clear nights, I search for signals from faraway places with strange sounding names.

Sometimes I have to work the antenna to get them through the static while sometimes WSM out of Nashville sounds like it is broadcasting from down the road.

The signals fade in and out as the atmospheric conditions change and I often get three different weather reports from three different places all within a short period of time. (I find it amusing.) The other night I got three different hockey games and one of them came skipping across Lake Superior from Canada.

As a kid, I remember being with my cabin family and how Mary Lee became so excited when she and my sister were able to tune in WLS out of Chicago. Back in the seventies, they played pop music, much like CKLW or Keener 13 (WKNR) in Detroit. But originally the call letters of the station (WLS) was short for World’s Largest Store.

 

You're welcome. Now you are on your way to being a font of useless knowledge like I am.

WLS has a different format now but the reach of that 50,000 watt blowtorch is still impressive. It’s amazing to me how remembering old radio stations unlocks a flood of memories.

One summer, cousin Jack was going to be interviewed on National Public Radio about his book and his mom (Auntie Jean) wanted to hear him. 

 

I rigged up a Rube Goldberg style antenna in the shed at the cabin hoping to bring her sons voice to her at the cabin. It consisted of a boom box, with foil on the antenna which was carefully wrapped with a hanger, which was clamped to an eight foot piece of metal that I had wrapped in a bicycle chain for more connectivity and wedged in the rafters of the shed. 

 

Whether everything I made actually worked or not was impossible to scientifically explain, but I was able to snag the FM signal for NPR from Minnesota and Marquette. We’d listen to one and it would fade out so I’d adjust the radio and we’d listen to the other. 

 

The stations were in different time zones so it got confusing and the same went for hearing the different weather reports. Bouncing back and forth between them we never did get to hear the broadcast we were hoping to hear, but enjoying the pot of coffee and cinnamon rolls that morning is something I will never forget.

 

The UP is an amazing place for picking up radio frequencies. I have a portable Radio Shack emergency walkie-talkie that I plug in from time to time in my Jeep. And while nobody seems to hear me when I broadcast for a radio check, I can hear people from as far away as Texas.

 

Needa’s recovery has been coming along better than I expected. A fierce wind nearly blew us over on our afternoon walk, but it has subsided.

Right now, there is absolute silence outside.

 

This is one of the reasons I am here.

 

The other reason is because I cannot think of another place in Michigan that provides as much year round beauty as Deer Park.

The moon is parked above the lake and is obscured by clouds. I just listened to the end of another hockey game. The station broadcasting it abruptly went back to playing tunes from the 30’s and 40’s; music I love almost as much as I love rock and roll.

The Upper Peninsula shoots.

And scores.

Every time.

Life between the lakes, part 25

 

 

Life between the lakes. Part 25, Major stressful edition.

And kinda long.

 

Yesterday, I discovered a talent I never knew I had and hope to never use again:

DRIVING WITHOUT BRAKES. 

 

Needa had a major oral surgery procedure scheduled. We were up at 6:20 warming up the Jeep (it was -10) for our trip to the vet in Sault Ste. Marie, MI. We were the only ones the road until we got to town and saw a logging truck as we crossed the train tracks near Timber Charlies.

 

We and did not see anyone as we came to a slow roll at the intersection of M-123 and M-28. It was the slow roll that bugged me. I thought something in my brakes had frozen. 

 

We drove for about thirty miles until we reached the four way stop between Hulbert and Strongs. Sensing something might still be happening with the brakes, I was cautious, turning off the cruise control as I hit the speed bumps, a half a mile from the light. It still didn’t feel right. 

 

As we merged onto the on ramp of I-75 my stomach dropped a little because as I pumped the brakes we were not slowing down as fast as we should have. We still slowed down but again, I attributed it to frozen brake lines and thought if there was more friction (and I used them more) things might improve.

Or melt. 

 

They didn’t.

 

With few cars on the road and slow speed limits in the Soo, I reached the vet, dropped off Needa and headed back to Newberry, where I had an appointment at Newberry Motors that I made the day before when I sensed the potential issue with the brakes. 

 

The traffic was clear along M-28 and as I approached the four way stop between Hulbert and Strongs, I knew I was in trouble. Again, there were very few cars on the road. My cell phone doesn’t work in parts of that stretch so there was no calling for a tow. 

 

Since I’d made the drive many times, in my mind I visualized the rest of my route and started planning how to make it in my compromised condition.

 

I anticipated them, hit my brakes (which the dealer later said were 98% shot but worked barely enough to slow me down.) I somehow perfectly judged the distance I needed to stop or do a rolling stop and would then shift the Jeep into “park” as I did a slow roll into the intersections and nobody was in front of me as I made the last turn to go down the hill toward the dealership. 

 

I finally arrived at the dealership.

I thanked God for being my co-pilot.

 

Thankfully Aunt Carla was in town doing good deeds and picked me up and we went back to Muskallonge. She let me use her vehicle so I could make the two hour trip back to the Soo to pick up Needa, who was in rough, heartbreaking shape when I got there. She just had 12 extractions.

Goodbye two mortgage payments.

But it was worth it when she thanked me with her toothy smile the next morning.

 

We got home and it was still a little light outside. I spent the rest of the night drinking vodka and trying to keep her comfortable as I feel asleep on the couch next to her.

By the next morning the anesthesia had worn off and she perked up as I fed her chicken rice, diced chicken breast and low fat cottage cheese. Much to my surprise, when she saw me get up to take Jack out for a walk, she got up too.

Our walk was slow but steady. The sun was out, the wind was gone and when it came time for treats (more chicken breast) she did not lose her spot in line.

It was a harrowing and stressful experience and today I’ve had more time to reflect on it. As the day continued Needa was more alert and seemed comfortable. It was clear that I was more stressed out about it all than she was, as she has continued to rebound like a champ.

The future of my jeep is uncertain but I’ll have the weekend to mull things over and decide my next course of action. Jack and Needa are now resting quietly after dinner and we are listening to Steely Dan, Aja as the sun sets to our right.

I am blessed each day knowing that God is with me even when I am not thinking about him.

Tomorrow will be another day full of opportunity and adventure in God’s country.

He KNOWS it's his country.

He is the ultimate artist.

He created everything in great detail and I am here observing it as it unfolds.