While I was born in the late fifties, my memories of that decade are only from photographs of that short time. Living in the fifties refers to the temperature inside the lodge lately. Given the extended dry period and subsequent high fire danger that the Gunflint Trail has been experiencing, we just didn't feel it was prudent to have a fire in our woodstove. Both our stove and our chimney are in excellent condition, and a small fire would not throw off a lot of sparks, but we just didn't want to take the risk. It reminded us of the days during the Ham Lake Fire, when the weather finally turned and it was more typical of spring: chilly mornings, dampness, and clouds. We were freezing in our evacuation home: the bus, parked at the Recreation Park in Grand Marais, right on the shore of the big lake, complete with a cold east wind. The only way to warm up the parked bus is with the miniature woodstove in it. Were we starting a fire at that moment? No way!
It's true, we do have a furnace in the lodge, as our back up heat source. But when the daytime temps get into the upper fifties and lower sixties, with plenty of sunshine, it's hard to justify running the furnace and burning propane. The flip side is that the nights get down in to the upper thirties and low forties, so that cools the building down a lot. (Oh, and that open window upstairs so that we can hear the sounds in the night!)
As a result, it is often about 56 degrees inside in the morning. So I put on a couple of sweatshirts and bravely face it while drinking my morning tea. If I hadn't been conditioned to warmer weather, thanks to Hawaii, it might not feel so cool. Mostly, though, I just miss having a small fire in the morning and the evening, to take the edge off of the chill. In the early spring, as in the late fall, a fire in the woodstove requires only two or three chunks of wood, and the whole place is warmer. No need to stoke the fire and stuff the stove full for overnight. That would make it too hot. But there is nothing like a fire in the woodstove to warm bones that are chilled in the early morning.
This is just one of many reasons why we are grateful that it has finally rained up here. On Thursday evening, the raindrops came along with a bit of thunder and lightning. Friday morning we had several intermittent showers. Last night we had some good hard rainfall coming down. Though the noise of it woke us up many times, we didn't mind. It was a good sound, one that we had been craving. Our rain gauge hasn't been put in to place yet, but we do have some unofficial ones out there. A bucket here, a container there, these will have collected the water, and we'll get an idea of how much fell. It isn't enough to quench the continued fire danger, but it does quell it for a bit.
And it means that at least for today, a little fire to warm up the place is not a bad idea. The sun is out this morning, and that too will help to bring us up into the sixties, at least inside. The Sixties...that's when my real memories begin....
Finally, I can look at the photos with a calmer perspective.
The shots can still evoke a sense of the stress and anxiety I felt back then.
But mostly I remember how helpful everyone was.
For that, I will always be grateful.
April 26th: Some of the spices in our kitchen. I keep them in old olive jars, and that way they look terribly photogenic.
April 27th: The toilet paper roll in our bathroom. Camouflaged with that metal thing. (And sure enough, the bidet made its way into the Leftovers).
April 28th: I was grading some papers this afternoon and listening to music on my headphones (there was a lot of lightning, so I had to turn off the electronic stuff). I like the leftover picture of my head, but that seemed a bit egotistical to put another self-portrait of me in such a short time, especially one where I'm in need of a shave. Plus, I like the blue in this picture. I have no idea why it came out blue, since both the curtain and light coming through it were both white at the time.
April 29th: The fire station in Palmares. The color is about as subtle as a kick to the nuts, but I suppose it's a good color for people who associate themselves with fire.
April 30th: There was a little festival coming up in Berlin, so they hung this sign in front of our house.
May 1st: My brother-in-law Arnoldo helping us cut down a stump. The saw I had just wasn't cutting it. All of my in-laws have been great by helping us out with things at our place, and it's nice to live close to people we know and like.
May 2nd: A paint-by-numbers that my brother Paul gave us, and which Angela did most of (I worked on about 3% of it). It turned out pretty cool. Thanks, Paul!
May 3rd: My globe. I tried to get a similar picture a while ago, but the light in that one wasn't good since it was evening. I think this is a bit better.
May 4th: Still progressing with the paint on the Formerly Crappy Casita... at about the same rate the country itself is progressing, actually. To see more pictures of the Formerly Crappy Casita, as well as other stuff from the last nine days, check out the Leftovers.
Would you look at that! A few years ago, we upgraded all of the cookware in the cabins, with some nice Wolfgang Puck stainless steel pots and pans, and clear poly lids. If you come to stay in one of our cabins, and the lid for your big pot is missing, I think I know where it is!
Once the sign and traffic cones were in place, we settled in to watch for the first runners to arrive. Memories returned for me, of my own (short-lived) days of running on the Gunflint Trail. Back in the spring of 1986, the first year that I moved to Gunflint Lake, I was in the midst of training to run Grandma's Marathon. Some whim had come over me, and I decided it might be a good thing to do. Prior to my move here in April, I was living on the scenic highway between Duluth and Two Harbors, so that was my training grounds. Once up here, I realized how easy I'd had it: very few hills on old Highway 61. At the end of our side road, there are three long hills, and I would do whatever I could to avoid running up them. Two times, I had Greg drop me off at the end of the Gunflint Trail so that I could run home, and that meant running down those three hills. I gave up running after that one and only marathon, as my knee had started to say a few words to me. I took up walking instead, and am forever happy with that decision.
It is a wonderful feeling of accomplishment to reach the finish line. Congratulations to all who participated this year. Your hard work paid off!
