Death and Birth

Our trip to the north was only partly for the pleasure of camping.

Yesterday, we were at Spooner, Wisconsin for the military service for Gary's brother-in-law whose ashes were interred at one of Wisconsin's military cemeteries. It was a short but moving service with the usual volley of rifles fire, the playing of “Taps” and the presentation of the flag to Tony's daughter.

Tony was a Marine who served in Vietnam. He came back with a hearty but undiagnosed dose of what would later be called post traumatic stress syndrome. Agent Orange took its toll as well. But he was served well by the Veterans Association in the end and by the Marines who laid him to rest.

After the service Tony's family went to a rented condo at the edge of Lac Courte d'Oreilles. They were setting out food when someone shouted “Bear!” We went out on the second story deck and looked down. A mother bear was wandering along the shoreline with her cub. Cameras came out but none of us was foolish enough to go down for a closer shot.

It was not the only baby photo taken. A few days earlier, Gary came across a herd of elk cows and calves, and took an amusing photo of one of the calves.

Back at the campground, we sit in the pit toilet provided by the forest service and through the opaque glass watch the shadow of a robin mama preparing a nest on the window ledge.

Even in the midst of death, life goes on all around us.

Day Lake

The loons have arrived at Day Lake. They shriek their lonely cries at night. The Canada geese start our day with their honking. Later, the eagles call. This is the way we start our day in the Chequamegon National Forest.

Gary has been at this campground since May 18. Most of the time he was alone because it was cold and rainy. He didn't care, he was in the forest. I had too much to do back in Seymour, so only arrived here yesterday.

Day Lake is not our usual campground. There are 52 sites and over a nice Memorial Day weekend it would be packed with campers, but with cold and rain forecast it might be quieter. Usually, we look for a small campground that doesn't allow ATVs or motorized boats. Day Lake was Gary's choice because it was easy to get to. Most of the out of the way spots we cherish have roads that haven't been improved yet this spring. We'll save those for late summer and fall.

It was cold last night, with a forecast of 23 degrees. We don't think it got that cold but we bundled up anyhow. I slept as I always do in the forest, a deep deep and satisfying slumber.

Gary and I have different ideas about camping. He is a pack rat who considers every gadget a necessity. Me, I like simplicity. I will have a pop up tent on my summer tour. Still, I must admit that it was nice to have a furnace on a night that cold.

This weekend there's an ATV rally so we have ATV neighbors. I'm never sure why anyone would want to ride with a group of dozens of other ATVs. It would be far too noisy to see any wildlife, just the trees. Certainly Gary has not seen any elk since they arrived. But then I seem to have the wrong idea about camping. Camping means quiet for me.

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However, the ATV rally was meant to be last week but was rained out. Now it is scheduled for Sunday when we can expect a lot more rain. I am one of the few Wisconsinites who is praying for a deluge.

Inventory

I've been working like a maniac all week, getting the gardening done so I could go camping today.

Tonight, there's a frost warning and much of what I've done could be undone by Mother Nature.  With that in mind I went out to take photographs of what is in bloom.  

There are still tulips.  The red, yellow, white and orange varieties are gone, leaving the purples. By the time I get back they will be done as well, but in the foliage around them I see dame's rocket and lupines waiting to take their turn.

The miniature iris I fondly call "Little Blue" broke out yesterday promising things to come.  By Tuesday, most of the big irises will be blooming, standing tall and proud.  Beyond Little Blue the foliage says that sedum, lilies and creeping phlox are coming along.  

Behind the pump that keeps the water fresh for the birds all I can see is work to do.  The gazebo, the apple tree bed, the wildflower gardens all need work that must be done when I return. 

But there is also the greenery that forecasts roses, poppies, and trumpet vine.   

Let Mother Nature do her worst.   She also does her best.   

More Rain

Today the rain drove me out of the gardens.  They'll have to wait now, because tomorrow I join Gary at Day Lake in the Chequamegon National Forest.  He left last week to get an early start.  I had to stay behind to direct the choir one more time and work on the gardens.  Now it seems we could have frost tomorrow night, and who knows if everything will freeze?

It sounds like rain and more rain over the Memorial Day weekend.  It is likely we will just be snuggled in the camper instead of wandering through the forest, but just the same, I will enjoy this time away.   We each find a cozy corner and settle in with good books to read.  I'll have the laptop so I can work on various writing projects.

I can expect to see some of the elk who wander around the campground. We can expect to see bears and other critters.  There is a loon working the lake, too. We'll find entertainment any way we can.

What is, is.

At the Cemetery

Today, another yearly ritual.  I put geraniums, petunias and dusty miller on my parents' and and my sister's graves for Memorial Day.  

It's too early really, I would usually do this the day before, but this year, Gary and I will be in Spooner at a military cemetery where his brother-in-law's ashes are to be interred.  We'll meet his family there on Friday and then we'll camp for a few days.

As I worked up the ground, I looked across the fields and thought how my father selected these sites because they were adjacent to prime Wisconsin farmland.  In the distance, I could see a farmer on his tractor working the fields.  Sadly though, after he bought the lots, a golf course was built across the way, so now the plots overlook a parking lot.  The trees that should shade this area came down a few years ago.  Now the graves are open to the sun all day.  No, it is unlikely those flowers will last the summer.  It would require someone to water them almost every day to keep them fresh, and I won't be around.

To make it worse, frost is possible in the coming few days, so what I planted may not even survive a week, but then it was memories that were  the important thing, not the flowers themselves.

Down the row are my aunt and uncle, my grandparents, and my great-grandparents. There are the graves of two little boys, each who died at the age of six, one from sickness, the other from an accidental drowning. The same age as my grandson, I think.  Somewhere I have a photo of Erwin, a beautiful blond child.

There's my sister who died at the age of 42.  Then there are the three empty spaces that could be filled by one of my siblings, or, I suppose, me.

Sounds morbid, but in fact, I always have a sense of serenity as I do this work.  In the fall, it will be red tulip bulbs that I plant.  On Christmas Eve, there's a candle to light the graves. The seasons pass, time goes on, and I do this work, thinking about those that went before.  

Remembrance.  Sweet.  

Wild Asparagus

Even with an asparagus bed in the back yard,  I still do a Euell Gibbons and go out "stalking the wild asparagus."   It is so much better than the tame variety.  I never understood why until a resident in a nursing home explained it to me.  "Dear, it's because it grows exactly where it wants to."

This morning the robins and the cat woke me up early.  With no clouds in the sky, it was a good time to take a walk down the trail to my favorite spots.  I came home with a bag full of asparagus, but also loaded with information.  Yes, the rose-breasted grosbeak is nesting just past the bridge over the Little Henry, Seymour's creek.  Bloodroot and marsh marigolds are done for the season, but the wild geranium and false Solomon are now in bloom. In spite of the rainy weather we've had lately, there were no rare morels to be found, but there was catnip to bring home for Rascal.  He spent the next few hours stoned.

Once a fellow told me that HE had been picking asparagus along the trail for eight years and perhaps I should look elsewhere.  Poor man, I had to explain to him that my grandparents moved into town from the farm  the year I was born.  My grandfather quickly found the asparagus patches along what was then the rail line. Later when my father bought a farm adjacent to the tracks, he began to get his asparagus there, too.  Before he died, he took me along on his excursions and showed me where all the patches were.

Eight years?  Nothing compared to decades.  

Someday I hope to take Evan along and show him the secret spots I tell no one else about.

On the Hill

On the west end of Seymour at Rock Ledge Park is the sledding hill.  In any snow day, one can see dozens of children trudging up the hill for the thrill of sliding down.  For a time, my parents had a house just across High Street where they could watch their grandchildren play.

In the summer and fall, the hill  is a place for people to walk their dogs.  We used to take our Australian shepherd Jake there because we could sit at the top of the hill and throw his Frisbee down slope for him to catch. Running up and down the hill was a great way to wear out a rambunctious herd dog. When we took him for his last walk, it was here we came.  We had tears in our eyes, knowing the next stop for the old dog would be the vet's.

It is in the spring that the hill is in its glory, for when the wind is from the right direction and blowing steady, it becomes the kite hill. There are no power lines, fences or trees to trap the kite.  Not even Charlie Brown could tear up a kite here.

Today, Chris, Tisha, and Evan took me to the hill to fly a dragon kite.  Chris got the kite up without any trouble and Evan had a turn, but they both lost interest.  In these days of computer game excitement why would they care about something that went up and stayed up in the steady wind.

Me, I have a love affair with kites. Yes, it goes up and stays up, but isn't that comforting?  I took the string and sat looking up at the blue sky on a perfect spring day.  

I remembered all the kites I've flown over the years from the box kites of newspaper my father made for us on the farm, to the kites we flew over Lake Michigan in Chicago in the 1960's, to the kites I flew with Chris on this same hill when he was a boy.  And now I was with his son.

That hill has so many memories.  Add one more.