A dreary day, trip to Duluth

We took a trip to Duluth this am. We're happy to report that, despite being battered by some very, very early November gales this October, much of the city is as we remember it, although with some added road construction backups. We're also quite happy to report that the burgers at Fitger's Brew House are as tasty as remembered. Duluth is one of our favorite Minnesota cities but, unless we're careful, we let too much time pass between trips there.

Lake Superior under clouds

Photo by J. Harrington

The further North one heads on I-35, the more barren of leaves branches become. Our North Country is well past peak color and into the late Autumn drearies. Tamaracks are the exception. Most of them remain covered in golden needles. The Big Lake was gray, to match the sky and the falling mist. If there was a horizon, we couldn't see it. Noteworthy wildlife viewed on the trip:

• one pair of bald eagles perched roadside
• four separate road-killed whitetail deer
• one road-killed wolf, reported by the Better Half, our view was obscured by road spray

Taylors Falls Lighting Festival, pre-parade

Photo by J. Harrington

As we headed South, through rain most of the way, the proportion of oaks increased in woodlots and that enhanced the numbers of leaves still visible on the trees. The Better Half made a bet with us about this year's first 1" snowfall, one that doesn't promptly melt away. She claims it will occur by November 17 wile we're holding out for December 2. (According to NOAA records, the median date of the first 1-inch snowfall is November 16 in the Twin Cities, but the first plowable snow often doesn't arrive until late November or even December.) We agreed that November 24, probably at noon is the dividing line. Snow before that, she wins. After that, we do. (We're hoping for the El Nino influence.) That's also the weekend of the Taylors Falls Lighting Festival, attendance at which has become a family tradition.

Snow-flakes

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Out of the bosom of the Air, 

      Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, 

Over the woodlands brown and bare, 

      Over the harvest-fields forsaken, 

            Silent, and soft, and slow 

            Descends the snow. 

Even as our cloudy fancies take 

      Suddenly shape in some divine expression, 

Even as the troubled heart doth make 

      In the white countenance confession, 

            The troubled sky reveals 

            The grief it feels. 

This is the poem of the air, 

      Slowly in silent syllables recorded; 

This is the secret of despair, 

      Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, 

            Now whispered and revealed 

            To wood and field. 

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