Bacon

You hear a lot about bacon these days. Bacon ice cream, chocolate covered bacon… I’d go on but I’m already a little sick thinking about it. I don’t eat what people consider real bacon in any form. So today I had to cook thick slab pork bacon for my employer and she said it was perfect.  Not sure how to feel about that.

You can even find a recipe for marijuana bacon, although it has a disclaimer that it is not designed to encourage illegal activity but for medicinal use. It is billed as “two of your favorite things together” and the video is made by a charming lady named Watermelon. (???) Chances are I won’t be asked to cook that since one of the main ingredients is still illegal in Florida.

Oh, the things you can find on the internet.  

"those who live quietly in the land"

A phrase from a book I’m reading, “those who live quietly in the land”, and I’m wondering if that is me.  I have my own brand of adventure and I do challenge my limits from time to time just to see if they’re still there, but overall I am kind of quiet.  I abhorr politics, arguing with people, or even watching other people argue with each other.  There is something about the tone of voice people take on in those instances which makes me want to run away and be quiet. I would rather just listen to the silliest person on earth than try to argue them out of their position. 

There are those who “live loudly in the land” and probably influence the opinions of millions of listeners.  Most of my opinions are formed in the garden while pulling weeds or by myself, reading, or one on one with someone who has the time to speak into my problems.  I love listening to quiet.  It has a wonderful calming effect.  I am not Oprah, or Hillary or Beth Moore or Dana or Condi or…  and that is probably not going to change anytime soon. I am asked to be content with who I am.  I’m just saying there are times when I wonder why I am not a stronger voice for the things I hold precious.

Cat Takeover

I think cats are trying to take over the world. They are making headway, mostly in places where they are not viewed as food.  I personally know of several bands of feral cats in my own hometown. My haircut lady is a champion of feral cats, a cat rescuer. Every time I go for a cut we talk about how many cats she was able to bring to the spay/neuter clinic that month. However, there is another place where cat rescuing is in higher gear than here and that is Jacksonville, Florida. 

This haven for feral cats is where Julia Dietz, D.V.M., one of my daughters, has chosen to live. As she was searching for a home there, her first mention of the place she now lives went kind of like this. “It’s at the end of a mile long, unpaved drive and is flanked on two sides by a nature preserve. The landlord lives next door and she has a cat rescue operation. She feeds about 70 cats at her back door each evening. They live in the woods.” “You won’t be living there”, I thought to myself. Wrong.

Last week as we were helping her move in I snapped a few pictures of cats as they sat about, ran in and out of the house, and lurked in the shrubbery. We have since found out that there probably aren’t as many as 70 cats, all but one have been fixed, and that the landlord is indeed serious about the problem of feral cats and is politically active and persuing legislation that will benefit the poor creatures.  She feeds them on a picnic table in Julie’s yard. Her name is Jennifer but I like to call her “cat lady” because it sounds crazy fun and a little demented (like Spider Man or Ninja Turtle…). And to add to the craziness we have also met a family a few miles away – the wife also feeds a whole bunch of feral cats.  I think it’s a favorite pastime of Jacksonville animal lovers.  Maybe it is wise to make friends with cats… before the takeover.



although they look right at home, neither of them are Julie’s




spooky cat, one of many




the daily cat picnic




nearly invisible yellowcat jumping in bushes



Round Lake

I grew up on a small farm in northern Wisconsin – a place where  nature is not all that friendly to farmers.  Summers are short and cool, winters are seem endless with lots of snow and cold weather.  The area is kept alive by tourism and is a playground for hunters, fishermen, outdoor sports enthusiasts and others who just want to get away from the larger cities in Wisconsin and nearby Minnesota.  I is a land of lakes and I have been on many of them, but my favorite is Round Lake.  Others will say the same.

A road winds past my childhood home, around a small pond and climbs a wooded hill. I spent a lot of time looking at that hill from the front yard and from my second story bedroom window.  At some early point I must have seen some people on horseback riding up the hill at a gallop because I recollect a romantic notion of there being a castle up there waiting for knights to arrive on their steeds.  My family later became friends with the people on the hill since they had children close to our ages.  The hill became Kendall’s Hill and we also came to know their cousins who did indeed visit them on horseback.

For some reason today I started thinking about that hill and the nearby geography and wondered why I had never thought of it in the bigger picture before.  The centerpiece of it, to me, is a beautiful, deep, spring fed lake with a very unimaginative name – Round Lake.  Parts of it might be kind of round, but I would never have named it that.  In many places it has a very rugged, high and steep coastline. People owning those pieces of lakeshore have their log cabins that we can see through the pine trees and long stairs zig zagging down the bank to their boatdocks.

There is another outstanding feature of the lake and that is a peninsula of high ground that circles out into the lake and back toward the shore.  It had to have been connected at one time because there is a sand bar across the narrow space where it doesn’t connect. It has to be dredged for boats to safely cross into Hinton Bay. Hinton Bay, by the way, is almost perfectly round and maybe that’s the part someone was looking at when they named the lake. I would love to know what kind of geologic activity has gone on to form this lake, and its surrounding hills.  I know there was a lot of glacial activity that gouged out some pretty crazy river beds and valleys and  left a lot of rocks of various sizes. Once I found a fairly large Lake Superior red agate in the lake so I’m suspecting a relationship with the Great Lakes chain.

But there are also some fairly flat lands where people have attempted to farm, as my family did.  The pond between my house and the hill had a couple of springs that were probably fed from the same underground reservoir that feeds the lake. We children who skated on the pond in the winter were always afraid to go too near those places we could tell had frozen over last. The pond has gradually become more marshy and filled in with sediment – it may disappear someday but I probably won’t be alive to see it.

Last month I visited the hill and took another one of many pictures, looking out over the pond to my old home. I’m always hit with nostalgia at the view. What a privilege it was to grow up in such a beautiful place. I spent many years drinking that clear, cold well water and eating food grown in that soil so it’s pretty safe to say it is in my bones. I will always be “from” Round Lake and Hayward, Wisconsin.

 

my old home from the castle on the hill

 

Reader, blogger, and essayist Andrea Badgley is collecting “Show Us Your State” stories for her Andrea Reads America website. Submission guidelines are here if you would like to participate.

Happy, not good.

There have been many times when my spiritual parent has demonstrated his point to me by giving me something in the physical realm that is similar to what’s going on spiritually. In the spiritual, he is my parent and I am the child with whom he wants to have a relationship. In the physical, I am a parent with children with whom I want to have a good relationship. What do I want from them? Frequent, meaningful, honest communication. The opportunity to know their needs and respond in love. To bond with them through sharing the highs and the lows of life. I want to know them and I want them to know me. Anything less involves some degree of emotional pain.

Is this a mirror of what my spiritual parent wants from me? Probably so. And seeing it that way gives me a better idea of how to be a happy spiritual child. I say “happy”  instead of “good” because it is not about being good in order to please someone. 

All those things I want from my children are not in order to burden them with obligations that they will feel guilty about if they don’t comply.  I want to know their honest feelings because they will be healthier and wiser about themselves if they express them.  I want to know their needs in case I am able to fill the need. I want to bond with them so they won’t ever feel alone or unknown. I want them to know me so they will realize how much they are like me, how often I have felt what they feel (and survived) and how much I love them. I want these things from them (and for them) so they will be happy, not good. 

A Mysterious Blog Healing

It is so very interesting that for the last two weeks I have been unable to post anything on this blog. The technical problem seems to be gone at the moment but I suppose it could reoccur at any moment – it did once before.  I’m amazed at how it left me not knowing how to get rid of all the things I wanted to say.  I’m no longer inclined to write long hand in a journal, although I suppose I would get used to it again if I had to.  When writing online there is that sense that I am sharing words with a community even though I rarely hear from anyone. I think that increases the cathartic effect.

The week spent in Wisconsin was very worthwhile (and fun) but I’ve almost forgotten what I wanted to write about it. One significant happening was that our family decided to split the costs of one of my brother’s condos, right next to my parents.  It will be available for any of us who want to visit without having to impose on the parents, and for those of us who need more room when we visit for a longer period of time. The husband was with me on this trip and I think we both came away with the feeling that we would like to be up there more often.  We just have to figure out how to extricate ourselves from the workplace without losing our jobs. Might be a problem, but then again…. 

I spent a few days in Gainesville before leaving for Wisconsin. Since getting back, most of the days that I haven’t had to work I’ve been helping the Florida daughter move from Gainesville to Jacksonville. Moving is messy business and no one should have to do it alone. The more help, the better.  Of course Julie worked harder and longer than anyone else but I was glad I got to contribute.  I now have memorized directions to her new house and have a mental picture of her living space (as well as digital pictures).  There is a lot to be said about the place.  Her horses and mine also have new stomping grounds and a nice gentleman cowboy to watch over them as they enjoy his 70 acres of pasture.  Julie has had a couple days of work since moving – a relief for her I’m sure.

And now, perhaps this post is long enough and I should see if I can post a picture without losing the ability to write text.  This is a picture of our first pizza meal at Julie’s new house after a hard day of hauling boxes and furniture. 

fiercely attacking food

Old Barns

Old barns symbolize a vanishing way of life and Wisconsin is full of them.  I see them often and if I’m driving I sometimes give in to a “sudden leaving of the road” impulse and try to get some pictures.  I grew up on a farm with a beautiful old barn and spent many hours playing and working in the hay loft, whitewashing the walls on the ground floor, sweeping the center aisle, cleaning out the watering cups and the gutters and milking the cows stanchioned in rows along the barn’s length.  Those of us with memories like these are becoming fewer in number and soon the barns will be gone too.  The one I grew up loving started leaning back in the 70’s and finally blew over in a storm in the 80’s. 

My grandfather’s farm, which is now owned by my brother, has a barn which is still standing – probably because my grandfather was forever scaring his wife by going up to put tin on the roof.  The tin kept the wood from getting wet and rotting, and the basic structure of the barn is pretty solid.  It has beautifully weathered wood full of color and texture and the old pieces of tin make the roof look like a patchwork quilt.  It is one of our favorite backdrops for photos.  A number of them are framed in an old window that is hanging on my wall and was a subject of a previous blog post (See “Tribute to a Barn” 11/6/2012).  These are some new shots that I took this year.

On my motorcycle ride with my brother Bob (during the recent reunion) we passed another old barn that was painfully picturesque. I say painfully because I was almost afraid it might collapse while I was looking at it.  I was able to get my Dad to go back with me and find the farm, and now it will at least be preserved in photo memory.  Dad remembered the farm belonging to a pair of batchelor brothers a long time ago but it was abandoned, gated and posted. ( Don’t tell anyone I climbed through the gate to get these pics.) 



initial view from the road




especially love the doors and hinges



unusual lines even before it started leaning





if walls could talk, the stories these would tell…















rustic beauty, daisies and old wood










a barn you don’t want to spend much time in








a roof that could have used some tin…





Dad, waiting for me to quit trespassing






Adventure?

Why do we like adventure? What is it about something just a tad dangerous that makes it so appealing? I have my theories.  There are numerous things I have no longing to do – skydiving being one of them, just for instance.  There are many other things that are slightly out of the box that I love to do.  They are very tame, actually, and sometimes I hesitate to call them adventures because I’m afraid real adventure seekers will laugh.  But children who are just starting out are almost always impressed with my adventures and that is where this particular adventure began.

I call it the Peninsula walk/swim tradition for obvious reasons. We take a walk along a road to the tip of a peninsula, then we walk a narrow sand bar toward the opposite shore and when we get to a boat channel where the water is deeper we swim to a boat landing.  The whole trip takes in a circle of about three miles, I’m guessing.   The original walk/swim was an adventure planned for my neices and nephews years ago and it’s been repeated almost every year since because it is a good way to keep in touch with an area of Wisconsin that I have always loved.  Sometimes it’s just one or two of us there on vacation and other times more join in.

The only reason it’s an adventure is that not too many people think of doing it.  Sometimes it’s more adventurous because the water is extremely cold or the weather is bad.  The walking part is never too big a deal but when we reach the end of the road and take the path down through the gnarled and weather beaten trees on the tip of the peninsula it gets interesting.  We stop to take off our shoes, socks and any other clothing that we don’t want to wear wet.  Watches, cell phones, money – all have to go in a water tight zip lock bag along with the clothing.  Then we wade out.  The depth of the water varies and there are places with rocks that are slippery and potentially hurtful.  As we get near the boat channel the water gets darker and deeper (slight adrenalin rush) until we have to swim, holding our bags aloft with one hand.  Twenty five feet later we can suddenly touch bottom again and the adventure is all but over. 

This process has been perfected over the years. The first year with the children it actually was a little scary (and I had to carry most of the shoes and clothing).  Now we are old hands at it, although often there is a newbie with us who doesn’t quite know what to expect.  This year participants were me, my nephew Evan, my brothers Bob and Gary and my daughter Esther (her husband came along to observe but was on the verge of a sore throat. He viewed the route by car). It was great fun and makes me happy just remembering it. Here are some photographs which I had taken as proof.



The men of the trip




What I have to do to get in a picture.




Fashionable walk/swim attire




My bros leading the way




Just across the channel after the swim



The real adventure is swimming with one of these bags in your hand, just sayin’…



Mysterious masked swimmer (Evan) about to intrude