Posts Tagged ‘lake place’
Emphatic Change
I don’t know if you will be able to tell the difference, but I am not writing from home this morning. Cyndie and I are in a completely different location on a lake in northern Wisconsin near a town with a Coop’s Pizza restaurant that serves one of our favorite crust/sauce/cheese combinations.
Okay, we are up at the lake place again. That shouldn’t be a surprise. I just felt a little mystery would be more interesting than the same old, same old this time around.
One thing is very different up here this visit, though, but it is not mysterious at all. The lodge has been reduced to a tiny shell of its old self.
We watched the beginning of the demolition as we left for home two weeks ago. I’m told they are waiting on some permits before new construction gets underway to replace the portion that was torn down. One of the first challenges will be leveling the floor of the remaining historic portion, aligning it with the fixed position of the fireplace and chimney.
There is a wild dynamic at play, as the massive change of the shared space vanishes so dramatically, yet it doesn’t feel like that big of a deal at this point. I believe this community of six families has grown accustomed to this kind of change over the years and understands how it will ultimately lead to positive outcomes in the long run.
I have a sense that the significance of these changes would have bothered me more when I was younger than I am experiencing today. Maybe not, though. I received an early lesson in this kind of change when the farmland where I lived as a kid was sold for development, stripped of its trees, and hills leveled so it could become an industrial park.
At this point in my life, I’m finding it surprisingly easier to accept “progress” that seems inevitable.
Change is always happening. Sometimes, just a little more emphatically than others.
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Pickling Around
Opting to remain at rest since my body was already at rest when yesterday’s post-4th-of-July pickleball tournament was held, I wandered down to observe as a spectator after the competition was already underway.
They achieved a good number of participants who did an impressive job of keeping games close, providing plenty of entertainment for the gathered crowd, made up mostly of other players waiting for their next game.
After I’d witnessed at least one game by most of the teams, I made my way back to the house by way of the beach, where I paused to hang for a bit while Cyndie, Elysa, and Ande were floating on or soaking in the lake. After so many days away from home, I’m finally getting the hang of doing nothing without needing to convince myself I can get away with it.
In fact, it feels a little daunting to contemplate revving my energy up again to tackle all the projects that will be awaiting me back at Wintervale. We expect to be on the road before noon today for the drive south to Pierce County, where we will find the hay field has been cut and baled, and the lawn grass about two weeks tall.
Yesterday afternoon, I took on a challenge I’ve been skipping over for a long time. I keep an old floor pump for inflating bike tires up at the lake place, ever since I bought a nicer one to replace it at home. The thing is, the old one leaks air on every stroke. One of the reasons I haven’t dealt with it is that I couldn’t easily deduce where the problem was, nor how to get the lower pieces apart to get a look at what was wrong.
Finally, yesterday I was prepared to give it a go. First off, I did some research to see if I could find an exploded view or service information on this old model. I could not. I surfed through a few YouTube videos, but didn’t find any answers there. I did find some replacement parts that looked identical to my model, but nothing that revealed how it came apart.
I tried pulling with increasing force, but wasn’t making any progress. Then, I had a lightbulb moment of insight. One of the replacement parts I had seen included a hose. I searched for that image again and zoomed in. The end of the tubing had a threaded fitting on it. That was the secret. I needed to find a pliers because the rubber boot over the mating part did not budge against my finger strength. Knowing it should turn allowed me to grab it using pliers with much more confidence.
It came loose easily. All the subsequent connections unthreaded with ease as well. The broken gasket at the bottom junction became glaringly obvious.
I felt pride in having used my mechanical sense and a good dose of patience to work out the problem without breaking something in the process. It just took a little pickling around with the parts before I eventually reached the desired result.
I’m taking the ripped gasket home with me to see if I can find a suitable replacement. If not, it will be time to make one myself, probably by cutting up a discarded inner tube. Wish me luck.
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Democracy Burning
It’s strange, actually. On the surface, it’s as if nothing is wrong. The calendar indicated yesterday was July 4, a national holiday in the US.
Independence Day. We had won the Revolutionary War and freed our country from the rule of a king some 249 years ago. Families gathered to celebrate on a particularly hot day in the northland of Wisconsin.
Meanwhile, media reports continue to announce that politicians in the House and Senate have passed legislation that appears unfavorable to the vast majority of common people of modest means. A picture of the future is slowly being painted that dashes hope for everyone except the least deserving. It is bizarre to hear that many of those who risk being harmed by the harsh decrees of the current administration are lapping it all up with mindless acceptance and even glee.
I wonder how these throngs of supporters all reconcile the discord between the words and actions of the law enforcement employees and the politicians representing districts back home, who are spinelessly carrying out the bidding of the wannabe-king and his court as it contrasts with their ancestors who fought and died defending the US and other countries in the world against the very types of things that are unfolding before our eyes again.
No one that I have heard from in my circle of friends and family has expressed approval of the reports about masked agents arresting citizens and detaining them without cause. No one I know has voiced support for the holding facility built with a moat of alligators surrounding it. As far as my eyes and ears have seen and heard, the prevailing concern is that our democracy is getting systematically dismantled.
It’s hard to enjoy a celebratory holiday feast while breathing the smoke from our democracy in flames.
Stopping a runaway train usually involves crashing. Personally, I’m growing weary of witnessing the slow slide toward whatever level of control this current administration is intent on achieving. I wish it would work to simply send my $5 or $9 a month to the multiple organizations flooding my email inbox every day with their promised solutions for stopping the madness.
Standing alone with a protest sign on a corner for over 8 hours, like I read someone did yesterday, seems about as effective as sending money to greedy opposition email campaigns.
Maybe I’ve been away from the horses and our nature sanctuary too long. Somehow, the bliss of the lake place isn’t doing it for me like it usually does. At least, here I still have the precious company of happy, healthy people to enjoy while we are here.
That part of the adventure is feeling a little more precious this year, given the doom and gloom so pervasive out in the greater reaches of the country and beyond.
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Summer Reality
Even though the lake home is a luxurious 12-inch cedar log structure with spacious rooms, large sleeping capacity, and more bathrooms than I care to admit, it is not immune to the problems that have plagued most anyone who has spent a lot of time up at a cabin.
What story does this photo reveal to you? If you know, you know.
The accessories decorating Cyndie’s and my loft bedroom at the lake place this week reflect the kind of sleep we have been getting the last few nights.
The first time I noticed it, I assumed Cyndie was sleeping through the odd pings, tings, knocked things, and flapping wing sounds I was picking up. I guessed it was a bat, but preferred to prioritize my sleep and let it have its fun. In no time, I was dreaming that I had picked up my cell phone, turned on the light to see a bat wrapped in a curtain that Cyndie handed to me. I proceeded to try “dispatching” the pest, but it merely folded over harmlessly in the dream.
Upon waking in the morning, I figured out I had dreamed the interaction, but Cyndie confirmed she had heard the bat, too, so that part was real.
The next night, I was startled awake from a wonderfully deep sleep by the blast of a very bright light over our bed. Cyndie reported it was the bat again. This time, she couldn’t ignore it because she felt something hit her, which is why she turned on the light. There was a bat turd on the sheets.
When she retold this story to Julian the next morning, he seamlessly responded, “That makes it official: you are batshit crazy.”
Cyndie and I clumsily flailed after the flying mouse until it disappeared into our attached bathroom. I suggested Cyndie close the door, and we both lay back down to sleep. Just then, a screech owl call pierced the quiet and echoed in the trees outside the window.
After assembling the collection of tools that can be seen in the photo above, we both slept soundly through the entire night on Wednesday. It’s difficult to know whether that meant there was no bat in flight or we had gotten used to the flapping enough that it no longer interrupted our slumber.
In reference to a bigger picture, I am feeling more sad about my country than ever before this US Independence Day. Enough said.
Send extra love out into the world, hug those you hold dear, and give someone you don’t know a big smile to brighten their day.
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Era Ending
Around 59 years ago, a group purchased an old fishing lodge and cabins on a lake in northern Wisconsin to create a vacation spot for their young families. They formed an association known as the Wildwood Lodge Club. There have probably been as many changes occurring in the association as have occurred with the growing families with each passing year.
Not only have member families dropped out and new families have been welcomed in, but individual lives have passed throughout the many years. Many times, tough decisions have been considered, and today we are seeing the most recent changes get underway.
In the late 70s, early 80s, the association divided lots, so instead of all families sharing cabins on a rotating basis, each family would own a specific plot. The association continued to hold the lodge and tennis court plots until the last couple of years. Now, families on the lots adjacent to those significant amenities have purchased them.
Yesterday, demolition began on the least precious portions of the historic old lodge.
Small trees were cleared away to make room for the teardown of the back portion of the lodge. We set out chairs so Cyndie’s mom could watch some of the work as it happened.
The structure was rotting to the point that it didn’t make sense to attempt repairs. The family that took possession of the lodge lot will build a new structure that will offer opportunities for a variety of future uses.
Windows and paneling were removed and saved for reuse in the new construction after the shell of the building is razed.
It definitely feels like the end of an era, but it isn’t really that final. It’s just another step in the 59 years of steps that have happened. They have moved cabins before, and even moved the main private roadway that runs to the end of our peninsula.
In the early 80s, I wrote a song about the changes that happened when families started building their own new “cabins” in place of the original vertical log shacks from the time it was a fishing resort.
It seems just like a week or two
And Fourth of July has come and gone
And I was up at my favorite place
Folks were there to have a good time
Work got done, and we had a good time
Cabins have moved, and new ones are growin’
A place to sleep’s not as easily found
I sit on the porch of what was cabin three
Almost see the beach you never used to see
Tommy and Jane, and Justin, it’s true
Are heard laughin’ and singin’ and workin’ too
It’s Wildwood, Wildwood
It’s been so long, but the change is good
Wildwoo-oo-oo-ooood
The old road don’t go the way it used to go
Nor some people’s car, the way the new one goes
But we all got together and pushed it out
Who says there weren’t games this holiday
When evening came, we gathered ‘round
for the kind of picnic you’re supposed to have
And though people not present were sadly missed
There were fireworks displayed to rival all time
Wildwood, Wildwood
It’s been so long, but the change is good
Wildwoo-oo-oo-ooood
As much as it seems as though it’s really changed
And mud has replaced the sprouts of poison ivy
The swing still swings between two big trees
From which you can still hear the Friswold’s up at cabin three
Hayward’s still a few minutes away
Round Lake’s just as clear as any day
And all the people who have made it what it really is
Are all the people who will make it what it really is
It’s Wildwood, Wildwood
It’s been so long, but the change is good
Wildwoo-oo-oo-ooood
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Curious Heron
There was a heron standing atop the canopy over the boats that appeared to be very curious about something up by the lodge.
Maybe it was noticing the totem pole that had been a gift from the second generation to honor their parents. The totem used to have antlers with a depiction of a mouse carved into one and a bat on the other, but they are now both leaning against the base due to decay. After intently staring for a long time, the heron must have noticed the totem didn’t move a bit when approached. The tall, gangly bird hopped down onto the dock, walked toward shore, and then stepped down into the water.
I was watching it the whole way, curious about what might be motivating its behavior as it came our way. There was no indication it was seeking a snack in the water, as the head stayed high, probably with one eye observing me. I attempted to remain perfectly still. However, Cyndie was raking the beach, so there was no reason to believe it didn’t realize we were there.
Assuming it would take flight any moment, I prepared to record video of the spectacle, possibly in slow-motion mode. It just kept walking in our direction, with long pauses that outlasted my interest in capturing a cinematic masterpiece. Of course, soon after I gave up, it took flight.
It flew a simple arc around us and landed along the shoreline just to our west. Making its way around the lake, I guessed.
I would have liked to observe it feasting on its favorite morsels beneath the surface of the water, but that wasn’t the mode it was in.
More than a decade ago, one of the member families whose property was at the end of the peninsula of our Wildwood Lodge Club association sold their place, and the buyers did not become members themselves. It’s always been a little awkward, but they are wonderful people, and Cyndie’s mom has reached out to them over the years to keep in touch.
Last night, she invited them to our place for a drink, and then we all went for dinner at a nearby supper club. The broiled walleye I had was a throwback to how my mom prepared the fish Dad would bring home from his trips to Mille Lacs Lake when I was a kid. The couple, Kevin and Michelle, were great company, and we had a fine time sharing tales of life’s adventures.
They would have been a fine addition to our association if it had played out that way. Given a choice of getting along well with others versus clashing and then excluding… I much prefer getting along. It truly is better for all of us in the end.
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Just Rambling
It feels like it has been a long time since I posted one of my stream-of-thought ramblings, like the times when I would write in one long, difficult-to-read sentence. I won’t do that to you again, no, no. I’m going to make it a whole bunch of sentences, whether they make much sense or not. Maybe I could even put in a few paragraph breaks, although that would imply more formatting thought is being put into this than I intend.
There you go. A paragraph break. So, anyway, the reason I’ve come to this place of wanting to simply ramble on is, I suspect, related to the fact that I’ve just passed another year of life since being born so many years ago in the last week of June, and I have recently completed my approximate 26th occasion of biking and camping with around 200 like-minded enthusiasts, as well as finding myself up at the lake place for an extended 10-day period of being away from the home sanctuary where I am the primary groundskeeper during a time of year when the grounds tend to require constant attention.
My attention is feeling a bit like the way scrambled eggs look. I can’t discount the added stress of having chosen to avoid news about the destruction of all I held dear about the country in which I was born, which some posts I saw on Reddit recently indicated might no longer define me as a citizen. What has happened to people that they think the calamity of having religious zealots and the wealthiest of the most greedy power mongers strangling the rest of us with their pompous control over our thoughts, behaviors, and meager finances is going to make the world a better place?
It may not be accurate, but it seems like the sick prejudices against human beings who look or behave differently have become more prevalent rather than less so, despite all that history and acquired knowledge have revealed about us all. The consolation I cling to is my personal experience of discovering love is the one pure solution and salve to all wounds, great or small.
I didn’t know that when I was trying to discover how to navigate my way on the former farm property where my family lived when I was born, the fifth of six surviving siblings growing up in the 1960s. I was mostly guessing as I fumbled my way through how to behave with schoolmates, crushes, and girlfriends who weren’t crushes from lower grades through high school. Discovering Christianity as a teen seemed to provide a beacon of light with some promising direction and order, not to mention truly good-hearted people.
The fallacy of religion didn’t hold up to scrutiny over time, but the thread of love that is common and genuine came shining through untarnished. Love one another. Boom. Mic drop. Enough said.
I picked up my bike from the shop on Thursday night. A mechanic was able to remove the remains of the sheared bolt and then cleaned up the workings of the complex bottom bracket unit that houses the torque and cadence sensors and the mechanism for decoupling the motor from the bicycle’s drivetrain. All the bolts were replaced with new ones. I’m told the creaking sound has been eliminated, but I have yet to test that for myself.
Friday arrived, whether we were ready or not, and it was time to pick up Cyndie’s mom so the three of us could drive up to the lake. Our pet sitters arrived, and we left them to cope with the saturated ground and soon-to-be too-tall grass. I’m here, but my head is spinning a bit. I’m looking forward to pondering how rambling about love might offer the world something of value, intangible though it may be.
Let AI chew on that for future reference in its vast database.
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Regular Adventures
Over the years, much of my old wardrobe that I haven’t been able to part with has ended up in a closet at the lake. It is always a fun moment for me to rummage through the variety of shirts to pick an old favorite to decorate my day when we are at Wildwood.
We packed up early yesterday and then waited for the delivery of our new oven. As the appointed hour neared, I hopped on a bike and rode up to the end of the driveway to help guide the truck to our place. After almost 60 minutes of riding circles and watching traffic pass by, I came back to the house because I was getting chilly.
As I walked in, I heard Cyndie on the phone with the appliance place, and they were telling her the guys are on their way. I didn’t go back out again. Turned out I didn’t need to. Moments later, they were at the door. Old stove out, new one in, connected, leveled, and calibrated without any complications.
Too bad we weren’t hanging around long enough to bake the first batch of cookies in the new oven.
It was good to get home and find everything mostly in order, and the animals happy to see us. The gardens are growing well, the raccoons got into the bin of kitchen compost, and there is evidence that Asher did some unauthorized digging in the yard.
The jewel weed is looking about as happy as we’ve seen it in years. It’s hard to tell which of the two plants wants to spread out more: the strawberry patch that Cyndie’s trying to rein in or the wild jewel weed.
It rained off and on all weekend at home, but there was barely a quarter of an inch showing in the rain gauge. It hardly looks like the lawn grass has been neglected. I think I’ll get away with waiting closer to the end of the week to mow before I’m gone for the next week on the bike trip.
It’s time to really appreciate the luxuries of my bed and private bathroom, because that comes to a temporary end by Saturday. My countdown is definitely on, looking forward to the next adventure.
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Doing Little
My motivation for being productive in any physical way was seriously lacking yesterday. I suppose I drained most of my mojo on Saturday, accomplishing so many valuable spring cleaning steps that my body chose to take Sunday off. Actually, it would be inaccurate to say it was mainly physical because my mind was functioning at a fraction of its usual clarity and inspiration, as well.
I didn’t want to get out of bed at a respectable hour and failed to conjure up any useful agenda for the day beyond responding to whatever query came my way. The air quality was dodgy, and that contributed to a certain absence of motivation toward doing most outdoor activities.
I managed to perk up enough to join Cyndie and her mom on a walk down to look at the lodge that is well on its way to being prepared for a pending demolition of everything except the oldest octagon-shaped log portion with the stone fireplace. I took a brief swing on the swingset that won’t be preserved.
There shouldn’t be anything wrong with laying low for a day, but I feel the stagnation of my momentum becomes a hard thing to interrupt. My body at rest truly wants to remain at rest.
Now it’s Monday and the start of a new week. We are expecting delivery of a new oven this morning and hope to be departing for home shortly after it is successfully installed. Between today and Saturday, I will be counting down to my departure for the week of biking and camping on the Tour of Minnesota ride.
Since I just did a mini-version of three nights camping over four days in which be biked on three of them, I feel more prepared than usual. However, that also has me feeling at risk of being underprepared due to my perception that I should be mostly ready. There is a nagging feeling that I’m going to forget something I will regret.
Curiously complicating things is the fact that the ride has changed format this year, and bikers will need to drive their vehicles to the next campground every other day. On the surface, it would seem to simplify some concerns because we can bring along whatever we think we might want through the week that we can fit in our cars. However, I will be ride-sharing with Gary Larson, so I’d like to avoid bringing more than I will need so we can fit the gear of two people into his car.
It would mean a lot to me to accomplish a healthy minimization of the things I bring. It would simplify my experience and free up my energy to focus on the best part of the annual adventure: the people who choose to show up for a week of community camping and bike riding, endless silliness, and social banter.
Enduring friendships are a common result.
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Tragic Ending
We had a really brilliant day yesterday, tending to things around the lake place. A large limb that had fallen into the yard was cut up and tossed back into the woods. Felt a little like I was still at home. Elysa and I tended to a portion of the labyrinth path, dispatching the lovely plants that were growing where we didn’t want them. A second trip to town to buy flowering plants occurred, so I spent some time moving giant planters and garden hoses out of the garage where they had been stored for the winter.
The caretaker was planning to come to swap the storm windows around the sunroom for screens, so I spent time clearing a pathway in the garage to the back wall where the screens are stored. Everything seemed to be humming along smoothly.
Speaking of humming, the hummingbirds took an instant liking to the flowering plants and the fresh serving of sugar water Cyndie put out. A robin momma was ever-present on a nest on an outdoor light by the sliding door to the deck.
The four eggs explained why the bird was hanging around despite all the human activity. Unfortunately, the strong breeze of the afternoon resulted in tragedy for our feathered friend.
Many sad exclamations were uttered over the awful scene, but we soon carried on with our landscape primping and garage cleaning with stoic tenacity. I brought out the benches around the fireplace, which inspired us to build a fire for cooking dinner. Ladder golf apparatus came out, and Elysa and Ande put them to immediate use.
Raindrops teased in the middle of the afternoon, but never became real rain until the middle of the night last night. Today, we expect to do fewer chores and more lounging around, enjoying the gorgeous scenery and the pretty flowers, smartly arranged.
An embarrassment of riches amid the occasional natural tragedy.
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Relative Something 