Dave's cabin

Summer, 2010 ~

It had been too long since my wife and I escaped the place we refer to as civilization. So when an old friend offered his Northwoods cabin to us for the Independence Day weekend, we gladly accepted. We have been acquainted with Dave since the mid-1980’s, when he and I worked together in broadcasting. He now lives in Texas, but keeps the cabin as a place to vacation, host family, and perhaps, eventually to be enjoyed in his retirement.

His dad, James, originally bought this old three-room shack, situated on the western side of upper Sibley Lake. Later, when it was time to bring the place into a more habitable state, Dave was invited to buy-in. Together, they added a living space and office, updated the kitchen, and turned the previous living area into another bedroom. The exterior of the cabin was finished with the natural look of cedar siding, so as to feel at home in the woods.

Standing in the center of the living area, it was not hard to envision the father and son working together on their project. Saving money. Planning the layout. Pitching-in on the jobs they could handle, and selecting the right craftsmen for jobs that required skills they, themselves, did not have. In picturing their work on the project, I did not see the muscles made sore by carrying lumber, nor the hammered knuckles or sliver-filled fingertips of the workmen. Only the vaulted pine ceiling, the sturdy deck overlooking the lake, and an eclectic variety of furniture, antiques and mementos gathered over the years. There is a pair of traditional snowshoes hanging on the lake-side wall, a pair of old wooden skis leaning in the corner, and a small pot-belly stove in the middle of the room. A sliding door faces both the lake and the sunrise; a combination that could only be made better by a very early morning and the aroma of fresh coffee.

Once upon a time—and I suppose this could be said of any place—the Brainerd Lakes area was considered “wilderness.” While still very nice, it has become a popular vacation destination, heavily populated by tourists and cabin owners in the summer, hunters in the fall, and snowmobile owners during winter. Most of the lake-side dwellings could hardly be called cabins; many of them are massive structures, featuring numerous out-buildings to hold a menagerie of toys: Speed boats and the various accessories they might tow, pontoons, jet-skis and the like. (A man paddling across the lake in a kayak or canoe does so at high risk. Not related to waves, wind, or skill level, but because of the heavy traffic of motorized watercraft.) Of course, to make room for these personal theme parks, many trees were cleared, much wildlife was displaced, and briar and brush have been replaced by the sod of finely manicured lawns. Rocks placed on the shore by glaciers have been moved to the front yard to serve as ornaments, and in their place, sand has been trucked-in to create the perfect beach.

Thousands of people have come to love their place at the lake; indeed, I only fear they might love it to death. In their quest to get "back to nature," they are instead beating nature back.

But I digress.

In contrast to all of this, there is Dave’s cabin. It sits at the end of a dirt driveway that you might not see from the road if you hadn't known what to look for. A tool shed in the yard holds most of the essential goods; a mower for the relatively small part of the lawn that is cut (most of the land is left to its natural devices), a snow thrower, various tools for cabin repair, a set of golf clubs and a few fishing rods.

From the back deck, the branches of birch and pine frame a breathtaking view of Sibley Lake. At this moment, there is no walkway down to the water; to reach the lake below, you must navigate through the thickets and down a very steep slope. Dave’s goal is to build a stairway down to the water, eventually, with a few landings where one might stop and enjoy the scenery. But he is compelled to leave the balance of the land as it is now, perfectly disorganized by nature. Near the base of the hill is a small storage shed that came with the property (it is showing its years), and a Grumman canoe that waits to serve Dave, his wife, and their visitors. Or, land-lovers can sit on the edge of the lake, listen for loons, and notice how much life there really is… swimming and blooming among the lily pads just off-shore.

Julie and I enjoyed the weekend a great deal, playing cards, chatting, making meals together. She did some reading. I did some writing.

It occurs to me that for some people, the lake is a place to enjoy all of the things that you have. For others, it is a great place to realize how little you need.





© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

A game of chance

Summer 2010 ~

As a whole, nature is a skilled architect, using an endless variety of elements and conditions to build forests which are both structurally sound and aesthetically beautiful. But for any animal or plant that lives there, the woods are little more than a game of chance.

Young pine saplings—those fortunate enough to have their seeds cast into a clearing by the forces of gravity and wind—must be aggressive in setting their roots and reaching for the sky. After all, competition is fierce, as the forest floor is covered with grass, ivy, burning brush and other broad-leaf shrubbery. These plants, like the sapling, must fight for their share of the moisture below and the sunlight above. Nature will choose only the most robust sprouts—planted perchance in the perfect places—to survive among all the contenders.

Then, even as it grows, the thin-needled spruce must fight with the birch, poplar, ash and elm… each of which are armed with wider leaves, making them able to drink faster those rays that pour down on the forest. The evergreen knows an advantage, too, however; one that will not be apparent until autumn. The change of seasons will send most of the forest into a state of dormancy. Leaves will be shed, grasses will turn brown and lie down… leaving a greater share of sunshine to the conifer, even though the days grow shorter and the nights longer with the approach of winter.

While other trees sleep, the evergreens make their move, which is one of the reasons Jack Pine, Blue Spruce and Douglas-fir trees so dominate many northern forests. Another reason is the sheer efficiency of these knotty pines. Once established, they waste little energy growing limbs at lower levels; little sunlight is to be had there. In a congested forest, they reserve green growth for the highest portion of their canopy, where sunlight is plentiful.

On a walk through the woods, you will see many small, lifeless trees… whose browned needles have withered in the shadow of more successful, mature, majestic trees. And, you will see giant pines whose branches have gone bare or broken. Birds that once used the tree as a nesting place now chop and peck at its trunk for sap, knowing insects will get caught in the sticky syrup and preserved until mealtime. Eventually, though, these injuries become a place for grubs and disease to enter, and the weakened tree can only wait for a strong wind to knock it over, where it can melt into the forest floor.

Again, nature has made her selection. But it is nothing to worry about... as the opening in the woods will be taken by one of a million sprouts, as another game begins.

.

© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

Putting me in my place

Summer 2010 ~

I stepped outside, onto the deck, to start a fire on the grill. As I lifted the cover, something underneath jumped up—even hitting the side of my hand—and then leapt off the stove to the deck floor, rolled-over the side, onto the ground and down the hill… all before I could even tell what it was. Finally, the little fuzzball came to rest at the top of a small tree stump, glancing back at me to offer what seemed like a dirty look. The little speed demon was a chipmunk. The way he darted so quickly before looking back to sneer at me, it was obvious that he was no less startled than I.

What a gutsy little critter, I thought! Climbing up on the porch and into the grill, licking the grill pan where fat drippings are caught, snooping for something to eat… and then probably dozing-off beneath the vinyl cover of the stove, where he was protected himself from his enemies and the elements. What a courageous vermin!

At first, I thought how daring this little critter was to intrude on my space. But then, looking around at this secluded cabin, in the woods, near the lake… I realized the converse was true. It was I who was the intruder in his place.

© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.

Making do

Summer 2010 ~

The forest is a great competition, to be sure, but to suggest that only the strong survive would be to over-simplify the situation. As evidence, I offer the mushroom. Content to survive on the ruins of the fallen, mushrooms can survive—indeed, thrive—on little more than rotting leaves and tree limbs, moisture and soil. From this modest diet, they gain adequate strength to push their way clear of the pine cones and needles that concealed them as they sprouted. Very impressive.

And I don’t even like mushrooms.

© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.