With clear skies above us, we thought we would dispense with the rain fly. We unzipped the tent's windows and doors leaving only the equivalent of a screen tent. Gary set up the rain fly so we could pop it on at any sign of rain, but it proved unnecessary. We needed no privacy, the only other campers were on the other side of the campground.
From time to time, one of us would wake up to look out over the lake for northern lights but the sky was mostly clouded over so no such luck.
Next morning, we looked up to see the sun shining through the trees.
On such a sweet morning, it was almost impossible to get out of bed. Gary took up his cell phone and played a song he had recorded, "Gentle Arms of Eden," by Dave Carter.
This is my home, this is my only home,
This is the only sacred ground that I have ever known.
And I should I stray in the dark night lone
Rock me goddess in the gentle arms of Eden.
Somehow we managed to leave our paradise, packed up and headed west again on Highway 2.
At Duluth, I told stories at an assisted living facility. It was the usual performance, well received, and then we were off again, this time on Highway 61 along Lake Superior. I watched the shore, thinking about the Oregon Coast. Superior is not quite as grand, but still beautiful. It is a world treasure, one of the last great sources of fresh water.
We wound up at the Cascade River Minnesota State Park. Here we have access to flush toilets and showers, and really, the campsite isn't bad. The problem is that the campsites around us are all filled, on one side with giggling girls. Immature eagles are more interesting than immature girls, sorry to say.
So we will take our showers tonight and enjoy them, but think wistfully about Lake Wanoka.
From time to time, one of us would wake up to look out over the lake for northern lights but the sky was mostly clouded over so no such luck.
Next morning, we looked up to see the sun shining through the trees.
We could hear the eagle fledges calling to their parents, begging to be fed, but Mama and Papa Eagle were wise, letting the children fend for themselves, but watching them to make sure they were going to be all right. It was eagle graduation up there.
From my side of the bed I could look down at the lake, way below our perch on the bluff.
This is my home, this is my only home,
This is the only sacred ground that I have ever known.
And I should I stray in the dark night lone
Rock me goddess in the gentle arms of Eden.
At Duluth, I told stories at an assisted living facility. It was the usual performance, well received, and then we were off again, this time on Highway 61 along Lake Superior. I watched the shore, thinking about the Oregon Coast. Superior is not quite as grand, but still beautiful. It is a world treasure, one of the last great sources of fresh water.
We wound up at the Cascade River Minnesota State Park. Here we have access to flush toilets and showers, and really, the campsite isn't bad. The problem is that the campsites around us are all filled, on one side with giggling girls. Immature eagles are more interesting than immature girls, sorry to say.
So we will take our showers tonight and enjoy them, but think wistfully about Lake Wanoka.
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