July 29

What’s left behind

New Dr. Seuss book, What Pet Should I Get?, (photo CNN)
New Dr. Seuss book, What Pet Should I Get?, (photo CNN)

Long lost treasures

The excitement surrounding yesterday’s release of the latest Dr. Seuss book, “What Pet Should I Get?”  Got me to thinking about what happens with your stuff after you die.  If you are Theodor Geisel (aka Dr. Seuss) then everyone gets really excited and you get published nearly a quarter of a century after your passing.  For the rest of us, however, this is probably not the case.

I hate to admit…

The youngest grandchild who will never remember her grandparents
The youngest grandchild who will never remember her grandparents

 

That my consideration of post-mortem “stuff” can be attributed to what I consider my preoccupation with death.  It’s not to the pathological extreme in which my entire day is spent contemplating death and dying, but thanks to my firsthand experience with the matter, it’s not something that is all that easily ignored either.

I am only in my early 40s (hold on, I had to think for a minute only to remember that yes, I am a year older than I thought – DARN!).  Regardless, I am still relatively young to have already lost both of my parents.

My parents informed me…

Nearly 20 years ago that I would be the executor of their estate when they died, which at that time I thought was something far far in the future.  When they shared this information with me, I was in my early 20s and burst out laughing.  “Me?!?! You’ve got to be kidding!!!”  I remember discussing the details of this new information with them over lunch, and they helped me to understand why I was chosen for this role.

Less than 5 years after learning of my responsibilities, my Dad was gone.  Then, 10 years later, my mother took an 8-months-pregnant me all around the house showing me where “important” papers and files were located.  She was due to have surgery, and I suppose, was covering her bases.  I only half-listened to her on that October day as I didn’t figure this was information I was going to need just yet.

I was wrong.  Mom never made it out of the hospital, and I had to patch together what I remembered to handle a lifetime’s worth of “important” paperwork.  While I have yet to come across any unpublished manuscripts like Audrey Geisel did in 1993 and again in 2013, I did unearth any number of loose ends that needed tying up.

My mother was meticulously organized which made the difficult job of taking over where she left off just a bit easier.  However, even if you live to be 142, it is still quite likely that there will be something left unfinished.

Legacy in progress

Now as I look forward on my own life with a personal view of its finite nature, I wonder what will happen with my “stuff.”  I have thousands of pictures on my hard drive.  Will anyone ever see them?  I have first drafts of novels I wrote years ago that I haven’t even read.

If I died tomorrow all my “stuff” would likely matter very little to most everyone but those very closest to me, and even they might resent having to go through it all.  So in life while I still have whatever time God gave me at my creation I must endeavor to scale back to only the stuff that really matters.

As far as the rest of it, if I live a life that matters that’s the most important “stuff” I can leave behind for those who follow.

 

June 9

While we argue they are still hungry

This is what I shared on Facebook
This is what I shared on Facebook

Ok, so I knew this might stir things up…

I recently shared this post from Occupy Democrats on my Facebook book page.  The subsequent dialog that resulted from this was both entertaining and disturbing.  It was entertaining in that I began to think that if this exchange was taking place in “real life” rather than “cyber land” it might actually come to blows.

I appreciated how both sides felt passionate about their argument, however, the argument itself punctuated the fact that we’re missing the point.

Immediately things went partisan

The first comment that appeared after I made this post came in from a friend with whom I went to high school.  Christopher Anderson said, “Yeah…..because empowering the government to STEAL their money through FORCE is much more Christian. Plus, show me a city that has laws against feeding the homeless and I’ll show you a city run by Democrat socialists.”

I took Chris’ comment to be a bit of a challenge.  I decided to look up the cities in question and try to determine their political makeup in an effort to either confirm or refute Chris’ statement.

I learned in an October 2014, report by the National Coalition for the Homeless entitled, “Shame No More: The Criminalization of Efforts to Feed People in Need,” that at the time of the report, Sacramento, CA, Ft. Lauderdale, FL, Houston, TX, Shawnee, OK, Costa Mesa, CA, Manchester, NH, Chico, CA, Olympia, WA, Lake Worth, FL, Columbia, SC, Medford, OR, Raleigh,NC, Hayward, CA, and Daytona Beach, FL, either have property use limitations in place or have legislation for such limitations pending approval (Sacramento and Ft. Lauderdale).

These property use limitations restrict food sharing on public property without a permit.  The interesting thing about this list is that it represents cities are that are known to be heavily liberal, as well as, others that are strongly conservative.

The other methods in place that ultimately restrict food sharing include food safety regulations and relocation actions.  Both of these types of restrictions could be found in both conservative and liberal leaning cities.

From there the argument continued

As my left-leaning friends, Jeremy Kunkel and Rob Lowry, weighed in with their points of view, and Chris continued to share his, it became obvious that while each side made valid points and truly believes his own ideology, the fact remains that there are people who are hungry.  They don’t have the luxury of worrying about whether to be Republican or Democrat, because when you haven’t had anything to eat for days, it’s really the only thing on your mind.

Then I went to church

I initially shared the Occupy Democrats post late Friday night.  The verbal firestorm that ensued went on over the course of the weekend, and on Sunday morning as I was reading the latest, I had to tear myself away in order to get myself and my daughters ready for church.

As happens more often than not for me, Sunday’s sermon seemed to speak directly to what was going on in my life.  For the month of June, we are studying the book of Galatians, so the sermon was in response to the day’s scripture reading,Galatians 1:1-2:21.

“I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel – not that there is another gospel, but there are some who are confusing you and want to pervert the gospel of Christ.” Galatians 1:6-7.

As I thought of my friends arguing over socialist versus capitalist, left versus right, and Democrat versus Republican, I realized that we were all being confused by a different gospel.  Even my original post was confusing the real issue by creating an “us versus them” dynamic.

In Paul’s day it was Gentiles versus Jews and circumcised versus uncircumcised, and they too were missing the point.

The one thing to remember

“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you also love one another. “By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”  John 13:34-35.

With the coming of Jesus we were saved by  Grace, and given this one commandment to follow.  It seems like it should be simple.  It seems like there shouldn’t be any room for misinterpretation.  It seems like feeding the hungry should fall under the umbrella of “loving one another.”

Unfortunately, as was evidenced by my Facebook post (for which I take full responsibility for starting this whole hullaballoo) we flawed humans insist on creating limitations that ultimately keep us from doing God’s work.

We argue about whether the rich should pay more.  We argue about where people can and can’t receive food.  We argue about permits and regulations and tax breaks and all sorts of things that serve man – not God.

No need for argument

If we follow God’s greatest commandment to “Love one another, ” without yielding to the temptation to give His message our own Earthly spin, then there’s really not much left to argue –  is there?

 

May 2

Fleeting brilliance

Inspiration generation

I was greatly inspired yesterday as I ran to the tanning salon to see what they charge for a spray tan.  First of all, I was inspired not to get a spray tan after getting the answer to my question.  (Too much!)  Secondly, I was listening to This American Life which is often inspiring in itself.  Yesterday, I was listening to their rebroadcast of the BBC documentary on William Burroughs that was narrated by Iggy Pop.

I am woefully unread for someone who calls herself a writer.  It’s my problem, and I am working on it.  The first step is admitting you have a problem.  In spite of my general ignorance on the subject of William Burroughs, I found the documentary to be extremely entertaining and inspiring.  I was inspired to read all the great stuff I need to read like Burroughs, Ginsberg, Shakespeare (I wasn’t kidding about the “woefully unread” comment.  How I made it through college with a Teaching English degree is a bit of a mystery).  I was also inspired to come home and write this great new blog post on my takeaway from the documentary.  I didn’t do that though.  I waited and allowed the other nine million things that need done in a day to get in the way of sitting down and writing.  I kept thinking, “Oh, I need to get that down!” but then I would assure myself that it was such a great idea that it would keep.

I was wrong

I got up this morning only to discover that I was wrong in one of two ways (or maybe both).  I could hardly remember what it was that I found so inspiring that I just had to write about it.  The documentary, I recalled, was awesome, but my super special spin on it somehow didn’t seem so super special anymore.  Perhaps it never was.  It was with some considerable effort that I could even recall any of my clever details and insights that yesterday seemed so groundbreaking.

My takeaway

Write it down right away.  If I am lucky enough to feel so inspired in any  moment, I shouldn’t let it get away.  If it’s not important enough to deal with it in the moment, then don’t bother.  It probably never was.  I guess the story of how the documentary made me recall the time my English professor took me to his office and gave me a copy of Jack Kerouac’s, On The Road, will have to wait for another burst of inspiration.

 

May 2

Garden Clippings #2

The bird didn’t flinch as Janelle grew closer and closer. When she was upon him she hesitated a moment imagining a Hitchcock-like eye pecking out, but was pleasantly relieved when the bird sat obediently as if he knew that he has something to deliver. She reached down and unwrapped the paper from his ankle. Once delivered the bird startled both of them by flying back to the rafters, but their mission was accomplished, nonetheless. “Okay let’s see what we have here.” Janelle knew that she should call the James and Joe and wait for them to get to the front of the store before looking, but her anticipation was too much to resist. Mary evidently felt the same way as she huddled near enough to Janelle to see whatever was written on the paper for herself.

“You have been warned. Consider this to be true. God’s creatures are dying, and it’s all because of you. This murder is on your head, watch out or you’ll be the next one dead.”

Janelle dropped the note to the floor and hadn’t even realized that she’d let out the blood curdling scream until James and Joe sprinted to the front of the shop yelling, “What’s happened?” Mary was at her side and gently helping her to the floor and gain her balance. She felt dizzy as if she was about to faint. After a few minutes of Mary gently rubbing her back and saying, “Everything’s going to be all right. We’ll get this sorted out.” Janelle finally felt strong enough to ask, “Why me?” James had the note in hand and was pacing with it. He was agitated by its existence and even more so by the fact that none of them really seemed to know what to do about it. Of course, there should be police involvement, but the more pressing question was “What was the murderous psychopath talking about?” Janelle was no enemy of the planet. She loved all creatures big and small, and did her best to reduce, reuse, recycle and live clean and green. It saddened her that the baby birds had died and she had been the one concerned about the kestrel’s wings when trying to orchestrate its capture. What on Earth perceived violation had she committed?

“You realize that we’re going to have to call the police. “ Joe pointed out, and Janelle could see Mary nod at this. James was still pacing, and now he was muttering and occasionally shaking his fist in the air too. If Janelle didn’t already know that this was how he worked out the difficult questions, she would have thought that perhaps he was the one who was crazy. She finally felt as though she could stand without passing out, and when she got to her feet James stopped his pacing and said, “Let’s call the cops now, before I change my mind.”

April 9

Exciting news! Here’s Garden Clippings #1

Hi everyone, I have decided to occasionally upload excerpts from my new novel.  I thought this would be a fun way to keep myself accountable, as well as, get some feedback from my friends and family (hopefully future readers).

I am sure that most of you have heard the expression, “Write what you know,” so be sure to be looking for things that you might recognize.  As this continues, I will just label the title Garden Clippings and whichever number excerpt it is, and put it in the “Garden Clippings” category (the story is set mainly around the happenings at my main character’s garden store).

So without further delay here is Garden Clippings #1. I hope you enjoy!

Garden Clippings #1

She noticed that her workers all looked like they were dragging.  “Hey guys, I can handle it from here if you all want to clock out and call it a day.”  Mary looked grateful, and Joe looked relieved, but James seemed otherwise.  “I am not going anywhere till we get to the bottom of this.”  Janelle looked all around and was at first confused by what he meant.  “Really James, it’s not a big deal.  I can manage.  You need to get home and feed Daphne and Floyd before they tear the house apart.”  James’ two Siamese cats were beyond what could be considered spoiled, and when their routine was disrupted by even a few minutes, they let their dismay be known by way of random acts of terror throughout James’ home.

April 7

What running a marathon taught me about my latest endeavor

You don’t jump out of bed one day and run 26.2 miles

I can’t say that it’s never been done.  In fact, I am sure that someone out there has done even better than that, but it’s definitely not the typical way of going about it.  I spent roughly 20 years thinking that I should run a marathon, but it was not until I made up my mind that I was doing it, signed up for the race, and adhered to a training program that it actually happened.  I signed up for Grandma’s Marathon five months before race day.  In the days that followed, I trained nearly everyday.  I followed a program, and even when the weather was bad, or I was tired, or I had partied too hard the night before, I ran.  I knew that if I didn’t follow my program, I would face disaster on race day.  I would show up unprepared.

You don’t jump out of bed one day and write a masterpiece

I can’t say that it’s never been done.  In fact, I am sure that someone out there has done even better than that, but it’s definitely not the typical way of going about it.  (Are you beginning to see a trend here?)  I spent more than 20 years thinking that I wanted to be a writer.  In fact, I have known on some level that I wanted to write since I first entered school.  Just as I did with the marathon, I spent many years thinking about it.  When I was thinking about the marathon all those years, all I was doing was thinking.  I was not doing what now seems totally obvious – running.  When I was thinking about writing all those years, all I was doing was thinking.  I was not doing what now seems totally obvious – writing.

Sure there was dabbling along the way…

I worked out here and there logging the occasional mile or two, and I did some writing here or there.  I even spent a couple of years writing for my hometown newspaper – a gig I loved even if I wasn’t demonstrating the attributes of the employee of the month – ever.

Here is the thing though, to get really good at anything in life you have to be all in.  Michael Phelps doesn’t swim a lap or two every other Tuesday.  To become the most decorated Olympian of all time, he swam.  Everyday.  Stephen King’s books take up several shelves at my local Barnes and Noble.  He writes.  Everyday.  The people who succeed in their careers show up and go above and beyond.  Everyday.

Almost anyone can relate to this.  You decide you’re going to lose a “few” pounds, so you make the decision that you are going to diet and exercise.  You don’t make a plan of what you are going to eat everyday, you just try to eat “better.”  You don’t make a plan of what your exercise routine is going to look like, you are just going to “try to get to the gym.”  At the outset, you might lose a pound or two, because you skipped dessert or something, but in no time you have fallen back into your old routines and forgotten all about why you cared about those few pounds anyway.

Benjamin Franklin

“If you fail to plan, you are planning to fail!”

Benjamin Franklin

This pretty much says it all.  The people who lose the weight are the ones who determine how much weight they are going to lose, by when, and what that will take.  They plan what they’re going to eat, so that they can get the groceries, prepare ahead of time, and purge their kitchen of ding dongs.  They schedule their gym time onto their calendars as they would any other appointment, and they stick to it.
I finally learned about planning when I prepared to race.  You don’t “find the time” to go out and get in your 18-mile practice run.  You plan it, and then you do it.  So, in running, I became a runner.

Doing is Being

Ray Bradbury

Doing is being.

To have done’s not enough.

To stuff yourself with doing — that’s the game.

To name yourself each hour by what’s done,

To tabulate your time at sunset’s gun

And find yourself in acts

You could not know before the facts

You wooed from secret self, which much needs wooing,

So doing brings it out,

Kills doubt by simply jumping, rushing, running

Forth to be

The new-discovered me.

To not do is to die,

Or lie about and lie about the things

You just might do some day.

Away with that!

Tomorrow empty stays

If no man plays it into being

With his motioned way of seeing.

Let your body lead your mind –

Blood the guide dog to the blind;

So then practice and rehearse

To find heart-soul’s universe,

Knowing that by moving/seeing

Proves for all time: Doing’s being!

This leads me back to my original point.  I am a writer, because I write.  However, I will never get any better at it, and achieve what I hope to achieve until I follow a plan.  I certainly will never get any better at it if I don’t sit down and write.  I don’t know why practicing my craft has seemed for so long an indulgence rather than a necessity, but thanks to my experience with running, I can more clearly envision the race I am training for now.

 

March 16

Racing headlong into possibility

A pot of coffee with a side of insight…

Saturday morning I was trying to catch up on my email.  I was enjoying my coffee and actually taking time to read all the great things to which I am subscribed.  One such thing was a blog post from Joann Penn, http://www.thecreativepen.com, “Creativity And Entrepreneurship: Lessons Learned By My 40th Birthday.”  I related to what Ms. Penn said, and it gave me an idea for my next post, “What running a marathon taught me about my latest endeavor.”  In the meantime while I am still getting my thoughts in order for that post, I decided to post something I wrote a while back that seemed to segue nicely from one to the other.

My own mid-life “reimagining”

At the age of 40, I decided that it was finally time to run Grandma’s Marathon.  This was on my bucket list since my early 20s, when I worked in Canal Park as a waitress at the Timber Lodge Steakhouse,  and I waited on the runners who were carb-loading for the next day’s race.  These people fascinated me, and I thought they threw a pretty good after-race party too.  I didn’t run track or cross-country in high school.  In fact, I spent many years thinking that being chased by the police was the only reason to run (which I never was btw).

Holy crap!  I am doing this!
Holy crap! I am doing this!

When I turned 40, I felt different.  I felt like it was finally time to really concentrate on doing the things I felt I was meant to do.  Grandma’s Marathon was on that list.  I had run two 5ks up until this point, but I was not really training.  First,I started running and following some training guidelines I found online.  I made the decision to sign up for the race on January 20, 2014, which I only realized after doing so, was the same day that, 3 years earlier, we took my mom off of the ventilator that was keeping her alive.

Somehow my running journey has become a way to do something to honor my parents who both have passed.  Neither of them were runners or athletes in any way.  In fact, they were both arthritic, and when I run I celebrate my ability to move and thank them for my existence.  Florence and the Machine says “Run for you mother.  Run for your father…” and I do.

Hauling ass towards the finish line
Hauling ass towards the finish line

On June 21, 2014, I completed Grandma’s Marathon with my husband, two daughters, two nieces and sister-in-law all cheering me on in front of the Club Saratoga, which I found so fitting in ways I will never completely explain to everyone.  I cried at the finish line.  I was so completely overwrought with the joy that I had worked on something I had dreamed of for 20 years and finally made it a reality.

The whole experience was a poignant one, but one thing that really stood out was a woman holding a tag board sign at about the 25-mile mark.  It read, “You WILL do this again!”  I laughed when I saw it and shook my head to say “No I won’t!”, and I think I am remembering correctly that she gave me a nod as if to say “Yes you will.”

 Train, race, repeat…

Did it again!
Did it again!

As it turns out, she was right. Running races has become the best drug to me.  I am addicted.  I ran the Des Moines marathon in October.  I shaved around 20 minutes off of my time, and I cannot wait to do it again!  I don’t know when or where my next race will be, but at 40, I realized  that it’s time to live like I mean it, and that’s what I intend to do.

 

 

March 10

Refusing to be pigeonholed

“You must identify your niche!”

This is one of the many pieces of advice I’ve seen in the loads and loads of reading I have been doing, both in print and online, about how to start a paying career in writing.  I have done so much reading, in fact, that I have not done nearly enough writing.  Ironic? Don’t ya, think?

Yesterday, as I was running down Lincoln Way, I was thinking about this, and how much it galled me.  There is so much to this writing thing that seems counterintuitive.  Yes, of course, I would love to pay the bills with my writing income, but then there is the whole artist perspective to consider.

Writing like painting and sculpting is often best when it is done for its own sake.

Clinging too tightly to my niche is for the birds

I have, in my studies, found some who would say that you must write, and your niche will find you.  This seems to gel more perfectly with my swimming with the current (rather than against it) sensibilities that I have been honing.  As I ran and considered niches yesterday, I came upon a tree and a flash of red caught my eye.  I stopped in my tracks on the side of the road and realized that I was catching my first glimpse of robins this spring.  There were three of them making merry in the tree, and seeing them was a chance to gain some perspective.

Why must I as an artist commit to writing about one thing?  Sure, there’s the whole marketing thing, but if I write about anything and everything perhaps I will hit on that one great thing.

Soar with the eagles

In some of my other efforts to cram “how-to” knowledge into my head, I have come across the sentiment many times that you must be a great reader to be a great writer.  NOW HERE IS SOMETHING I CAN DO!  Sure, reading isn’t a lucrative full-time job, but learning from the masters is a worthy pursuit, nonetheless.

Thanks to Ray Bradbury’s, Zen in the Art of Writing and Natalie Goldberg’s, Writing Down the Bones and Wild Mind – Living the Writer’s Life, I feel I have been given permission to both read and write.  In doing so, it is my understanding that I will continue to improve my art and through this bring something meaningful to the world.

Does this mean that through practice I will find my niche?  I don’t know.  I don’t think that is something I can know.  It would appear this journey through life is about more than that.

Playing “chicken” with my destiny

If my fowl clichés are making you want to give me the bird, I’m sorry.  I am just feeling a bit plucky today!  Each time I stare down my fears and insecurities and press on, I am one step closer to realizing my dreams.  Perhaps in the end I will find that I have known my niche all along.

 

 

 

March 2

All roads point north

In the creation of this post I had to refer to The Associated Press Stylebook, as well as, the Web site, http://www.quickanddirtytips.com , just to be sure whether or not I should capitalize the word “north” in the title.  It is now my understanding that in this context I should use lower case, however, I am not entirely confident that there is not a certain level of subjective interpretation that could come into play on this one.  Additionally, just writing this first part of the body text proved to be a little more labor intensive than just subject plus predicate equals sentence.  Ah, the English language… you either love it or you hate it!  Fortunately for me, I love it enough to find great joy in trying to master it.

The funny thing is that the previous paragraph has nothing and everything to do with what I intended to write about all at the same time.  This is a theme I am growing quite accustomed to these days.  You find yourself wanting to yell, “What does that have to do with this?” only to step back and realize yet again how completely interrelated everything truly is.

Getting it handled
Getting it handled

I don’t know how this whole moving north thing is going to work out, but I know with complete certainty that it is.  Of course, I have moments of doubt when I wonder about the how, and this opens the door to worrying, for which I simply do not have time.  For example, when I was up north recently, it was cold the entire time, but my car started with no difficulty.  That is, of course, until the day I meant to leave.  On that day, my motor only clicked, and I got my first lesson in how to jump a car without the help of a man to do it for me.

It was like I was being told not to leave, but in the event that I HAD to go (husband, kids, dog all awaiting my arrival back in Iowa) this is a new skill I should learn, as I will soon be needing to start my car in -22° weather on a more regular basis.  Because of the delay this caused, I didn’t go into town to check out job prospects.  Bear in mind, I hadn’t had more than a jug shower in three days as the water line is currently frozen, so perhaps I wasn’t meant to go prospecting that day.

Now today, I finally took a minute to look at my daughter’s school newsletter, and it is good I did for two reasons.  Number one: I learned that she is off from school for the next two days.  This is something I came very close to learning tomorrow morning when her father would have brought her home after taking her to school, and told me that she didn’t have school, and he would have been less than pleased.  Number two:  She has spring break in less than three weeks, which will be the perfect opportunity to get into town and do the prospecting I didn’t get done before.

So, now you may be wondering, “So what?” and I can’t say that I blame you, but everything seems to be falling into place.  I have learned more and more to go with the flow, and the flow will take me where I am supposed to be.  I will continue to look for writing opportunities for that is what I love.  Each time I write, I will polish my abilities to write well, but ultimately I need to continue to keep the faith that God has a plan for me and everything will work out as it is meant to without me beating it to death if I just, “Go with the flow.”  Just like the Red River, this flow is heading north and taking me with it.

February 16

A path to a place

My what a different place…

Our gateway to the Big Chip
Our gateway to the Big Chip

For anyone who is looking for an experience that is otherworldly, may I suggest a trip to the “Big Chip.”  The Chippewa Flowage is a 15,300 acre impoundment located 15 miles east of Hayward, Wisconsin.  According to the Wisconsin DNR website http://www.dnr.wi.gov , the Chippewa Flowage was filled in 1924, for the purpose of downstream power generation and flood control.

Today it is ranked as Wisconsin’s third largest body of water, and is home to world record musky fishing.

It’s easy to get lost…

In both the figurative and actual sense, it is easy to get lost in the “Big Chip.”  The haunting beauty of the place with its endless coves, bays, bogs, inlets and islands, takes you to another place far from the hustle and bustle of everyday life.  Because of the aforementioned, however, it is quite easy to get lost in the very real sense of the word.  Additionally, this is a place with history.

According to the locals…

I was told that the reason we were finding areas in the middle of the lake that shot from 40 feet deep up to just 2 feet was because of some of the bad blood that came with the establishment of the “Big Chip.”  This area was home to the Lac Courte Oreilles Band of Chippewa Indians.  According to The Historical Marker Database, http://www.hmdb.org, when the decision was made to flood the area to create the reservoir, the Lac Courte Oreilles people “lost their “Post” village, burial grounds, and wild rice beds to the newly created lake.”

A local shared a story with me in which the people tasked with chopping down the trees in the flowage did so just below the water line as a way of payback for what was being done to their land.

Anyone who has travelled high speed by boat knows that you can take off your propeller by hitting an underwater “dead head” at high speed.  This, of course, must pale in comparison to the pain caused by having your loved ones’ burial places immersed under a reservoir.

That haunting feeling…

One might attribute the prickly feeling of something just beyond his or her line of sight to be simply a reaction to the vast beauty and solitude of this place, however, it may be more than that.

In visiting with people at Indian Trail Resort, I learned that there have been several instances of people reporting seeing ghosts.  The most prevalent of these reports, as they were told to me, seemed to be that of seeing a young Indian boy.  Just across the lake from Indian trail, one can see what remains of two burial spots that remain above water.  It is supposed that there are 200 more below the water’s surface.

Heading out for adventure

The picture is that of our boat at the dock down the hill from our cabin.  If we headed right from this place, we could go down to our “secret” walleye catching spot.  This was the same place that Thomas and I were stalked by what could only have been a very large and mischievous musky.  We could also see the “dinosaur” that sat along the shore made of discarded scrap metal.  If we went straight from our dock, we could see the burial markers and feel like we had just stepped back in time.  If we took a left, we could shoot back into a cove where I saw a loon sitting on a nest on a tiny island.

This is also where we tooled around until we found our way into a secluded cove.  Here we found the tree swing.  In the middle of the lake, in this hidden place, someone had constructed a private place to play.

Never forget

Although we have somewhere of our own to go now, the memory of this place will be with me always.  It is a magical place of which I only saw a fraction.  Just like the planet, in all of our years, there is never enough time to see it all.