After a breakfast of “eggs with stuff” (scrambled eggs with
potatoes, onion, and pepper), we sat on the deck and enjoyed the morning. At
9:30, we set off up the Gunflint Trail to the Chik-Wauk Nature Center and Trail’s
End campground.
Just before we got to the nature center, Jane spotted a
moose eating water plants right at the side of the road! I got out and took a
number of out-of-focus stills and a short video that was shaky but at least
clear. Of course I didn’t discover the problem until we were back at the cabin
when there was not possibility of corrective action. When will I learn to
always use manual focus for wildlife? The auto-focus adjusted for the grass in
front of the moose rather than the moose itself. Manual focus is a bit dicey,
too since I went to bifocals. Sigh.
Grass, with a moose in the background
The new display at the nature center was of butterflies and
moths. There wasn’t much there that I didn’t know. We weren’t able to find a
specimen of the little brown butterfly we’d seen at the flower box earlier that
morning. Some kind of skipper, probably.
Meanwhile, the nature center was offering a well-attended
workshop for children in making nature journals. It was a cool idea. The paper
was folded in half and bound with one small stick inside and another outside.
The two sticks were held together with rubber bands top and bottom. The kids
could decorate their journal with stamps. The facilitator encouraged them to
write about things they saw in nature. While I support the concept, the
activity created a good deal of noise and commotion.
We didn’t see anything noteworthy at Trail’s End. By this
time, the day was hot. We were hungry. We went back to the cabin to finish the
pulled pork.
Because there wasn’t much wind, we took the boat out fishing
after lunch. It was very, very hot. Biting flies were making Jane crazy. Plus,
the fish weren’t biting. At all. We gave it up pretty quickly.
A swim would have been refreshing. Jane thought about diving
in with her clothes on. I raised the objection that we would never get the
clothes dry. It seemed way too hard to peel off our existing clothes and get
our swimsuits on over our sticky persons. We elected to just take cool showers
instead. That helped, but only briefly.
It was Costa Rica hot. As soon as I was dressed and started doing anything, I
was all sweaty again. Nothing for it but to mix up some tall gin and tonics,
mostly ice and tonic, and have a good long happy hour.
For supper, I heated up some baked tomato pasta sauce that
I’d brought from the home freezer. I put in half of the leftover WondeRoast
chicken cut into bite-sized pieces and served it over spaghetti. We liked it.
We finished the peach/blueberry/raspberry cobbler for dessert. The scones were
a little stiff just out of the refrigerator, but the cold fruit was refreshing.
A storm came up just after dark and brought in cooler temperatures.
We were glad.
Sunday, July 20. It was a beautiful morning. There were three piles of scat
at the end of the dock. I thought they were from raccoon. Nancy told us later
that it was otter and that two otters had been hanging around. Just last night,
Jane had hoped we would see the otter again this year.
Otter poop--it seemed to be mostly fish bones, fish scales, and crayfish shells
I made bacon and blueberry pancakes while Jane cut up a
peach. Blueberry pancakes with peaches and maple syrup are really good.
After breakfast, we went to the office to get our fishing
licenses and life vests. We fished off the dock until lunch, catching the usual
tiny perch and bluegill.
Water lily by the dock
When it was time to eat again, Jane prepared bowls of
peaches, red raspberries, and Rainier cherries while I cut up my lovely thin
carrots and cucumbers. I put thinly sliced fresh garlic on buttered buns from
Abby’s Bakery and popped them under the broiler for two minutes while Jane
microwaved some barbecued pulled pork that she’d made and frozen before the
trip. The pork was delicious to begin with; the fresh garlic put it over the
top.
It was quite windy after lunch, too windy to take the boat
out. We sat on the deck. I caught up my journal while Jane read. The wind would
die down, and we’d think about taking the boat out. Then the wind would pick up
again and the sky would cloud up. Oh well. It’s vacation. The whole point is
that there isn’t anything that we need to get done.
Jane started dozing in her chair and eventually went inside
to have a little nap. I took a walk instead. After some deliberation, I took my
camera but not the telephoto lens. I’d barely walked past where the car was
parked when I saw a cute little red squirrel nibbling on the mushroom that was
almost bigger than it was. I got an okay picture which would have been better
with the telephoto lens.
We were grilling out for supper. I made a foil pack of potatoes,
onions, and pablano peppers for supper and another one without the peppers to
save for breakfast. I sliced the zucchinis lengthwise and tossed them in oil,
salt, and pepper. Along with the foil packs and zucchini, we had two beautiful
porterhouse steaks. We had leftovers.
I made a cobbler of peaches, blueberries, and the rest of
the red raspberries, which needed to be used up. I drizzled maple syrup over
the fruit and put four cream scones on top, sprinkled with a packet of turbinado
sugar that I’d picked up at Louise’s while I was waiting in line. It was an
excellent dessert, if I say so myself.
Jane and I set off for our annual week in the cabin on
Friday, July 18. We wanted to try a new spot for lunch. For 20-some years we
have been making this drive and smiling at each other when we passed the
billboard for the Pine Cone Restaurant with its slogan, “Start Smiling.” Yet we
had never eaten there. Today would be the day.
The Pine Cone Restaurant--Start Smiling!
We got to the Pine Cone at 11:30. Jane had once had a
fantasy of this place as a Wisconsin supper club. It is really just a truck
stop, except that it has a bakery that turns out the most enormous cinnamon
rolls, dinner rolls, cream puffs, chocolate éclairs, and doughnuts I have ever
seen. Brightly-lit shelves on two sides of the cash register displayed the
goods by the entrance.
Following my usual
rule about restaurants that serve breakfast all day, we ordered breakfast. I
had a Denver scramble. Jane opted for corned beef hash. I hoped that the toast
would be made with bread baked on-site. It was just regular whole wheat from a
bag. It was adequately soaked in butter, however. The scramble was okay. It was
a circle of eggs with ham, green pepper, and onion cooked in it and a slice of
American cheese melted over the top. Jane found her corned beef hash to be woefully
deficient in corned beef. The hash browns were brown and crispy on the outside
yet had no structure on the inside. It was like fried mashed potatoes. Mash
browns.
Denver scramble with mash browns under the toast
We were under the gun to get to the Chippewa Moraine Ice Age
Trail Visitor Center before it closed at 4:00. We wanted to ask if anything had
been done to the property formerly known as Camp Pokonokah Hills, which was
sold to the Wisconsin DNR a couple years ago. Accordingly, we cancelled our
traditional stop at Leinie’s Lodge and elected to have Olson’s ice cream cones
to go rather than hot fudge sundaes with pecans at a table.
We got to the Ice Age Trail Visitor Center with 10 minutes
to spare. We admired the aquaria with baby snapping, softshell, and painted
turtles. There were two painted turtles. The smaller one had hatched this year.
It’s shell was the diameter of a quarter. So cute!
A very short woman was working as ranger that afternoon. She
told us that nothing had been done to Pokonokah yet. We all lamented the state
of youth today, with all their electronics and no ability to sit quietly and
watch the natural world.
The ranger, seeing me staring at the numerous hummingbirds
at the feeders outside, invited us to turn the benches around so we could sit
and watch the action. We went out to the porch and did just that. After a few
minutes, it occurred to me that I should get my camera and try to video the
birds. Jane tried to count how many there were. She thought maybe 7. She’d read
that there were usually four times as many hummingbirds as you could count.
They looked like a swarm of flies, zip, zip, chatter, as they darted around the
feeders and faced off over positions at the perches. It was awesome.
Male hummingbird at feeder
The ranger lady was busy with her end-of-day chores. I was taking pictures of the restore prairie when
she brought out a ladder to fill a bird feeder that had to be 12 feet off the
ground. I helped her by holding the ladder; Jane helped by volunteering to call
911 if she fell. The ranger lady gave us each a pint of red raspberries that
she hadn’t sold during the day. Jane asked if we could pay for them, but she
said it was enough that we’d helped her. I knew the drill from my gardening
experience. It’s the end of the day. You have more raspberries than you know
what to do with at home. Just get rid of them.
We took a drive past the old camp. The only change was that
the Pokonokah sign was gone, and a new sign had been put up. We continued our drive all the way around Long
Lake. We went to Two Acres Supper Club for not spectacular shrimp. Friday is
fish fry night, but I’m not a fan of fish.
Entrance sign to the property formerly known as Camp Pokonokah Hills. Now it just says "Old Girl Scout Camp."
When we got to the Days Inn in Rice Lake, the jerk working
at the desk said that Jane did not have a reservation, and there were no rooms.
After far too long enduring his abysmal customer service, he called the Westin
Inn, where we were able to get a room and were treated very nicely indeed. Last
time we ever need to book at the Days Inn, let me tell you.
We weren’t in a particular hurry on Saturday. We had a nice
breakfast at the Westin Inn. We had lunch in Two Harbors, as usual, but not at
Culver’s. We drove off the highway a bit and found a charming little place
called Louise’s where we were able to get sandwiches piled high with meat (the
ham was better than the turkey), cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes plus chips and
pickle slices for $5.95. Much better than fast food. We ate lunch nearby at a
lighthouse.
Louise's Place
The lighthouse near where we ate lunch
We got to Grand Marais in good time. We had frozen custard
at Sydneys, which now has not only indoor dining, but a restroom! We sat
outside on our usual bench because it was a nice day. We got our groceries,
including the traditional WondeRoast chicken, and headed up the Gunflint Trail,
arriving at the cabin at 5:00.
Dave greeted us and told us Cabin 1 was ready. I unloaded
the car while Jane unpacked the coolers and organized the food for supper. I
had packed some unbaked, frozen cream scones, the recipe for which is the
perfect combination of easy and awesome. I baked two of them to have with some of
the raspberries for dessert.
Hilda and I have been picking “free range” (a.k.a., wild)
black raspberries every other day. With all the rain we’ve had this summer, the
mosquitoes are wicked bad. The second time we went out, I remembered that we
had mosquito net hats. Wearing them has been a vast improvement. I feel so smug
when I hear the mosquitoes buzzing all around my face and they can’t get me.Here’s
a selfie of us in our mosquito nets.
Selfie in our mosquito net hats, me on the left, Hilda on the right
The trouble with the nets is that it impairs color vision a
bit. We have to pick primarily by feel, tugging ever so gently at the berries
and only really picking the ones that let go easily. Except when you are
reaching way back with arm fully extended and all your weight on one leg, like
you are playing Twister over a bed of briars, to reach that one ripe-looking
berry right there, and you can’t stand the thought of coming back empty-handed,
well, then you pull a little harder. Yes, there are always quite a few berries
in the bucket that are a little more red than black. Oh well. That’s why we put
sugar in jam.
Black raspberry harvest
Hilda and I have picked berries together since I was a wee
child. It is one of many unexpected gifts that I can have memories of picking
berries with my mother at the end of her life as well as at the beginning of
mine. I am so fortunate to have the opportunity to live with my parents again
and to have them so self-sufficient into their 80’s. Some of my friends couldn’t
stand to live with their parents. Some have endured much more hardship in caring
for elderly parents. One young friend is spending her summer giving hospice
care to her mother, who is not even ten years older than I am and is no longer
responding to chemotherapy. I am so lucky.
It’s farm to table every night at my house. Last Friday, I
roasted zucchini, garlic, and lovely young carrots for supper. Delicious! I served
it with chicken. I put one of the butchered hens in the slow cooker all day. It
was much easier to get off the bone this time. Plenty of schmaltz again, you
bet. I’d guess at least 8 ounces of the 3.5-pound weight was schmaltz. Two
mysteries have been solved since I started raising chickens. The first one has
to do with information learned a long, long time ago, probably in junior high.
The Old Masters put egg yolk in their paint. For 40 years I wondered about
that. The first time I had a truly fresh egg over easy, it all became clear.
Fresh yolks are STICKY. Second mystery: I read a lot of recipes and stories
about cooking. Some recipes from the Jewish tradition specify frying in schmaltz.
How many chickens would you need to get enough schmaltz to deep fry something, I
wondered. Now I know. If you use old hens, two.
The harvest for Friday nights' supper
We’ve got cucumbers to the eyeballs these days. The next
question I will be researching is how many days in a row can Terry eat
cucumbers in sour cream before he gets sick of it?
Cucumber harvest from three days ago. I picked twice as many this afternoon.
I mentioned in my last post that the new hens love the kennel. When I went out yesterday, everyone was having a peaceful Sunday afternoon together except for Gracie who preferred to be outside (on the right).
Eleven chickens resting in the kennel, Gracie outside on the right.
A few minutes later, Nadia had to get up to stretch. That precipitated general unrest and shifting around until they all settled into new positions. Except for Gracie, who was unperturbed.
We had quite a week. Hilda and I put up a chick fence inside
the coop run on Tuesday and separated the laying hens from the straight runs in
the evening. We could put the hens right in Coop 1 for the night, which would
teach them where they were supposed to sleep. Also, chickens are supposed to be
easier to catch when it gets dark because they don’t have good night vision. As
with so many other things, the chickens had not read the book. Or perhaps it
wasn’t dark enough. As long as we were at it, we resolved to clip everyone’s
wings in hopes of curtailing the escapes over the chick fence.
It didn’t go too badly. We moved the Silver Polish and the
Araucana first. We grabbed them one at a time, clipped their wings, and put
them in a big black plastic bin with a lid. They did seem to calm down once
they were in complete darkness and did not try to escape when we opened the lid
for the next hen. When all five were in the bin, we carried the bin to Coop 1
and put them in it.
The life and death decisions were next. Sadly, explaining the
implications did not cause any of the Welsummer of Buff Orpington hens to
volunteer for laying duty. We grabbed whomever we could. In addition to wing
clipping, we put leg bands on N – 1 of each variety (i.e., 2 of the 3 Welsummer
and 3 of 4 Buff Orpington – not having a
leg band counts as an identifier if all the others have one) so we could keep
them straight if we had too. We haven’t gotten around to naming them yet. We’ve
been busy.
After installing these hens in Coop 1, we shooed all the
remaining chickens out of Coop 2 and shut the door. One by one, we caught and
clipped the wings of the roosters and unlucky hens and put them in Coop 2 for
the night. It was dark enough by this time that they settled on the roost and
did not try to get back out every time Hilda opened the door. When we checked
on the hens, they were settling in also.
The hens' first night in Coop 1
Unlike the chickens, I was not ready for bed after all the excitement.
I went to bed anyway because it was time, but could not fall asleep. Some
nights are like that.
What were we thinking, moving the hens the night before
Hilda was going to be alone with them all day? Terry and I left early Wednesday
morning to take a trip to Chicago. We like to take in a show now and then, and
MCC’s bus tours are both convenient and not that much more expensive than taking
the train down. Despite dire warnings of snarled traffic, we got downtown in
record time, leaving us two and a half hours for lunch. It was a stunningly
gorgeous day, warm (but not hot) and sunny. We walked to Millennium Park where
we saw a new sculpture of a giant head.
Giant elongated head sculpture
We took a picture of ourselves reflected in The Bean.
Self-portrait in the Bean. We are in the center. Terry is wearing a yellow ball cap and dark pants.
A musical group which I presumed was the Chicago Symphony
Orchestra was rehearsing in the band shell. The only reason I knew they were
rehearsing is that they started over on one of the numbers. Other than that,
the quality of the performance gave no indication that it was just practice. They
were doing jazz with a woman singing and a man singing and playing the trumpet
(not at the same time). We sat down and listened for two numbers.
Rehearsal
We walked through the prairie garden.
Prairie garden
I was surprised to see the entrance to Taste of Chicago at
the south end of the prairie garden. I thought it was farther down in Grant
Park. We weren’t up to facing the crowds, however, and went to the Berghoff for
lunch. We got there ahead of the lunch rush and were seated immediately in a
nearly empty dining room. By the time we were done, people were waiting for
tables. It was a good lunch, although Terry confided to me later that his beer had
been warm.
We still had some time to walk around before we were due at
the theater at 1:30. We sat in a little park in front of a bank for the last 10
minutes or so watching people.
The show was The Last
Ship. Not my cup of tea, really. My impression is that most of the stuff coming
out of England these days is not exactly happy-go-lucky, what with the economic
collapse and all. I found the premise lame. A shipyard is closing, and the
workers decide to build one last ship using money that the local priest
misappropriated from the collection to repair the church’s roof (or something—closed
captions would have been helpful) and sail it around the world. Really? What
are they going to use for the operating fund? And only one guy, the bad boy who
left 15 years previously to become a sailor, knew anything about sailing. The
performance was professional, I’ll give them that.
We got home a little after 7:00. I asked Hilda how the day
had gone. Not well. Clipping the wings had not prevented escapes from either
enclosure. We would have to put more posts in the chick fence around Coop 1
because it was sagging. The girls loved the kennel, spending the day in and on
top of it. She noticed in the afternoon that the girls were not going into the
coop. She put the food and water in the run, and they ate and drank greedily.
She had spent the day worrying and chasing chickens. She was dispirited. Could I
help her get the chickens in the coops in an hour?
Of course. At 8:30, we shooed the chickens into Coop 2. Easy.
The girls, on the other hand, had not gotten the idea of roosting in the coop.
Three of them were roosting on top of the kennel. No, no, you need to be inside. They were easy to grab, at
least, since it was getting pretty dark by then.
The next morning, I suggested that we just leave them inside
all day. I had to go to work for meetings all day, and that seemed easier. They
would learn where the food and water was. Friday morning we put in two more
posts before we let the girls out. It helped, but we are still chasing chickens
more than we’d like (i.e., more than never). Our current hypothesis is that
they are escaping in the gap between the chick fence and the coop. At least they
are going in and out of the coop to get eat and drink and are going in at dusk
to roost. Here’s a video of opening the coop on Friday morning.
This is a nice time of summer. There’s just enough produce
from the garden that we can go from farm to table every day. Tonight we had
steamed fresh peas, so very tender and sweet just two hours off the vine, and baby
zucchini, young garlic, and spring onions, tossed in olive oil and roasted in
the oven. Before long, I’ll be so overwhelmed with freezing and canning that we’ll
be eating Spam with macaroni and cheese from a box.
Another fun part of this time of year is watching the
fledgling birds. All species seem to have the same behavior of cheeping and
flapping furiously to get attention from a parent. I was in the garden last
week when I saw three bird sitting on a tomato cage. I couldn’t recognize their
shape or color. They seemed to have little tufts of down here and there. A
swallow flew overhead, and the three birds launched into action, quivering
their wings and chirping. Without the characteristic V-shaped tail, I had no
idea they were swallows. I’ve seen Baltimore orioles feeding their chicks grape
jelly at our feeder. At times like these, I wonder if these miracles are new to
my environment or if I just wasn’t paying attention when I was younger.
The chickens got their first watermelon rinds this weekend.
It takes them awhile with every new food to get the hang of it. In the second
part of the video, one chicken doesn’t seem to know whether to eat the
watermelon or walk on it.
And here’s some updated photos.
Cleopatra
Nadia, left, Gracie, right
Clockwise from noon, Gracie, Lizette, Lidia, Nadia, unnamed Buff Orpington
