Past in the Present

Jack and I recently visited an old mine shaft just over a mile's hike from our house. Slightly spooky, and picturesque, I wondered if bears use it in winter, or if it poses a hazard to kids in town. Mainly it is a reminder of what life used to be like around here. The hard, rocky landscape that rolls and tapers into Lake Superior, and that I love to ramble over, allowed the hardiest souls to literally scrape a living from the rich veins of copper that run through it. A handful of wealthy men, often from the east coast, got even wealthier from this land and its laborers in the first half of the twentieth century. But the laborers themselves created an enduring culture shaped by the realities of landscape, location, very hard work, and severe weather.

Today our walk took us only as far as the town park, playground, and war memorial--all in need of some tender loving care. Jack waited impatiently while a few neighbors and I did our best at a spring clean up of the memorial. (Jack is good at finding sticks but not so good at leaving them in piles ready for the landfill.) I'm a newcomer to this town, having drifted in from the east coast, but my neighbor grew up here and her grandfather's name is on the memorial. Some of the bricks on the facade are broken, some missing. The painted frame on the glass display case is pealing. The glass has cracked and moisture is beginning to seep through.

Since I'm not a skilled laborer, I helped by pruning shrubs, raking leaves, and cleaning the walkway. Monthly town potlucks are now in the works so neighbors can socialize and plan the shared labor necessary for a low-budget restoration of the memorial and the park. Yoopers are notoriously good at making do with clever, if at times makeshift, engineering. The older generation of miners knew better than to let anything go to waste, so in that spirit our town cleanup committee started looking for ways to repurpose the bricks when we remove the crumbling fountain in the foreground, and discussed who has lilac starts that would be suitable for transplanting to the park. Recycling in its original sense. And Jack's digging skills may yet prove useful when we get around to tree planting.

Snow In May

Today I spotted my first hummingbird at the feeder...and it is snowing. Spring in the U.P. (Upper Peninsula of Michigan). Here it is May and while the ground is clear (except for a few stubborn icebergs in the shadier spots) there are snowflakes in the air. So I'm going to take a moment to look back and remember what REAL snow was like this past winter. Hopefully, I can regain my weather perspective and find the courage to put on my gloves and jacket and go walk the poor dog.

Ah yes, I remember, over 65 inches by mid-December. At the top left you can see one of my neighbors scooping the snow in his front yard. Our snow is usually dry and light so instead of the strenuous shoveling I remember from the East Coast most people use this clever snowplow-type of devise to push the snow away. This photo was taken in December. If you look closely you can see that the 4-foot fence in the background is almost covered. (Alright, I am beginning to feel a little better. Afterall, the crocus are blooming now.)

And at the top right is a photo of our snow-covered hedge with Jack perched on top. The hedge is roughly 6-feet-tall and by the time this photo was taken in January it was completely covered with snow. Once the snow becomes compacted enough Jack just climbs right up on top and has a birds-eye view of the neighborhood. (We knew winter was coming to a close when he began falling through the hedge.)

Yes, I am definitely feeling better. As I write this the snow flurry has stopped and I can see the finches, sparrows, grosbeaks, and hummingbirds who now perch on that same now snowless hedge. Jack might get his walk afterall.