Big moon rising

for September 2016

Harvest moon over L.A.(Los Angeles)

That big harvest moon is talking to us. The evenings are lengthening and the stars are taking more curtain calls. No, I don’t mean all the movie folks at the Toronto Film Festival. (Although it would have been fun to be interstellar in the Big Smoke for a few days.)

Being star struck is something all of us experience at one time or other. While some people seek the stage their whole life, others are just fine being the audience. Actors, hockey greats, Olympic athletes and rock stars are undeniable, magnetic aspects of our universe.

The other evening I had the opportunity to cheer on some night-time entertainment. The almost full harvest moon was a bright white disc in the east, sliding up the sky as day light waned in the west. Our brightest star had slipped away to the other side of the world so the moon was left to juggle reflected sunlight. Towering pine trees stood as sentinel silhouettes, white quartz pebbles became ground stars and Lake Superior hid under its mysterious shiny blue/black self.

Crescent moon over  L.S. (Lake Superior)

This night nature is a powerful force. From the ancient star gazing Phoenicians to modern telescope laden observatories, we always have wondered about and wandered with star directives. The desire to look up and beyond will never go away. The Algoma Astronomers know this and that’s why they highlight Lake Superior Park as a go-to destination. Jeff Deans, a very active organizer in the group, visited the park on Labour Day weekend and along with about 140 people saw the Saturn Ring Nebula as well as the Globular Star Cluster in Hercules. Whew! Just those adventurous names alone make one want to peer through the lens.

Deans is working on making that a possibility. He is hoping that by next year Ontario Parks will designate Lake Superior Park as a dark sky preserve. Deans is very passionate about astronomy; a passion he learned from his father, who also loved sky watching. Dean’s father was considering making a telescope purchase, but he died from a brain tumour before he got the chance. So, about nine years ago, Deans invested a substantial sum- $4000- on a telescope. In an email he said that it was kind of a whim, but then added, “My thought was I don't know how much time I have, so it’s now or never”.

Terrence Dickenson knows that too. His column in this month’s Sky News magazine sure convinced me of the importance of preserving dark skies. Dickenson posted a Google Earth/Fabio Falchi et al map of North America Light Pollution. Wholly Lights Batman! You better stick to your cave. Flood lights fill at least half the continent. The Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico and both U. S. coastlines are under the glow.

Dickenson also mentions Helen Sawyer Hogg (1905-1993). I Googled her name and discovered that she was an astronomer who pioneered research into globular clusters and variable stars. Hogg embraced the stars so much that she became one herself. A leading authority in astronomy, she published over 200 papers and wrote a weekly column in the Toronto Star for 30 years. She supported women to pursue science and helped make astronomy popular. Her book “The Stars Belong to Everyone” was a hit.

As I continued on this investigative trek, another chance encounter offered insight. Sasha, a young high school student came with his dad for a visit. Sasha, who has spent considerable time hiking and camping, was wearing a blue T-shirt with a logo from the Wolf Ridge Environmental Centre in Finland, Minnesota. On the back of the shirt was a starry scene along with a quote from Francis Clark, a famous innovative music teacher. She said,

“There wouldn’t be a sky full of stars if we were all meant to wish on the same one.”

No wonder Wolf Ridge chose her words. The Centre follows the philosophy of Richard Louv, the author who, in 2005, wrote “Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature - Deficit Disorder. Louv believes that passion is what ultimately motivates change. He says that passion is lifted from the earth itself by “the muddy hands of the young; it travels along grass – stained sleeves to the heart.” But, as Deans has learned, passion doesn’t stop there. It moves from the heart to the stars. 

The Canadian Oxford Dictionary defines a star as “a body so far removed from the earth it appears motionless.” But, we know about those deceptive appearances. We’ve always known that the stars move. As ancients, we sat up all night and watched them slide across the sky as the cosmos led us to exotic and familiar places. Today’s observers have a much easier way to check out the movement of the solar system. Folks can put their cell phones on time lapse and catch star spin.

No matter how or where we do it, seeing the night skies will always be vital to our well being. Star worlds are the delicate threads that bind us together. We might try and exist as a “Globular Star Cluster in Hercules” but one thoughtful stare into space lets you know that those billions of lights are all equal, all waiting for a wish. So let’s hope for some clear, star-filled fall nights. Then we’ll have a better chance to hear what the universe has to say.

Ethel 

Gather up

for August 2016

Maybe the birds know best after all. And I don’t mean their twitter. I refer to their marvellous ability to gather.And they share that need; for there is something about August that makes us want to gather too. 

Maybe the need to connect is glued to our psyche. There are the obvious places to come together, like fields and folk festivals. And this year we’re extra lucky as we can share Olympic celebrations. You go Penny Oleksiak! Congrats. Four Olympic medals and she is just entering grade 11! Aside from medal counts we have many other ways of collecting things. True we can gather dust or gather thoughts but nature often calls us to step outside and gather up something more tangible. Like berries.

Picking can be a delight if you are so inclined. Stand up raspberry picking is easiest. The red clumps of flavour roll off the branch into your palm and promise not to juice up - as long as you don’t force too many into the container. Blueberry bushes are more of a challenge on the back and knees, but the berries do stay firm .And if you find a patch that has turned the ground blue, that hour or so of rotating from sit (watch out for the ants) to crouch ( it’s ok knees) to bending over (soo..how far can I reach) is worth it. At first the task of filling the container might seem formidable. The berries thump into the bottom and it seems like it will take forever before the cup filleth over. However, before long you’re looking at the ingredients for a pie or muffins or jam. Yumm! And let’s not forget the bruins that like to pick-er-lick the berries too. There are berry filled clumps of bear poop to step across from time to time. You just have to watch where you’re headed.

Lake Superior offers up a different kind of fruit. When moisture ripens, it rises up and gathers into grand clouds. That’s when the party starts. They must invite some pretty fancy guests because the gnarly faces and wispy forms against those mountainous backdrops are as varied as the world itself.

One of my favourite gatherings in August is the coming together of the loon families. On the still evenings you can hear their encouragements as they begin to congregate. Soon the whole group is swimming as one, then fanning out to dive in all directions as they spot a school of minnows. They are fun to watch .The other very warm evening, as the loons wailed far off in the distance, I heard Lake Superior’s promise of coolness and slid into the smooth calm water. The sun was sinking into the horizon, shining pink and gold reflections onto the silky surface. For a few moments I floated there, just listening to the music in their plaintive voices as I stared up into the darkening sky.

As I think about gatherings I have to include Gord Downie and his Tragically Hip Man Machine Poem concert. The last night of their tour will be at Kingston’s 5,600 seat Rogers K-Rock Centre, on the evening of Saturday, August 20. And while Downie, Paul Langlois and Rob Baker are stirring up all the arena fans, the rest of Canada will be sharing the party on little and big screens across the country. Downie is well known for his cryptic lyrics. About this latest offering to the music world, Downie has said that his wife is the poem and he is the machine! Even if you’re not a “Hip” fan, there is something special about this last hurrah for 52-year-old Downie. He has glioblastoma, an invasive brain cancer. Downie’s physician says that the level of strength and courage, the energy that he needs to do the tour is well beyond what most people can do.Maybe Downie’s energy can help us keep going as we prepare to move into the next season, the glorious fall. Why might we need it?

Well, there’s another meaning for gather. “Gather Way” is a nautical term that describes when a ship is beginning to move. As soon as we gather our strength and thought, as soon as our basket is full, momentum compels us to move on. No sitting around with the goods.  Another pool awaits. The medals need a shelf. That pie has to be baked. Those birds have to leave for the south. And soaked clouds have to let go.

So let’s gather gladly and take it all up very lightly. For no one flies very far with heavy wings.

What's that you say?

What’s that you say? Ketchup, mustard and relish? Ooh! That smoke keeps following me around. Anyone have an extra hot dog stick?

Ahhh, summer chatter. The words resonate with long days spent outdoors and sweet evenings by a campfire.

 When I was a young girl, summer started as soon as I stood on the train platform at the ACR station on Bay Street in Sault Ste Marie. When I heard that red and black engine come chugging down the track I knew I soon would be on my way to Michipicoten Harbour where we had a “camp”. That meant icy swims, all day fog horn blasts, reading comics by kerosene, playing cards on a cleared off kitchen table and waking up to the sound of my mom making cinnamon toast on the woodstove.

Folks today have similar dear memories. Some cherish their beloved tent or cabin in the woods. Others seek their “cottage”, where life slows down enough to enjoy a cocktail on the dock or maybe even have a moonlight swim.

I imagine if you put all the memories of summer activities into one spot (and maybe today that’s Facebook or YouTube) you’d probably need several lifetimes to appreciate them. For finding ways to communicate our thoughts and experiences is what we humans must do.

Someone who has examined our efforts to “get the point across” is Dr Tim Lomas, from the Department of Psychology at the University of East London, England.  He has been collecting words for a Positive Lexology Project, words to explain “unexplainable” feelings. Some of the words are new but most are from other languages. His list is an international theme of consciousness.

So far he has listed 216 words. I took a look at his website and gleaned a few that I think pertain to some of the feelings we get this time of year.

By coincidence, a thunderstorm in full gear helped me out. I’ll explain. The day before I had observed how extreme heat was cooking up giant white cauliflower clouds. The next day skies showed off 100 shades of grey; fog was obscuring any sign of islands or bays; rain was pelting the rocks and the deck; flashes of lightning white were blinding out the horizon. Then a gigantic south wind blew over the lake wrinkling the water into long curving lines. All the while thunder growled, chomped and snapped at the air. Lake Superior was at the storm’s mercy.

I thought of the folks in their tents up at the Agawa campground, remembering my own rainy tent days myself. I was so grateful to be in a dry cabin watching the storm roil around us. Such is Chrysalism (new English): the amniotic tranquility of being inside during a thunderstorm.

I was hooked and ready to bite at more words.  How about those times when we sit around a campfire telling stories and philosophizing? Sooner or later you will discover Sonder (also new English): the realization that everyone has an existence as vivid and complex as your own.

Sitting around campfires also might give you a chance to experience Mangata, (Swedish): the glimmering that moonlight makes on water. But hopefully by the end of the evening you won’t be battling the burden of Morkkis (Finnish): a moral/psychological hangover from one’s drunken antics the night before.

Since summer often means travel, these words popped out. If you like to pick a spot on the map, then you know Fernweh (German): the call of faraway places and homesickness for the unknown. Or Xenia (Greek): guest friendship and the importance of offering hospitality and respect to strangers. So after you finish making those 32 cheese and bologna sandwiches for all the company, feel free to visit someone else’s place and get treated yourself.

Or maybe you desire a solitary barefoot stroll on a long sandy beach. That’s Uitwaaien (Dutch): to walk in the wind, to go out in the countryside to clear one’s head. Which is wonderful as long as you can return to Cynefin (Welsh): a place where one feels one ought to live; the relationship one has to the place one was born and/or feels at home. For many that place is Lake Superior, one where it might be possible to find Ondinnok (Iroquois): the soul’s angelic nature and innermost desires.

And since today is a fine day by the lake off I must go to enjoy some outside time. But before I get playing I’m going to make some potato salad. And maybe, at the same time, indulge in some Tjuvsmaka (Swedish): to taste or eat small pieces of the food when you think no one is watching, especially when cooking.

Cabin Castle and the Fog

Moving In

Foggy days make for great retreats. Mists crawl over the water and shift the brain into other modes.

This past wet foggy week KO’d my garden plans; so I dug deep into some books instead. Good thing, ‘cause one of them, Superior Heartland by C.Fred Rydholm, a loan from seasonal Batchawana resident, John Walkley, offered up a fortuitous timely tale.

Here’s a rather long story, so curl up with your cuppa joe. Louis Graveraet Kaufman was born in 1870 in Marquette Michigan. (And FYI, his grandpa, born and raised on Mackinac Island, was an interpreter for Henry Schoolcraft.) 

 Kaufman’s family were into banking and it wasn’t long before Louis also became a heavy weight in the business world. Example? He gave financial prestige and know-how into the construction of the Empire State Building!

But Kaufman also liked to get his feet wet following fish up Lake Superior streams.  In an attempt to marry his love of the bush with his desire for big business, he and his wife Marie decided to build a “camp”. Between 1919 and 1923, they hired 400 Scandinavian craftsmen who used their skills to  erect a luxurious and rustic L-shaped Lake Superior get-away that would over shadow anything that the uber rich, i.e. the Vanderbilts, Astors, Guggenheims and Rockefellers, were building in the Adirondack Mountains. Being no strangers to extravagance, Kaufman and his wife spent five million dollars on their retreat they called Granot Loma. Today this slate roofed creation is the biggest log cabin in the world.

The Kaufmans chose a gem of a site, 5,180 acres of Lake Superior shore and woodland, close to Marquette. A small point faces a shallow, red sandstone shelf and beckons to a nearshore, small rocky outcrop that the Kaufmans call Daisy Island. Construction of the lodge included a foundation that withstands the force of November storms and the crush of winter ice jams. Labourers dug four feet into the sandstone and laid down reinforced cement to a width of seven feet. Then two storage vaults with steel doors were built into the concrete. Later, as Prohibition loomed, the entire contents of a New York liquor store were shipped and stored into these “wine cellars.” Logs came from Oregon - cut, wrapped in burlap and sent by train to Michigan.

Then, in 1927, once the 22 architects and the Kaufmans were satisfied with the completions, there was a grand opening party. Among the celebrants were George Gershwin, Mary Pickford, Fred Astaire and Cole Porter. It was a Gatsby-esque bush bash in a Lake Superior castle.

Imagine Downton Abby in log, or Titanic grandeur sitting safely on shore. Rich carpets, grand pianos and hand carved furniture. 20 bedrooms, 13 baths and 26 stone fireplaces. The massive kitchen is big enough for a staff of 25 and an eight car garage can house Rolls Royce limousines. The main sitting room is 80 feet long, 40 feet wide and 36 feet high. In the center of the ceiling, 50 animal carvings decorate a huge white pine root chandelier. A 24 foot wide fireplace mantle was once the keel of the steamship Independence which went down in the explosion at Sault Michigan in 1853.

However, no amount of money buys immortality.  Louis died in 1942, Marie in 1956. Their daughter Joan took over Granot Loma. Joan’s sixth marriage was to Jack Martin, caretaker of Granot Loma since 1938. By the time Joan died in 1973, Jack was ill and needed help with the upkeep. So he hired George Johnston, who was also the police chief for Marquette.

Hold on reader, I’m getting to the punch line of this opulent story. A couple more rounds to go.

In 1977 an enthusiastic young boxer went to Marquette’s Northern Michigan University to put on a demonstration bout. You’re right - it was Mohammed Ali, heavyweight champion of the world.

Now Ali needed a bodyguard on this trip, so who volunteered? Police Chief George Johnston. Over coffee at the Holiday Inn Johnson and Ali got to talking about log cabins. Ali was bragging about his in Berrien Springs, a small town in Lower Michigan. But Johnston upper cut him when he told Ali about Granot Loma. The champ was knocked out by the place. He had to have it.

Ali had found inspiration by the shore of Lake Superior. Create a training camp at Granot Loma. Sportswriters would come and stay. Convert maid’s quarters into rooms for aspiring boxers. Use the private roads for jogging trails. Float over to Daisy Island and build a boxing ring for TV commercials.

Ali offered Martin 5, ten, then 20 million. No, no and no was Martin’s reply. He really didn’t want to sell the place. Two weeks later Ali made Martin another offer. Ten million plus 60 acres and Jack could take the rest. Or if he couldn’t buy the place, Ali was willing to rent it for $5,000 a week.

Martin was tempted but after talking with others, who were less colour forgiving than Martin, the offer was nixed. Thus fog shrouded Ali’s Daisy Island dream.

Today Granot Loma is a 575 acre National Historic Site, with a price tag of 14 million. Take time to Google the site. You can bet on it being entertainment for a rainy day.

Fog Waves

Sun Fog

Towab Treasures

People have to live Somewhere. Home varies from a parent’s basement, a castle in Ireland or a tent outside of town, each with some kind of visible and non visible support network. But networks do much more than hold up walls.

Canada is experiencing a strong network right now. Recent wildfires in Fort Mac and beyond have turned our country into one gigantic village, bound together by a universal desire to care for each other. This need to connect goes much deeper than doubling up for the Red Cross. Signs of a collective soul have always been everywhere. Check out the 2013 lyrics in Eddie Vedder’s compelling raspy baritone in Future Days by Pearl Jam. “You came deep as any ocean, did something out there, here. And I believe ‘cause I can see our future days, days of you and me”.

The intrinsic threads that weave connections wound around the life of American born writer and activist Jane Jacobs. She spread her belief in community via her now famous 1961 book, Death and Life of Great American Cities. In it she challenged the urban planners who wanted to remove people from the heart of the city. Then in 1968, frustrated with what was happening in the United States, she moved New York to Toronto. Jacobs made the Annex, a downtown area of the Big Smoke, her lifetime home and continued her work for positive community development. By the time she passed away in 2006 at the age of 90, she had become a celebrated Canadian - so much so that each year thousands of folks hold an annual “Jane’s Walk”. And this year in the Sault, on May 4, on what would have been her 100^th birthday, people took to the sidewalks and explored local downtown neighbourhoods.

I take to the hiking trails for similar reasons. The paths and shoreline of Lake Superior are part of my community. And one of my very favourite spring neighbourhoods is the Towab Trail. This primo Lake Superior Park hike leads from Frater Road five km to Burnt Rock Pool on the Agawa River and another seven km further to the mighty Agawa Falls.

To access the trail you have to drive 3.5 km up the Frater Road, which begins at Highway 17 North at Agawa Bay. (BTW the Frater Road is in pretty good shape this spring. Thanks to whomever has been taking care of it.)

There is a map beside the parking area. It describes the route but the experience is almost indescribable. The trail begins with tree art. Twisting roots of a yellow birch wrap themselves down the sides of a head high boulder, an erratic, a leftover from glacial days. If you get to the trail before leaves and bugs make their mutual entrance, you’ll see a land where time takes a nap. Little wonder! Those mysterious flowers, the spring ephemerals - the trout lilies, spring beauties, blood root, yellow violets, Dutchman’s breeches and trilliums that fill the wide bright green spaces between the leafless hardwood trees - have fluffed up the forest floor. Songs in the clear, clean, shining creek soon become a soothing lullaby. And the precious warmth of a May afternoon is your soft blanket. This is a safe place. Delicate yet enduring connections emerge. The forest canopy protects the flowers from too much undergrowth. The stream provides water, light and sound to birds, moose and people. And ancient trees lie down to make a home for mosses and young trees. This forest village holds all the elements of a thriving community – protection, sustenance, knowledge. By the time you get close to the rushing sound of the Agawa River you are deep in a peaceful green valley of hope.

Other beautiful spring hikes have called me from the park, have made me explore community. We took the trail north of the Agawa River mouth  to discover what once was a small village of people from the 1930’s to the 1960’s. We bushwhacked along the shore to follow the outline of old foundations and crunched over leaf strewn decaying can dumps. We marvelled at the fine shape of a huge rounded tire fender. But nothing speaks of interdependence, of the need for each other as the play of flower and fern by rock and water. They are powerful teachers and holders of truths.

Their gift is community and we have taken it to heart. Be it a quiet stroll through downtown Queen Street, a loud cheer for the Raptors at a sports bar or hot handed applause for an encore at Toronto’s Pearl Jam concert, the joy of sharing is fundamental.

So, thanks Nature for helping us realize that we need each other - and for showing us the way home.

TAWAUB’S TRAIL

A frothing river bed

Became a lush forest floor.

Maple towers

Gazed upon glacier’s boulders.

And then he made a path, a trail, to lead to the beckoning

Burned Rock Pool of the Agawa River.

This valley home for

Moose, bear, bird,

Violet, lily, bloodroot,

Was his domain.

This Hercules of the Northwoods,

This myth of the forest,

This Tawaub

He with the infectious grin and reverent smile,

He who poles a canoe upstream,

He who carries a 50 lb pack on his back and a canoe on his shoulders,

For 4 hours, nonstop, up the hills!

Is our wonder.

Tawaub embraced Batchawana to Agawa

But his name goes around the world.

To walk his trail leads you to the river.

To learn Tawaub’s path

Never look back to see who is following.

Never pause until Rest Time.

Never offer to do any part of another’s work

But always, always help those you can like.

Oh Tawaub,

He-who-walks-by-moonlight

He-who-comes-tomorrow

Do you rest now?

Or do your moccasins still trod the endless trail?

Tawaub was an Ojibway guide who excelled in the ways of the woods. His name graces the 5 km hike from the Frater road to the Agawa River.

Clearing a Path for 2016

Well well. We have an extra day, one to add to the other 365! Here we come leap year 2016.

The leap years have to pop up every four years to keep our seasonal names attuned with astronomical events. Otherwise, one day we’d end up with the winter solstice occurring in what we call July.

With any New Year comes the usual practice of listing notables from the previous 12 months. But since this is a leap year, I decided to flash forward instead of flash back.

Keeping in mind that nothing in 2016 is certain (except 13 new and 12 full moon phases) here’s my list of 16 things to look forward to.

1.   The joyful feeling you get when you lend a helping hand. Humanity shines when we grab the opportunity to pay it forward in line at the grocery store, smile back at a baby or open the door for a laden down person.

2.   The chance to give yourself a pat on the back for learning new “stuff.”  Sometimes wandering the streets of today’s digital village can be overwhelming. This week I found an efficient way to back up my computer and organize desktop files. Aaaah!

3.   Sunny spots, places where you can have a quiet sit and feel the kind warmth of Old Sol. One of my favourites offers a sheltered view of the lake, even when charging winds whip foamy tops off of the waves.

4.   Adventure stories. This is a cool thing. I still remember Katelyn and her horse, Whiskey, meandering along the shoulders of the road. Who knows what Highway 17 North or the waters of Lake Superior will deliver. By the way, Katelyn and Whiskey made it to Manitoba, where Whiskey is spending this winter. Katelyn took the bus back to B.C. where she is working until she starts her ride again in the spring.

5.   Puzzles to solve. I found a few brain teasing, although sometimes mind numbing, challenges in a great library book. The Codebook by Simon Singh shows an undeciphered, 1820s code that is supposed to lead to buried treasure. The book also lists the Morse code, which I hope to learn - just for fun.

6.   Watching plants surface. Last fall I transplanted the rhubarb bed (for the umpteenth time). This spring I’ll be anxious to see if the reddish tips find their way up through the ground.

7.   The emergence of the Pink Lady’s Slippers (aka Cypripedium acaule). The moccasin - shaped flowers appear in the same spot year after year. No matter how freezy the winter or how warm the spring, these bulbous beauties just keep coming back.

8.   The different ways to move over snowy ground. So far this year, close to the shore, there has been little need of snowshoes and scant opportunity to ski. No frozen pond skating – sigh, but a recent bootwalk over a few cms of the white stuff was a treat. The forest floor, not yet frozen solid, felt sqooshy and soft, almost like Caribbean sands. (No... I’m not going to cheat and include a trip south in the list. )

9.   Crisp perspective of the cold. Snow outlines every tiny twig. Stars and planets are diamonds scattered across black velvet. Frost flowers are a temptation to pick. And clear, mid-day magnetic skies are a deep hypnotic blue.

10.     Mosquitoes and blackflies! That’s right! They are food and strength for the beloved spring peepers, the melodic warblers and...the elusive trout. Besides, we’ve learned to survive pesky bugs with screens, bugnets, deet, mosi-q and by seeking the windy places.

11.     Loons. Each fall, once their spotted summer feathers turn to the soft grey and white winter plumage, these plaintive voiced water birds take off for the south. Where do they go? Will I see them again when I swim out front?

12.     Photos from friends and relatives. There will be beach gatherings, picnics and more joy to share.

13.     Books. I like the paper kind and am lucky to be looking at two Christmas gifts - Canoe Country by Roy MacGregor and The Heart Goes Last by Margaret Atwood. A stormy winter day, the woodstove. Need I say more?

14.     Music. Yes, yes, always. There are new tunes to enjoy i.e.: Adele’s latest, 25. The old ones still give off their charm too. I love to watch the lake breath in and out while listening to my scratchy, vinyl version of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.

15.     A trip, maybe, to Pukaskwa National Park. Last summer we discovered a tent that can accommodate cots. Yay - glamping!

16.     And, finally, giggles and laughter from the grandkids. Or any kids in fact. (Now that says it all!)

So here we go gang. Let’s all jump into life and find a Very Happy, Very New Leap Year.

January waves

wind blown waves