We had a marvelous trip to the North Shore of Lake Superior, where we met two faithful blog-readers, Chicken Mama and Mama Pea. Not only are they DELIGHTFUL women, but their spouses are great, and we enjoyed meeting all four of them.
As a blogger I should have snapped many photos, but the camera went AWOL half-way through the trip, and I didn’t have the energy to track it down. And then some of the photos I did shoot didn’t actually get taken. I seem to be a Digital Dummy.
So here are a few. Basically my view of Melissa was the top of her head as she scrounged for agates and other interesting rocks. The first photo doesn’t show that she is basically soaked along the lake side of her body—too busy watching the rocks to watch the waves.
We didn’t find anything but small pebble-sized agates, but on the way home we stopped at a rock shop in Beaver Bay, where the guy was selling fist-sized agates (for $400!) that locals find. Melissa and I looked at each other, and the thought passed between us: Let’s sell the farm and move up here and become ‘locals’ that find fist-sized agates!
Okay, perhaps not.
Chicken Mama’s little cabin was lovely, and the wood stove was toy-sized, but it could sure kick out the heat. Mama Pea kept us in treats—homemade coffee cake, homemade ginger snaps, and bags of fresh popcorn for the ride home. Yes, it’s true: we were spoiled.
One evening we drove 90 minutes to reach Chicken Mama’s incredible home in the middle of the Superior National Forest. As I remarked to Melissa as we drove and drove and drove on a narrow, winding gravel road, “there’d better be a damned good view at the end of this trip.” I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to live this far from civilization.
I figured it out when we arrived. Boy, was there ever a ‘good view.’ We could see Canada and river valleys and tree-lined bluffs, and the nearest neighbor was not 10 blocks away, but 10 miles. We had a wonderful dinner, lots of dog time, and some wine.
Then on the drive home in the dark, we kept hoping we’d see a moose along this narrow, winding gravel road. Nada.
But when we eventually hit blacktop, a young bull moose showed up in front of us, loping along, his hooves clicking on the blacktop. We didn’t pass him because he’d weave now and then, and we didn’t want to hit him. So we’d stop, turn off our lights (we were obviously alone in the wilderness), and wait for him to go into the ditch. Then we’d turn on the lights, start up, and he’d come lumbering out of the ditch to mosey along in front of us. He’d look back at us every once and awhile, not all that concerned. After nearly three miles he decided to stop using our car as a flashlight and moved off into the woods.
The one odd thing? Molly the hunting dog loves the woods, has no fear of guns, and will play in ponds and streams. But Lake Superior? It was Talking Water. It was Shouting-Booming-Spraying Water and she wanted nothing to do with it. She was so scared there was no reasoning with her, so at this beach I finally gave up and found her a nice spot in the trees, where she was content to sit in the shade and avoid the scary lake.
Shouting-Booming-Spraying Water does that for me, and I highly recommend it.