Will I Win The Greatest Holiday In The World?

Radisson Blu Hotels, which are made up of more than 200 locations situated in all parts of the world, will offer their hospitality for 365 nights to one fortunate person who wins the competition they are holding. The only thing the contender has to do is to answer a question “Why do you deserve to win the competition?”




The task is very simple. You have to write the essence of your answer on the competition homepage for all visitors to see. It’s similar to many popular programs today. After that, you can add the complete explanation of your idea, photos, You Tube videos and choose 4 dream hotel locations that you would stay at if you won. Be sure to write a real e-mail address because you have confirm it to be accepted. That’s all. Now, if you collect more votes than the other competitors do, you win. Don’t worry, you personally can call all the world to vote your answer! You can even vote yourself once a day!

Your Greatest Holiday becomes nearer if you make a video about your dream and post it in You Tube. Every week a Creativity Award is given out, and allows it’s winner to pass a weekend in a Paris Radisson Blue hotel. Your video has only to be funny, romantic or creative to participate on the Award’s voting. And it will help promote your main entry. Don’t forget to add the address of your page to the video to allow all visitors to vote for your work!





I added my dream only some hours ago and have not had  time to promote it elsewhere. I was absolutely sure nobody will vote my answer. To control what was my situation, I opened “All Candidates” page and wrote my name. So great was my surprise when I saw 3242 votes with only 4071 of the maximum! I am not so far from the greatest holiday in the world , my friends! Vote for me! 

Details:

The winner gets 365 hotel nights to spend at over 200+ Radisson Blu  hotels over a 5 year period.  Visitors to the Radisson site vote for entries, and the most entries by the July 24^th win the grand prize, it is that simple! Note: You must be either an EU citizen, or a citizen of Norway, Iceland, Liechtenstein or Switzerland to participate to enter this competition. But anyone can vote!

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Power Crazy: Shoreham Beach

I had never heard of a beach being closed on Fathers Day weekend before. There have been threats of closings that were fortunately avoided, but I have never arrived at a beach on a summer weekend and found it padlocked. That all changed when I arrived at Shoreham Beach on Saturday.

Winding along North Country Road,  I spotted 7 or 8 cars parked near the entrance to this beach, operated by the town of Brookhaven. My initial reaction was that the parking lot was full, and the overflow resorted to using the shoulder of the road. Perfect weather on a Saturday in June; "the beach is packed" I thought to myself. But as I neared the entrance, I realized the gates were closed. No problemo; I grabbed my bag and began the half mile trek up the access road that leads to the beach.

It was an easy walk, but I was by myself and traveling light. If I had children with me and several items to carry, it would not have been feasible. I found myself brainstorming different scenarios as to why the beach was closed: was the road ahead washed out; maybe there was some sort of contamination from the nearby Shoreham plant; or perhaps there was another entrance I was unaware of.

While there are many stretches of  Long Island Sound I am quite familiar with, the 25 miles dividing Port Jefferson from Mattituck remain mostly a mystery to me. With no harbors, the towns along this uninterupted shoreline were never a place to visit by boat. Other than a few scenic-route drives returning from Greenport, my only exposure to this area has been from several miles offshore.

It is a long, lonely, shoreline that is mostly deserted, except for the occasional shore club or town beach, spread out at the bottom of a ravine. Atop the bluffs, a water tower and random house are all that break the horizon and allow one to mark their progress. A dune buggy, or a fisherman in an old jeep might be the only welcome distractions. 

Arriving at the beach, I found just a handful of people scattered across the endless sand. I wanted to find out why the beach was closed. Near the pathway that descends the bluff, I asked a couple who were leaving, but they only responded by shouting "What?", before continuing on their way. Another group of 5 made sure to look away as I approached. Maybe I looked like a town constable, I don't know.

But as I started walking eastward along the beach, I noticed a girl about my age (alright, a middle aged woman), with way too much makeup and too small a bathing suit, staring at me. She yelled something out to me, that I didn't comprehend.  JACKPOT!!!!

Her name was Michelle and she wanted to know if the gates were still closed.  I told her they were, and she proceeded to tell me the different theories as to why the beach was closed. Lying on her back and moving her legs in a windshield-wiper motion, she said she had heard several stories. One story claimed Brookhaven was overrun with illegal immigrants using the beach. Another involved late night parties and vandalism. The third was that the town was broke and could not afford to open the beach.

She asked me if I wanted to hang around, but I told her I had plans to meet some friends in Rocky Point later in the day. "Oh you are meeting friends" she responded. Rather than waste the next hour convincing her I was straight, I bid farewell and wandered eastward. In retrospect, I really should have taken a picture of her; she was a piece of work.

I continued on, meeting a college couple with a kayak and fishing pole, who were just waking up, and two ederly men with their grandchildren in a beached dory loaded with the summer essentials. They all told me  variations of the same stories. I found it odd that the reasons a beach was closed on a June weekend was still left to speculation and rumour. Why was there no community outrage? Was there a community? Had these small agricultural and weekend towns sold their soul to CVS and Home Depot long ago? Were the hungover college lovers, the two grandpas, Ms Cameltoe, and myself, the only people determined to visit a beach instead of spending a summer day at the mall?

Personally, I don't buy any of the reasons for closing Shoreham Beach! If there has been vandalism or trouble after-hours, restricting access to everyone does nothing to resolve the issue. Turning the beach into an abandoned park solves nothing. It only punishes those who are not a problem. As for the budget issues, in the broad sweep of things, beaches and parks are not the reason towns are broke. Also, it would be interesting to see how many corporations in the town of Brookhaven are screaming about socialism, yet also receive taxpayer subsidies.

There is more to this story, but it will take me 3 posts to complete. About a year ago, I wrote a post stating that if I was using a grading system, Caumsett State Park would receive an A, maybe an A+. I never chose to implement that grading system, but if I did, Shoreham Beach, despite its beauty, would receive an F, maybe an F-.

To be continued

The Best Berries

Where are the best berries? Sometimes we hear that during the picking season. Ever since the Ham Lake Fire, folks from near and far have been able to enjoy all the glory of a fantastic blueberry season. It's interesting to me that in the aftermath of a fire, which causes so much devastation, can be something so grand as a marvelous berry crop. Just another one of those silver linings, out there waiting for us if we are of the mind to look.

Friends up towards the end of the trail emailed me on the weekend to let me know that they had picked a handful of ripe berries while out on a walk that day. They estimated that in about ten days, a lot of them would be ripe. Time to get those buckets and baskets ready....Greg is doing so. He looks forward to the solitary time when he is out in the woods, on the hunt to fill his bucket. Maybe he gets that from his mom, because she is a blueberry-picking champ. Sometimes she will bring a whole bucket over to us, a gift of extraordinary proportion. She will tell us that she has enough in her freezer, but she so enjoys the activity, that she wants to share it with us. Needless to say, we never turn them down.


As a kid, my family would occasionally go on berry-picking adventures. A mile from our home in Duluth was Hartley Field. It wasn't a nature center back then, it was just a patch of woods full of raspberry bushes. We would head out and work to fill our little containers, while listening to my dad tell stories of the place. He grew up in the same neighborhood, and would spend time there when he was a kid. There was an old structure on the property, like a half-buried root cellar. He told us that it was the potato house, and that there were holes on the top of it, for airflow, I presume. We were constantly warned to watch out for these holes, so as to not fall into the potato house. I did not want to do that, for sure, as it looked dark, damp, and loaded with spiders whenever we passed by its open doorway.

The best berries back then, we often found, were not at Hartley, but actually up towards Brimson. We would pack a picnic and drive up there for a Sunday afternoon. Imagine this: a family of ten (my youngest sister wasn't born yet), all spilling out of the station wagon, fanning out to the nearby bushes, to gather the ripe fruit. I picture it a bit like migrant workers. We would work hard for several hours, filling and refilling our containers, and then we would have a classic picnic on a blanket, a bit of relaxing, before heading back home. Afterward, my mom would spend hours over the pans of berries, cleaning out all the leaves and sticks that inevitably were mixed in. We weren't necessarily clean pickers at that age. The jam that she would make was a treat we enjoyed throughout the winter. That's probably where I got my love of raspberry jam.

But back to that question: Where are the best berries? Almost anywhere you go, up towards the end of the trail, will lead to at least a few bushes. Most serious pickers will not reveal their favorite locations, so one just has to get out there and start exploring. But yesterday, the answer to that question was a bit different. I think the best berries were right in front of us. Addie and I collaborated on a blueberry pie, in honor of Father's Day. A beautiful slice, fresh from the bread oven, on a plate in front of me, was where I found the best berries. Topped with a scoop of Addie's homemade vanilla ice cream, we all agreed, it doesn't get any better than that.

A Day for the Dads

Happy Father's Day wishes to all of the dads out there! May you have a wonderful day, full of relaxation and only good things. A toast to you for all the hard work you do.

Stormy Ride

CRACK! The thunder and lightning struck simultaneously as we sat down to dinner. I shuddered at the sound, my thoughts on Paul. Earlier, he had crossed the lake to help celebrate a friend's birthday, but was due home for supper. At twenty-one, he is an extremely responsible guy, but still, the mom instincts in me came forward. I hadn't discussed weather issues with him before he left. Would he stay put? Would he watch the sky and make a break for it? Did he know that lightning can strike up to fifteen miles away? All this crossed my mind, and we discussed it as we ate. It is hard, as a parent, to shake a feeling of helplessness.

Parenting in the Northwoods has been a privilege and a challenge. I suppose that is true wherever one chooses to live, but sometimes it feels like our situation is a bit more unusual than most. Magazine articles can only tell one so much when it comes to deciding what to teach your children, or how to discipline them when they are young. Tried and true experience, also known as trial and error, is probably the best guide. In this case, I was counting on all of the many years of conversations about being in this situation to be Paul's guide.

Still, my mind was restless. I went upstairs with my knitting, while Greg watched a movie in the store. I had my window open, and my ear cocked for the sound of the outboard. How many nights have I done this, I thought? Before the fire in 2007, the kids would take a boat across to enjoy campfires with their friends. Instead of waiting to hear the car pull into the driveway, like most parents do, I would listen for the sound of the motor, skimming the boat over the water. Tonight, it was hard to discern the sounds. It was a mix of the wind, the rain, the distant thunder, the movie downstairs, and the fans blowing in various corners of the lodge.

At one point, I was certain I could hear him. The rain had paused, and the wind was down a bit. I stuck my head out the window, listening carefully. Was that a buzz in the distance? Downstairs, Greg had paused the movie, and we walked down to the landing. A shred of light was left to the day, and we watched the grey haze on the horizon. No sound. As the raindrops again picked up, we headed back up the hill, me to my knitting and Greg to his show.

Half-an-hour later, I definitely heard the motor. I hopped up and ran to the window. I swore I heard the motor cut, and that the boat was at the ramp. Waiting by the window, I scanned the land below, watching for Paul's silhouette. After what seemed to be too long a time to wait, I went downstairs to go out and see for myself. As I reached the landing, Paul emerged from the shadows. He was soaking wet, and none too happy.

He had waited for what seemed like the right opportunity to head out onto the water. Once out there, the wind proved to be more of a factor than he had expected. He chose to follow the Canadian shoreline until he was directly across from the lodge. At that moment, the motor died. He began to paddle, and the waves lapped the stern, sending water into the boat. He looked about for a bailer, but only had the coffee mug that he had brought along. Between
paddling against the wind, bailing, and attempting to start the motor up, he was having a tough time. Finally, after several pulls, the motor caught, and he was able to start south. By then, he was west of the lodge, and when he got close to the south side of the lake, he saw a cabin light. He realized that he needed to change direction, but once again, the motor quit. The wind continued to push him west, but he prevailed and got the thing started up. At that point, he made a beeline for home. Turns out that I had heard him that first time, when he was headed across the lake. I was looking for him in the wrong direction. But here he was now, and I was extremely grateful.

Next time he heads off like this, we will have that talk about lightning. I may even take the time to check the weather and radar maps on the internet. I know that if all of this were happening in the town where he lives most of the year, I would have no way to know of it, nor any way to worry. But when it's happening right here, that old mom instinct cannot be shrugged. Guess I just have to live with that--and so does he.

Walk on Tues 22nd

Meet at Chapelle Ste-Marguerite on the D117, about 2.6kms south of Plouy� (direction Landeleau). This is a pleasant country walk on good paths and quiet roads, with verdant views and pretty river valleys. Medium, Level 2. Walk starts at 2.30pm.

Five Minute Adventures

On my way home from Grand Marais the other night, I decided to have a five minute adventure. Near the North Brule River, a small road leads to the site of an old CCC camp. It is a part of the Superior National Forest, and it seems the current use for it is storage. Just past an iron gate, a large open area hosts culverts, picnic tables, and other big objects. The river runs along the far edge of the property. The reason I am familiar with this spot is that I had a chance to go birding there two years ago. I was with a group of fellow trail folks, led by two experienced birders. We were in the area listening and watching for the various birds that prefer a river-based habitat. As I recall, we were successful, as we saw a phoebe and an olive-sided flycatcher.


But this particular evening, I wasn't necessarily birding. I decided to have a five-minute adventure, and just stopped in to see what was happening in that neck of the woods. I was not disappointed. At my feet were thousands of twin flowers. The delicate pink and white blooms hung from slender stems, carpeting the forest floor. A few steps later, the bunchberry plants did the same thing. These were thick on the land, and I could only imagine how it will look in a few weeks when the white flowers are replaced with striking red berries.


I continued on a short way, and the meadow opened up wide. On my left, the yellow hawkweed was in full color. On my right, a patch of orange hawkweed, though not as large, wanted to show off as well. This is an absolutely wonderful time to be out and about looking for wildflowers, as evidenced by this short outing. All the recent rains are paying big dividends right now.

I headed back to the car, since my groceries were warming up and dinner still needed to be made. If I'd had more time, I would have hung around to listen for the birds, or to go down to the river to explore. But that can wait for another time. It will still be there.

Five minute adventures are a great concept. In just those few moments, I saw so many things. It's true, I probably could find them on my own property, but seeing these little beauties in an unfamiliar landscape seemed to enhance them. Stealing that time from my own schedule felt a little decadent, but I need that every now and again. Can five-minute adventures be a little luxury?

One way to have them, if you are unable to leave home and find a piece of woods as I did, can be found through a website I've been following for several years. It is called Morning Earth. The owner, John Caddy, is a naturalist and educator. He daily posts a photograph and poem that he has written. You can have them delivered to your email, or you can follow him on Facebook, or just click on to his website. Each morning, I am greeted with a photo that John has taken, somewhere in his neighborhood or from his travels. I've seen some incredible shots, thanks to him. The poems to accompany these pictures are informative, humorous and thought-provoking. Whether you enjoy reading poetry or not, it is worth the time to check out his site. Each day, you could have a five-minute adventure, right from your computer.