Home-again, home-again, jiggidy-jig

Fog greeted us this morning. Fog so thick you could cast a fly to trout rising at the bluff tops. It stayed with us almost up to Winona. We stopped at the Blue Heron Coffeehouse to stretch and have a cup of coffee and let one of us scratch that visit off his bucket list. The interior ambiance was not what we were anticipating, based on the location and the building's exterior, but the coffee was very good and the place was "interesting," to use some Minnesota-speak.

our back yard is part of her home range

Photo by J. Harrington

We're home, tired and unpacked. One of the most fascinating pieces of news from our trip is that we (re) discovered one of the best looking pieces of trout water in three days, located about 45 minutes south of home. It was nice to be able to confirm that and to plan on more frequent visits to our own local treasures. The dogs told us they missed us and we told them we had missed them too. How far do you usually have to travel to appreciate what you left behind?

Leave No Trace

Maggie Dietz

No gate, no main entrance, no ticket, no ranger. Not far
From where Frost once raised chickens and ill-fated children, near
Where the Old Man’s glacier-hewn face though bolstered to
Its godlike roost by rods and turnbuckles slid
From our fledgling millennium into oblivion,
You can cross the Pemigewasset on a bridge
Then, compass-north but southbound on the trail,
Ascend an old grassed-over logging road
To the carved out collarbone of Cannon Mountain.
This is Lonesome Lake. How you go from here
Depends on why you’ve come: to out a spruce grouse
Or listen for the whee-ah of a Bicknell’s thrush;
For a breezy picnic or a midlife crisis,
A long haul or a day trip to the cascades.

Bring for your purposes only what you need:
Salmon jerky, a canteen or Camelbak,
Band-aids, a ratchet and strap, a roughed-up heart.
Bring sunblock, a notebook, the Beatles, Beyoncé,
The Bhagavad Gita, a Bible, some Hitchens or Hegel.
     
However long you stay you must leave nothing.
No matchbox, no pole-tip, no grommet, no cup.
Carry in and out your Clif Bar wrappers,
Your fear of bears and storms. Keep the rage
You thought you’d push through your boot-soles into the stones,
The grief you hoped to shed. If you think you’ve changed,
Take all your changes with you.
                                                              If you lift
An arrowhead from the leaves, return it. Pocket
No pinecone, no pebble or faery root. Resist
The painted trillium even if its purple throat
Begs to be pressed between your trail guide’s pages.

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.