Happy anniversary!

Last night we celebrated my parents' 10th anniversary as Illinois residents. We had shrimp cocktail, olive/rosemary bread, roasted garlic, and champagne. A good time was had by all!

Personal potato famine

When I got back from vacation, the Superior potatoes weren’t looking good. I dug them all and found many of the rotted. The north side of the garden is slightly higher than the south side. I began on the north, and about halfway down the row, they were all rotted. I stopped digging and pulled the plants out. I dug one plant of Red La Soda, and the potatoes were all beautiful. I thought that we could wait to dig those until the foliage died back. This was an incorrect assumption.

July 20, 2.6” of rain. July 22, 2.5” of rain. July 23, 0.75” of rain. This is the south side of the garden on July 24.

Flooding on the south side of the garden

The soil in the garden has a high proportion of clay. We could have dug the potatoes after the first rain, but it would have been miserable, muddy work. We just had to wait it out and hope that it wouldn’t rain for a couple of days. Today it was dry enough to dig, although still soft. Terry loaded all the wine boxes that he’d been saving (he thinks they are the best for potatoes because they are sturdy) into the back of his gator and met Hilda and me at the garden at 8:30. And the potatoes were almost all rotted. Terry says 98% loss. I say near total failure. It was disheartening work. There were numerous, large, beautiful potatoes in the ground, completely liquefied under their skin. I have said this before, I’m sure, but it bears repeating—until you smell it for yourself, it is difficult to believe a plant can create a stench as bad as a rotten potato. A smelly smell, as Mr. Krabbs (SpongeBob’s boss) would say, that smells smelly. On par with a skunk, if not worse.

Terry did the digging. “I can see how the Irish could lose the whole potato crop overnight,” he said.

We got the most from the Red La Soda, although when we washed them off, we found about half of what we thought were sound potatoes were rotten. The Red Norland were the worst. Even the potatoes growing near the top of the soil were rotten. If we had just harvested them the day I dug up that one….but the should-haves don’t count. We couldn’t know we were going to get 6” of rain in 5 days. Does it bother anyone else that we are having 30-year floods every four years?

This is our total harvest. “We’ll be through that by August,” Terry said.

The total potato harvest, left to right, Red Norland, Norkotah, Kennebec, Red La Soda

“I hate to lose our potatoes,” Hilda said, thinking of all the flooded homes by the rivers around here, “but I’d rather lose them than everything we own.”

Yes, potatoes are commercially available and very cheap. It’s the wasted effort that rankles. And potatoes you grow yourself taste better. Maybe I will be moved to visit a farmers’ market.

We also suspect that there will be no green beans this year. The whole row is severely wilted.

We do, however, have some remarkable Napa cabbage this year.

Beautiful Napa cabbage and our first tomato

We got the garlic harvested on Monday before it rotted. The good news was that the ground was so soft that they pulled right out, no pitchfork needed. We hung it under the new shade shelter that I ordered last year so we would not have to dry the potatoes and onions in the garage. We may still get onions. They are looking pretty good.

Garlic under the new shade shelter

The last of the bad news is that Spot had to be put down. He/she was one of the meat chickens who had a serious case of failure to thrive. We even got out the Little Red Hen Barn so he could have access to food without having to fight with the big boys, but it didn’t help.

The other chicks are doing well. We had to clip the pullet’s wings last week so they wouldn’t fly over the fence.

Juanita, Idalis, and two meat chickens

I walked down to my wetland restoration on Monday to see what was blooming. I could see the pale purple flowers when I drove by, but couldn’t identify them. It’s obedient plant. It’s huge! Huge! Last year, these were isolated individuals here and there, maybe 2.5 feet tall. This year, there are large clumps nearly as tall as I am!

Obedient plant as tall as I am

The cardinal flowers are still a strong presence, which makes my heart glad. I love that intense red color.

Cardinal flower

I saw swamp milkweed blooming for the first time. I transplanted a bunch of them two or three years ago just before a drought. Apparently a few made it. Bonus—there was a monarch on one this one. That was the goal, after all.

Monarch on swamp milkweed

Whoo-boy, there was a lot of water back there.

The mowed trail behind the wetland restoration

It was so deep that the waves I made from walking splashed over the top of my Wellies. There had to be 12” of standing water. No tadpoles, but literally millions of mosquito larva. Sure hope the water dries up fast!

Water almost to the top of my Wellies

The wildflowers by the garage are doing well also. Here is a picture of a painted lady on Echinacea.

Painted lady on purple coneflower

I wondered what kind of weird growth was on the rhubarb. It turned out to be this little guy.

Tree frog on the rhubarb

And two of the baby toads visited the patio this morning. They are really growing!

Baby toad getting bigger.

Boundary Waters, Day 7

The windows were completely covered with condensation in the morning. The sky had cleared overnight, and the temperature had dropped. With the sun out, it would warm up quickly.

Condensation on the windows in the early morning

Our plan was to pack up our fishing poles and leeches and head out to fish on other lakes. No fish were biting at the boat landing on Loon Lake. We had never caught nothing at Loon Lake before.

We packed up and drove around the south edge of Loon Lake. This was new territory for us. There were a few private homes and Loon Lake Lodge with associated rental cabins. We continued to the end of the road. Even though the map showed canoe landings there, we couldn’t find them. There were no places to fish.

We couldn’t remember going to the canoe landing at Iron Lake. Perhaps that was a good fishing spot. We followed the signs to the lake. The trail to the landing went down some rough steps to water that was shallow and full of weeds and dead trees. It was a snag waiting to happen. We drove on.

We traditionally have hamburgers at the Red Paddle Bistro on our last night of vacation. Jane suggested that we eat lunch out as long as we were going down that way to fish. Then we could have the afternoon and evening to relax at the cabin. I liked the idea. It solved the problem of what to do with the rest of the margarita mix. We could have happy hour on the deck and not worry about driving afterwards.

It was after 11:00 when we left Iron Lake. We would try fishing at the boat landing at Gunflint Lake before we went to lunch. A good-sized bass looked and my leech and swam away. What was wrong with these fish?

Jane and I shared a Traditional burger with provolone, which Jane thought went better with mushrooms. We both ordered side salads. We waited a very long time for the food. The burger was juicy, and the mushrooms were perfectly sautéed. The red pepper aioli did not seem as good as before, or perhaps there just wasn’t as much of it. The bun was shaped like ciabatta but made of white bread that was not up to the task. It quickly dissolved in the burger juice. It tasted good, but what a mess!

It was going on 2:00 when we got back to Hungry Jack. We parked by the office so we could pay our bill. Dave found the sheet and looked it over.

“Just the one dozen leeches?” He asked. We normally go through at least 3 dozen.

“We have 8 left,” I replied. It had been a slow fishing week.

He laughed and totaled it up, including the $39 each for the fishing licenses that we had purchased in early-vacation optimism. Jane paid the bill because I’d left my checkbook in the cabin. We would settle up with the gas and Chetek motel when we got home.

At long last, the fish were biting off the dock. 

Hooray! The fish are biting

A better view of my fish

Jane finally caught a tiny perch. “Here it is,” she said, “My $39 fish.”

Jane with her $39 fish

We got rid of the last 8 leeches. We caught 4 fish on the last leech, 3 perch and 1 bluegill. 

The only bluegill of the week

Jane caught one of the perch while I took a bathroom break. That brought the price of her fish down to $19.50 each.

When we were done fishing, we sat on the deck. Our deck sitting quota was way low for this trip. I took the chance that the bugs would not be bad with the breeze coming off the lake and left my hat in my room.

When I went outside, Jane said, “You are not wearing your hat, but your hair still thinks you are.”

“Thanks.”

We had grapefruit margaritas and Snack-ens for happy hour. I made fajitas out of the last of the chicken, peppers, onions, scallions, and jalapeno. That too was a mess. We should have eaten inside at the table, but it was too nice a day to pass up eating on the deck. Rainy days raise the value of sunny ones.

Happy hour on the deck

Our view during happy hour, including the towels drying on the railing

Chicken fajitas

We packed up after supper and loaded everything we could in the car. So sad. The week goes by so fast. Here is our last view of Hungry Jack Lake until next year. 

Farewell, Hungry Jack!

Boundary Waters, Day 6

The sky was again overcast. We sat by the space heater in our sweats.

The gas "wood"stove

Chilly morning

 I saw Dave bailing our rowboat while we were having coffee. I hoped that it meant that the rain was over. Sadly, the rain started up again before we were done with breakfast. Maybe Dave bailed because it was going to rain a lot more, and he didn’t want the boat to sink.

We had scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast for breakfast and packed a lunch and were on the road by 9:30, which is early for us. We were going to drive to Esther Lake, looking for wildlife. We take some version of this drive every year, and we didn’t want to be in the car a lot on Friday with the all-day drive coming up Saturday. Rain be damned, we were going. I put on my bargain rain suit from Gander Mountain's STORE CLOSING sale, pants included.

It was 51° when we left and never got warmer than 54°. It rained and rained. As we passed Swamper Lake, we both saw two dark objects that did not look familiar. Swamper Lake always has an uprooted tree that looks like a moose, but these were different.

“Did you see those two dark things?”

“Yes. Should we turn around?”

“Yes.”

We turned around and drove by more slowly. We discovered that we had each seen different things. I saw the objects to the left of the moose stump, and Jane saw them to the right. Neither proved to be a moose with her calf, and we had to drive all the way back to Bearskin Lake Road to turn around again.

We bumped along Greenwood Lake Road to Shoe Lake Road, splashing mud all over the car. We saw nothing but rain and dripping trees. “We haven’t even seen a robin,” Jane said. “We usually see robins at least.”

We turned south on Arrowhead Highway and east on Esther Lake Road. Unlike last year, we knew where we were going and avoided the detour to the gravel mine. We came around a bend, and there was a moose head peeking out from the shrubs.

Moose, first sighting

She was not shy. I followed the strategy of taking pictures at every opportunity, moving as close as possible between each one. I started with a shot through the windshield. I rolled down my window and stuck my head out. She didn’t move. Jane slowly drove forward as I snapped one picture after another. As a general rule, I don’t get out of the car to take pictures of large animals. I certainly didn’t want to surprise a moose. As Kate and I learned in Alaska, moose hate surprises.

Moose posing by the road

The moose strolled down the road a little way and posed again for a few more pictures. She then ambled up a steep hill of bare ground. We drove on.

Moose posing again before heading up the hill

We parked at the boat landing and had our picnic in the car, in the rain. A highly cooperative loon was in the bay. Once again, I started with a picture through the windshield, then got out of the car and slowly walked forward, snapping photos every few steps. This was the first time we’d gotten close to a loon this week. We hadn’t even heard loons much.

A loon in the rain (note raindrops on the water)

After lunch, I took a fishing pole to the dock so Jane could get a picture of me fishing in the rain. I cast exactly three times and didn’t get any strikes.

Fishing in my new rain suit in the rain

On our way back to the main road, not too far from Esther Lake, a roughed grouse flew up from the side of the road. We turned down the road toward Devilfish Lake campground, where we had not been before. A woodcock burst from the underbrush and showed us his characteristic profile as he made his escape. That was exciting! You don’t see woodcocks much.

The moose was still hanging out in the same place. We could see her tracks up and down the dirt hill.

And the moose on our way out

She changed her mind before she got to the top, probably because we drove off and left her alone.

That was the end of our wildlife sightings for the trip. A good day.

The rain let up. We discussed the Kadunce River trail but decided it would have to wait for our next trip. The tourist guide had specifically mentioned dry weather, which this was clearly not.

It was our last chance for Sydney’s. There was a huge puddle between the parking lot and the custard stand. “It’s okay,” I said to Jane, “We can swim from here.”

The puddle between us and Sydney's

 We ate inside again due to the cold weather. While there had been tons of gulls the day before, today there were tons of geese.

Canada geese on the beach in front of Sydney's. Note total absence of people.

We saw this pretty flower on the way back. It was like harebells (not to be confused with hair balls) only larger. Perhaps a cultivated variety.

Extra large harebells

As soon as we got back to the cabin, we turned the gas fireplace on to take off the chill. I baked the last four scones, mostly because the oven heated the cabin better than anything else. We finally saw a hummingbird at the flower boxes on the deck. It was a male, and he returned a couple of times during the evening.

We had the rest of the soup for supper. I made a fruit compote of the remaining peach, some blueberries, and cherries to have with the scones.

It was calm and dry at 7:30. Jane and I sat out on the deck until we got too cold. We went in and played games until bedtime.

8:26 p.m.: The sky looks a tiny bit clear

Boundary Waters, Day 5

After the worst dream of the night, I gave up and got out of bed at 5:30. No more late afternoon naps for me.

The sky was uniformly gray. A breeze made ripples on the lake. It didn’t seem like it was ever going to get light. I started the chicken stock right away. There was a good deal of gelatin in the broth. It had congealed to the consistency of Knox blocks in the refrigerator. Nothing like a young chicken! I covered the chicken bones, broth, and fat with water and put the pan on the stove. As the fat melted, it bubbled up through the water like a lava lamp.

By the time Jane got up, the stock had had two hours to simmer. I strained out the bones, quick-chilled it in the dish pan filled with ice water, and put it in the refrigerator. I then made blueberry pancakes again.

It was a good day to go to town. We took showers and put on relatively clean clothes. I thought it was just going to be gray all day, but I was wrong. It started raining before we’d gone far down the Gunflint. Our first wildlife siting of the day was a squirrel-sized skinny member of the weasel family cavorting in the road.

We got to town at 10:45 and thought about a snack. I checked the tourist guides for bakeries. We couldn’t find The Pie Place. Java Moose listed pastries on their window, but there was no parking anywhere close. We gave up on the snack idea and went to Betsy Bowen’s studio for our calendars. We poked around the studio for half an hour and got our calendars. This year’s theme was water animals. Jane was excited because there was a turtle.

Where to have lunch? We thought of trying someplace new, but the only parking place was in front of the Blue Water Café, which was just across the street from The Crooked Spoon. We liked the Crooked Spoon, and it was still raining. We went there.

I had the muffuletta special of the day. It was served on a baguette and had the usual cold cuts, provolone, and olive tapenade as well as thick, surprisingly good slices of tomato and big hunks of smoky roasted red pepper. Very good. Jane’s catch-of-the-day whitefish sandwich was, she reported, nothing special. Both our sandwiches came with rosemary popcorn that was delicious. Jane took hers home in a box. I put half of my sandwich in a box and ate all my popcorn.

Muffuletta with rosemary popcorn

It had stopped raining when we were done with lunch. We looked through the gift shop next to the Crooked Spoon, which didn’t take long. There was a new gift shop behind B FRANK that sounded promising, as it had Birch Bark in the name, suggested local, handmade arts and crafts. It was huge and ordinary.

It was so cold (54°) and so windy that we had to eat inside Sydney’s. We’d never done that before. I’d never seen Lake Superior so riled up before either. Huge waves washed over the rocks. 

Waves crashing on Artists' Point. It if very hard to photograph waves crashing over rocks.

Waves crashing on the beach outside Sydney's

Gulls hung nearly motionless in the wind over the beach. How could that be? Perhaps the wind provided lift without pushing the gulls backwards, and the gulls were not strong enough to make headway into the wind.

Gulls in the wind

Genes IGA did not have any fettucine with the fresh pasta. We decided on three-cheese tortellini for our chicken and noodles. How fortuitous that I decided to make stock! This was a perfect day for soup. 

After a stop at the gas station, we headed back to the cabin. Just in time, too. It POURED. Heavy rain all the way back. We made our annual stop at the Loon’s Nest anyway, where we once again found nothing at all that we needed or wanted. No idea how that place stays in business.

Back at the cabin, we turned up the gas fireplace and made cups of mint tea. We were glad we were not starting a canoe trip in this weather.  I put on my sweatpants and a dry pair of socks and settled in for another evening listening to the rain on the roof.

I heated the chicken stock, adding chicken meat, sliced scallions, and the leftover peas. I cooked the tortellini separately, portioned them into the giant bowls, and poured the soup over the top. Chicken soup is so comforting on a rainy day. It seemed like the best meal I had ever made at the cabin.

Chicken and cheese tortellini soup

 

Boundary Waters, Day 4

I was in surprisingly good shape for rowing as much as I did without training for it. My ribs were a little stiff during the night, but the only soreness I had when I woke up was a muscle in the left side of my neck running up from my collarbone. I thought about lying in bed until it got warm out. That was unrealistic. I couldn’t sleep after 6:30, and my back told me it was time to get up and move around.

Jane had not slept well and was also slow to get up. We drank coffee until 8:30. I made eggs with green pepper, scallions, cheese curds, leftover foil pack potatoes, and French fries. We had bacon on the side and half a piece of toast each.

Eggs with stuff and bacon

It sprinkled a bit during breakfast. It wasn’t enough to get anything wet. Still, the sky was dark and we decided to go to the Chik-Wauk Museum even though it was Children’s Day. They have a new activity building where the children would all be, we hoped. On our way up the Gunflint Trail, a snowshoe hare hopped across the road in front of us, notable for its large back feet. Other than that, no wildlife. Jane said she read at the Aquarium that moose populations were in decline for three reasons: habitat loss, a brain disease, and maybe climate change. She wasn’t sure what the third thing was. I thought we probably would not see a moose again this year.

We paid our $4 admission fee (per person, up from $3 last year) at the Nature Center and went in to see if there were any new displays. We spent most of our time going through a notebook of Gunflint Trail businesses from 1915 to 2015. Many of the lodges had closed or been sold to the government. We learned that Sue and Bruce Kerfoot sold the Gunflint Lodge in 2016. Dave and Nancy have owned Hungry Jack since 1991. Twenty-six years. That’s a long time to work every day all summer long.

We took a short hike to Blueberry Hill, a rocky outcrop on the side of the lake opposite the buildings. It was a nice view, but the bugs were bad. The flies swarmed our faces, which was the only part of us uncovered. There was a plaque at the top of the hill showing what the lake looked like when the Chik-Wauk Lodge was operating. It was interesting to compare then and now. A lot of buildings were torn down.

Plaque of the Chik-Wauk Resort in the 1950's

The same view now

I stopped to smell the roses.

Wild rose on the trail to Blueberry Hill

We drove up to the campground at the end of the road. Just as we pulled in we saw a small raptor with a rufous back and a black and white tipped tail fly by. I later identified it as a female American kestrel. Cool.

We literally drove past a roughed grouse at the side of the road. She was in no hurry to get out of the way.

Grouse by the road

We also saw four turkey vultures in a dead tree by Campsite 13. Years and years ago, there was an eagle nest at Campsite 13, and for years the abandoned nest was still visible. Not anymore.

Three of the four vultures we saw in a dead tree. One flew off before I could take the picture.

It was well past lunchtime when we headed back home. I made quesadilla with the leftover steak, green pepper, onion, and jalapeno pepper. The jalapeno was not at all hot.

Steak quesadilla for lunch

And then it was nap time. When I was nearly asleep on the couch, Jane suggested I lie down in my bed so that I would not wake up with a stiff neck. She failed to take her own advice and fell asleep in a chair, waking up with a stiff neck.

When my nap was over at 3:00, the weather had developed into a steady drizzle. I love being in the cabin in the rain. It’s so cozy and dry. We were both cold, so Jane turned on the thermostatically-controlled, natural-gas-powered pseudo-woodstove. We pulled up chairs and warmed ourselves. Grilling the chicken was out of the question. At 4:00, I cleaned all the cloves in a bulb of new garlic from the garden. I chopped a bunch of garlic and did my best to make a garlic/salt paste without a chef knife or kosher salt. I rubbed the paste under the skin of the whole chicken (which came with a broken keel and no giblets). I threw the rest of the garlic cloves and a quarter of an onion in the cavity of the chicken and put it in the oven at what I hoped was 350F. I added two potatoes on the lower rack. I resisted the urge to open the oven door for an hour.

At 5:30, the chicken was ghostly pale. The potatoes were rock hard. I cranked the temperature. In another half hour, the chicken was browned and seemed done. The potatoes were soft. I put some frozen peas in the microwave while the chicken rested. It was a lovely meal.

Roast chicken, baked potato, and peas for supper

When the chicken came out, I put in a cobbler made of blueberries, peaches, and cream scones. I made the scones at home and froze them uncooked. It took longer than the usual 30 minutes, but to our delight, the peaches were better cooked than raw.

Blueberry/peach cobbler

After supper, I separated the chicken meat from the bones and skin. I might as well make stock, I figured. We could have soup or chicken and noodles. I put the meat in a container and the bones, skin, and pan drippings into the largest sauce pan. Everything went in the refrigerator overnight.

We went to bed at 8:30. I read for an hour, but still was not sleepy. It felt like I lay awake for a long, long time. I finally fell into a deep sleep that I thought lasted for hours. When I woke up, it was 10:30. And that was the best part of my night. I had aches and itches and bad dreams until morning.

Boundary Waters, Day 3

It was a beautiful day. Calm, fog on the water, cool. 

The rowboat waiting for adventure

Fog in the bay

The fog lifted after breakfast but the vegetation continued to drip with condensed water.  

Dew on the vegetation

Horsetails with beads of water at every joint bent over the smooth water in the lake.

Drops of dew hanging from the joints of the horsetails over the water

Jane rowed around the bay. Nothing was biting including the little nipper fish. I took over the oars and rowed all the way to the other side of the lake to verify that the fish weren’t biting there either. Still, we kept reminding ourselves, it was a lovely day to be on the water.

When I was on my way to join Jane on the deck after my shower, she pointed out a magnificent spider on the screen door. I slowly opened the door to take a picture, and it moved to the side of the cabin.

A magnificent spider

Jane watched it while I was making my lunch. When I went back to the deck, she said, “See those two little stripes of white? That’s spider poop. Or pee. I don’t know which.”

“It’s probably uric acid,” I conjectured, since that’s what white excrement usually is, “so solid pee.” As I thought about it, spiders wouldn’t have much poop. They inject digestive enzymes into prey and suck out the juice. Not exactly a high-fiber diet. The majority of the waste they would have to get rid of would be nitrogen. Birds, insects, and apparently spiders process nitrogen waste into uric acid crystals rather than urea (as we do) to conserve water.

We headed into Grand Marais. We had found some points of interest in a tourist guide that we hadn’t been to before. Also, we had some shopping to do. Fog still hung in thick patches along the north shore of Lake Superior.

Foggy patches along the lake shore

We went to Paradise Beach to look for agates, even though I was pretty sure I wouldn’t recognize an unpolished agate if it bit me in the ass. I was right about that. We found no agates. The loose gravel was hard to walk on, and Jane was done hiking for the day when we got back to the car.

Paradise beach looking southwest

Paradise beach looking northeast

We stopped at a roadside park and trailhead near Colville on our way back toward Grand Marias. I saw bunchberries in bloom by the beach.

Bunchberry

I did a quick walk down the Kadunce [sic] River trail. It looked like a nice path for another day when Jane felt like hiking again. The trail was wide and mostly level, rising gently as it followed the river.

The Kadunce River

We picked up a few items we needed in Grand Marais and then went for custard. Jane ordered the cones at Sydney’s while I made my calls home. I told Hilda we’d been agate hunting even though I was sure I couldn’t recognize an unpolished agate.

“If it bit you in the ass,” Hilda said. I must say that a lot.

Jane grilled the second steak for supper, since it had been thawed for several days by then. We had a foil-roasted onion and warmed up leftover fries from Grandma’s.

We ate too much. And we were ready for bed at 7:10. Too early. We talked until 8:15, mostly about whether or not we could go to bed yet. It had been a busy day.