A Forgiving Deep Well

At Lake Annie Road House we have a small, hand dug pond. It sits quietly under an old apple tree and a towering maple and next to a quaint cedar shake sided, 90 year old building affectionately known as the Club House (although its current claim is as a garden shed). The cultivated Goats Beard, planted ages ago, forms an ever-expanding, lofting hedge on its north side. A bench sits nearby where David and I, for years, would sit in the evenings after busy, long days, listen to the quiet and talk.

Yesterday, feeling the little pond needed a quick, uplifting and topping off, I set the hose, fully open, to do that. Then I walked away.

I walked away to go about the day’s business. I cut two acres of grass, went for a slow, sweaty run on the Maasto Hiihto trails, met with a drone-flying realtor and her entourage as drone photos and a video were taken of our land, baked a chicken, did a load of laundry and hung it to dry, talked to my daughters and husband, baked two batches of rhubarb muffins, made another investment in the cleaning and organization of David’s wood shop, restored and painted a project model made by David for use with a previous commission years ago (I’m sentimental over any and all things he makes, even those things which seem temporary and uninvested), watched two episodes of my current favorite Irish home restoration show, paid some bills, read two chapters in my book, worked on my ATV trying to convince it to run again..that was a no go...(it’s been hibernating for two years) did the dishes and commenced ending the day.

It had been 12 hours since my initial hose setting and walking away when I noticed the water in the toilet bowl to be a tell-tale sandy brown. The lights instantly flashed on. As I have done so very many times before over the past 35 years, I abandoned the project and filled the pond to over-flowing; everything within 30’ of it getting a good soaking, I’d nearly drained our 340’ deep well once again. Will I ever learn? Probably not.

As the new day set about this morning, I checked the water quality (coffee must get made) and found clear, cold water flowing from our pipes. And I thought...Lord, this is just so like you! Your unfailing love and desire to make all things pure and new, to make us to shine as crystal clear is your heart’s desire. You are that forgiving deep well in our lives and Your mercies are indeed new every morning.

A Good Way to End and an Even Better Way to Start

one more for 2018

This morning Absolute and I made our way down the Lake Annie Road to Trail 17. With a winter weather advisory in effect, I didn't expect any favors from the weather. It wasn't the worst I'd ever run in - not by a mile - and it wasn't so cold as it was windy with blowing snow -  the kind that sticks and cements itself to everything it touches. It was one of those "fun" storms - the kind you can play in.

Plows and groomers hadn't taken to the roads and trails so there were deep inches of condensed snow. Plenty of snowmobiles peppered Trail 17, laying down a soft, churned, criss-crossed path. When they came upon us they slowed as they passed seeing us hug the edge of the trail to make plenty of way for them. Many waved, one stopped to pet Absolute and to give us a thumbs-up. 

The snow felt like it was without foundation; each footfall sank deep into the heavy stuff. I worked hard to keep moving forward, stopping a few times to listen to the nothingness that was out there. This type of snow insulates and the world of sound becomes pleasantly sterile.

As I ran, I thought, "THIS is the very reason I run." Doing hard things and finding they were hard only in my perceptions; today they taught and I learned.

Running 'one more for 2018' will be filed in my good memory bank for a few reasons:  

I persevered and that felt good. Not stopping when my brain is trying to screech my body to a halt is a good thing.

The algorithm of the weather was outstanding. More than simple and ordinary, it was a state of billions of rapid-fire intentional mini-events all rolled up into one beautiful weather episode (it truly was a storm but it didn't feel like it to me). And I got to play in it. 

Who could ask for anything more? A good way to end and an even better way to start.

  

2018 in Colour

 "Nature is full of genius; full of the divinity; 

so that not a snowflake escapes its fashioning hand." 

Henry David Thoreau

Today I found my year represented in a sphere of color. The colors were taken from Instagram posts I'd made throughout 2018, and combined to make a delightful circuitous personification of my activities. I see this as an opportunity to put this year into fabric; all the little bobbles combined and stitched into a textile format.

Days upon days spent on trails in the Upper Peninsula woods, along the shoreline of the lake I love, Lake Superior, and through our fields and other's meadows, all displayed in small balls of color and arranged in a sphere.

It will help me to remember this last and mostly solo year spent in the UP, the places I ran and all I saw, but was unable to share with any family members and friends who mean so much to me. It will be a fine opportunity to "sew a fine seam" and to smile as each penny-circle is hand stitched and the experience it represents comes flowing back into my memory. 

 It's been a very fine year.

Thank you Lord.

The Monks Trail on a Particular Day in December with David

A red and gold Greek Orthodox Cross fashioned as the trailhead sign points the way to a lightly worn woodland path leading into the the depths of sky-reaching pines and  
along side a pristine pond encircled with raised wooden walkways and a Hobbit-like bridge. Once there you find yourself in sparking silence. The pond, replete with 12"-14" trout is remarkably tannin-free and crystal-clear, allowing one to see as deeply into it as the depths will allow before the covering darkness presents itself. 
From the pond, rough hewn signage directs the visitor to the precarious Jacob's Creek Gorge, a mining-era cemetery and the Arnold Mine Ruins. Along the way unique benches, all hand-fashioned and not two alike confirm the presence of the trail. 

Thoreau-like "campsites" built in rustic fashion and, on a winter's day, piled high with mounds of fresh tuffs of white snow pop out of the woods.                                                                                       The invitation to sit with a cup of hot tea is tempting. 
The hike into and along the Gorge is one to take with respectful caution as the trail is steep in places, runs precariously close to the Gorge edge and, in the winter, can be icy. Varieties of animal tracks and scents (if of the canine variety) are everywhere throughout the forest and down into the Gorge, assuring that one is never alone in these beautiful woods, silent as they are, save for the Creek. Jacob's Creek tumbles through the Gorge over and under rounded bobbles of ice and ice-caked rocks and branches reaching down into the cold, thick water as it makes its way to the step-plunge falls it is so well known for. 

 At its exit point from the Gorge a neighborhood space, as it were, on M-26, is shared with the Monks Bakery and Jampot - a well known purveyor of jams, jellies and all sorts and kinds of baked goods in the Keweenaw. 
The Arnold Mine Ruins stand where a once short-lived and relatively unproductive mine venture once stood. Its presence now represented only by a pile of poor rock. The hike to the sight is exhilarating in the winter and adventurous all year round. 

The solitary cemetery was a visit David and I, on this particular day in December, had to promise to return to as the light left us and evening fell.