Kena, the newest Munger.
Vacation. I needed it. Some of you who are loyal CRP blog readers know that the business end of the book world has been eating away at me over the past couple years. I didn’t go into this gig to become famous, or rich, or to get my name up in lights. I wrote, and write, well, because I can’t not write. A poor sentence but one that’s as true as the day is long. So here I am with two weeks off, knocking out a blog on a 85 degree day, the sweat falling from my forehead onto the keyboard in my writing studio due to the heat and humidity in equal measure, a fan blowing like the devil, stirring up hot, still air to little effect. Where to begin?
Let’s start with the new black lab pup, shall we? Her name is Kena (which we are pronouncing Keena, though if we were true to the Celtic roots of the name, it would be pronounced Kenna). Anyway, since my sons Matt and Chris and I hunt pheasants every year in Ashley, North Dakota and since Matt’s yellow Lab Lexie has had a tough go of it the past couple of years (too much territory for one dog to cover), I have been on the make for a new hunting partner of the four footed variety. Oh, we have three other dogs around our place but not a one of them is a retriever or pointer, attributes that come in handy for ducks, pheasants, and grouse. Fortuitously, our youngest son Jack’s school bus driver has a female black Lab and had AKC pups for sale. Jack and I took a gander at the ten little Labs when they were still on the teat and fell in love. With all of them. Kena was the only female left when it was time to choose a pup and she came home shortly before the 4th of July. Since then, I’ve been getting up at 5:00am to make sure she’s out of her kennel before she poops or pees. It’s workng. Mostly. At least she’s sleeping from ten at night to five in the morning. But man, I forgot how much work a puppy can be! On the positive side, she’s not gun shy, seems to have a very active nose, and loves to swim. Again, all good attributes if you’re being asked to chase game birds for a living. I’ll start her on obedience training shortly and then, maybe some field training as well. Hope springs eternal in the eyes of Labrador owner.
With two weeks off, you might think I’d spend my time fishing or biking or traveling. Plans were made along those lines but circumstances changed, preventing Rene’, Jack, and I from going away for the duration of my time off. It’s for the best. When you have 53 acres of forest, lawn, pasture, and gardens to take care of, and, for the past decade, you’ve been chasing your tail as a self-published author running over hill and dale to sell books at summer festivals, well, let’s just say there’s some catching up to do around this place in terms of maintenance. The first major project of my time off was the demolition of our rose bed. I wrote a piece last year about weeding the roses. Two brutal days of thorns, sweat, swearing, and marginal success. Over the winter, Rene’ and I talked about having Lakehead Trucking come in with a back hoe and pull out the roses so we could plant some shrubs and trees and end our annual battle with the roses. So, a few Saturdays ago, I pulled out all the sandstone around the garden and stacked the stones for reuse. Then Lance from Lakehead came in and removed every last bit of rosy evidence from the place. Trust me; no tears were shed when the roses vacated. Rene’ and I then double-teamed the topsoil Lance left behind, shoveling dirt into a wheelbarrow and carting it across the lawn to the old rose bed. After the dirt work, Rene’ put in landscape matting, cut holes and planted trees, placed wood chips over the fabric, and put the sandstone back in place. It was a long and physically taxing process. But it was only the beginning of Rene’s garden improvements to the place. The roses conquered, my wife set about tearing out the grass surrounding our concrete patio. When Rene’ hit topsoil, she added dirt, rolled out landscaping fabric, planted shrubs, covered the matting with wood chips, and finished her creation with black plastic edging. I did some carting and wheeling of topsoil to the site but the vast majority of the work was done by my way too energetic wife.
Russian berries, 2013
My wife is the landscaper, the flower gardener. She also, when called upon, works in the vegetable garden. In years past, when I’ve been on the road hawking books, she’s enlisted our sons to plant the vegetable garden in my absence. But this year, I’ve been primarily responsible for the plot. There was the first tilling just before Memorial Day. The planting of the seeds and started plants around June 1st. Then waiting, fingers crossed, that the whole damn thing wasn’t doused with buckets of rain (last year the entire garden was under water for much of June) or touched by the last frost of spring (it’s happened at our place as late as June 10th). This year was another wet June. The corn never germinated. The beans remained dormant. But most of the other plants; the carrots, the squash, the pumpkins, the potatoes, the onions, the tomatoes, and the peppers seemed to weather the storms. With as short a growing season as we have in the Cloquet River Valley, I wasn’t about to try and germinate corn after losing two weeks’ time. So I replaced failed corn with another row of tomatoes. The beans? I filled that row in with more squash, melon plants, and pumpkins. But with all the rain we’ve had, it’s a toss up as to whether the garden will produce bounty or only yield a wee bit at harvest time. That’s one thing you learn by having a vegetable garden. You appreciate the vagaries of what real farmers, folks who live off the land, experience. We hobby farmers don’t know the half of it. Our welfare isn’t tied to whether wheat germinates or corn pollinates or puddles in the fields recede in time for planting. But at least I have a basic understanding of how it all works.
Things are way behind out here in the Valley. Normally, our Russian berry bushes are ready to pick towards mid-June. I picked the big bowel shown above yesterday, July 17th, a full month after when I should be picking. The raspberries and black raspberries are no where near ready. The blueberries? Still green. The gooseberries? Slowly ripening. But the rest of the plants in the garden look darn good. We’ve been blessed this year, once the deluge of early June abated, with steady moisture and recently, with hot, humid conditions. When I look at the newly weeded rows of plants, their leaves shiny and uplifted to the blazing July sun, I am content.
Looks like it will be a good year.
After pulling weeds in 93 degree heat, I joined my wife and our friend, Sue Salveson, for a float from the Island Lake Dam down the river to our house. Despite all the hot weather, the river is up and running cold. No more than 66-68 degrees at best. Chilly when clouds cover the sun but refreshing when you’re sweltering, which we were. I spent the better part of an hour trying to inflate flotation devices stored under our screen porch. In the end, I was able to find one lounge chair and two inner tubes that held air. Rene’ had to buy another floatie from the Minno-ette before we could begin our voyage. The rapids below the dam were brisk and frisky. The float usually takes a good hour and a half. It took less than an hour with the weight of the recent rains behind us. Lounging on old inner tubes, I managed to sunburn my belly and legs but a sweet southern wind kept the mosquitoes (of which there are legion after the rains) and biting flies (fewer in number but far more persistent) at bay for most of the trip. A quick dip at the end of the line and we were in the house, dressing to meet Sue’s husband Dave at the Blue Max Resort for early dinner.
Rene’ at Lester Park
Later that day, after saying our goodbyes to Sue and Dave, we drove our youngest son Jack and his buddy Nathan to Lester River to swim. Given that there’s a deeper, colder, faster river running by our back door, I think the venture had more to do with teenage girls in bikinis (we don’t have any of those in our backyard!) than swimming per se. But never-the-less, we toted the boys to town. After dropping the boys at Lester Park, we drove off to do errands. When we came back, Rene’ and I decided to take a gander. We’ve both been residents of Duluth for more than 50 years each and yet, inexplicably, neither of us has ever walked around Lester Park. We were amazed at the place’s beauty. Hidden right in the city, there are trees and rock formations, and rivers, and wildlife worthy of wilderness. Who’d have thought?
Amity Creek Falls, Lester Park
Kids swimming at “The Deeps”, Amity Creek
Rene’ and white pine, Lester Park
Bordered by Lester River and Amity Creek, the place was packed with kids and parents and grandparents trying to beat the swelter. There were cliff dives being made that would curdle the blood of any sane parent. Adolescent romances blossomed beneath the thick cedar and pine canopy. And shouts of joy rang throughout narrow canyons carved into billion-year old rock. It made me want to go swimming. Which is just what I did after we dropped Nathan off at his house.
Here’s to another week of vacation and hoping your gardens grow, your children smile, and you and your loved ones stay safe.
Peace.
Mark
Mark at Lester Park
