Angela Up North

For Anna

2014-02-17T02:14:00.001-06:00

I am a family genealogist. It fell to me as an administrator of my parents will, to research and preserve my father and mothers ancestral roots. I gathered up boxes of ancients for future generations. But there had always been a painful gap in my fathers story and therefore in mine. I determined to solve this puzzle of my ancestry with a new found passion.

Almost obsessively, I searched for years. I yearned to know who my biological great-grandfather was. I knew the family name as told in hushed tones in purposeful, absent detail. There was an unspoken code of silence which I could not break. It was my misery to be the unfortunate descendant so far away in years from the truth that it was just out of reach.

When my parents were still alive, my father would hardly speak of it. My mother told me that as a young man, he had courted a girl from the family name as told in hushed tones. My grandparents had to interrupt the courtship because there could be no possible marriage between potential family. Two of his siblings had already been dealt a rough hand genetically with devastating mental health disorders. There could be no further complications for future generations from a ill fated marriage.

He also grew up with the knowledge that his grandmother had very little to do with his father and little or no contact with him. There was a family secret... that is, in my family. We hid the fact my great-grandmother had given birth to my grandfather out of wedlock. The secret had been spawned in the year 1877. There was scorn for a young woman who found herself with child and no husband to protect her. I should have his last name.

My research had led me to the 1880 census where my grandfather was living in his grandfathers home and identified as grandson Clyde with 'the family name as told in hushed tones. Then a later census, my grandfather Clyde had been given his grandfathers last name. It is the name my family still uses to this day.

I had prayed heartfelt prayers for answers, but the truth was always out of reach. I was lost but now am found. Anna gave me my long suspected but never proven family. As if I had been born an orphan, I felt she had given me the identify of my birth parents. She did in fact give me the identity of my birth great-grandfather.

I feel a deep loss in Anna's passing this week on February 12, 2014. She gave me a long sought after identify. She revealed what my last name would be if society followed genetics and not affairs of the heart. Did she understand how profoundly she had touched me?

I had been a schoolmate of her youngest daughter. Emily and I had played in Anna's home as I had been invited to sleep over. I had no idea that I was visiting family... but Anna knew. She knew that my grandfather used to work in the fields of the Missouri River bottom alongside children of her family.

These children would grow impatient asking why they must take water to Clyde as they did the members of their own family. They were told in hushed tones that Clyde was family and they went on carrying him water no doubt questioning what it all was about. My grandfather was their family. Then Anna gave me the name of my great-grandfather. All those years of futile efforts and it simply and easily spilled forth from Anna's lips and then to Emily's and now to mine.

It was my brainy, beautiful and witty classmate and now cousin Emily that I asked if Anna knew my secret. I had realized through my research that Anna was one of the last surviving children in my fathers generation born into the family name spoken in hushed tones. I am eternally grateful to Anna's daughter Emily for asking her mother while she still had the ability to recall. I almost didn't get there in time.

My gratitude to Anna is felt more deeply tonight. I mourn her passing now as family. Yes, Anna gave me her family and I solemnly mourn from a distance but also alongside them tonight. May Anna be with the angels and what I hope for most is that I will someday be able to thank Anna for all that she did to make me fully whole in this life.

Snowed Under

2014-02-14T02:52:00.000-06:00

My morning began with an igneous mug of black and creamy coffee. The ritual of savoring the first sips must be set aside temporarily to stir the fire, grab the ash bucket from out the back door and today I am halted to astonish at the sheer volume of effort which lay before me.

The gelid winds of February whipped today as I became snowed under by snow flake upon snow flake till the heavens unleashed ten inches upon the ever burgeoning snow cover. This day there is much to do and important deadlines to meet toward securing some kind of interim cash flow.

I layered up and shoveled a narrow path from the back door to the wood pile. Manny has grown accustomed to listening for me stirring outside his door. His crowing is designed to remind me of his flocks need for sustenance, clean water and fresh straw. The next path must be to Manny and his maidens.

This morning brought exertion and it's feverous flush which enticed me to the frigid waters of my shower in the 'little' house. Next, it was mukluks on and a brave bare how do ya do to the day as I raced back to the cabin. I couldn't bear (no pun intended) washing my hair in the frigid shower, so prepared to use the just right kitchen sink water to scrub my hair clean. Then I heard a knock at my door.

Yes! My friends and neighbors that have always reached out to welcome me, include me and have always been good to me, had expressed interest in seeing my flock. I had asked them over on this day and at this time with the promise of cookies and milk - there was none and a visit to see my chicken coop - which fortunately could be done.

We had a short but splendid visit and once we waved our goodbyes, I started compacting the snow in the driveway by driving back and forth always adjusting my wheels to pack another tire width of the trail I was blazing. Then everything came to an abrupt halt. I found myself nearly eye level with snow on my drivers side. I was securely and soundly, confounded and stuck. After I had made a body width swath to free the vehicle, I was blessed by the most angelic, youthful faces of three strong and able bodied men driving a utility truck. Soon they had me out of my wintry misery and I exhaled a shout of Scottish glee as I reached the blacktop and was free once again!

As the afternoon was drawing to a close, I jumped in the vehicle to get chicken feed, my food and errand run. I arrived back home at 9:45 pm with pure joy for making it back home unscathed by waves of white out whirling around me. This is the rugged shore of Lake Superior and Highway 61. There is a reason that it held the title of being the most dangerous road in Minnesota for many years. It is nights such as this. I braced myself and gathered the mail, gave the chickens an extra ration of feed and inside at last with my own food and the news at hand. News did arrive today.

It left me snowed under with an overwhelming feeling of panic as the door closed to the path which might sustain me in the turmoil of becoming soon to be single. I purposefully have kept the harsh realities of my health from my early writings. But to fully appreciate the magnitude of horror which this news brought, you must understand my health situation.

Recently I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. I also have debilitating winter asthma, severe sleep apnea with non-restorative sleep disorder, multiple environmental and chemical sensitivities, I need surgery that may or may not help my neck by shaving three vertebrae and stabilizing my neck with steel rods, depression and anxiety. Who wouldn't be anxiously depressed? Yes, I was snowed under and utterly overwhelmed today.

My Skill Advancement in Knitting

2014-02-10T12:13:00.000-06:00

Early dragonfly washcloth

Did your mother ever attempt teaching you the skill of knitting in your youth? Some knitters tell me it was a knitting friend of their mothers, or self taught, or their grandmother...

Yes, it seems many a relaxed and skilled knitter and those that have tried and will someday jump in with both feet again, or those that are clear that they don't have the patience, or time or....

Organic scarf

Yes, there are clearly all sorts of knitters. From the naturally gifted to the least interested, many have picked up the needles.

I am a knitter by choice. Yes, my mother did try to spark my interest in knitting as an adolescent girl but I had the world to explore... no time for such girlish endeavors I said.

So it wasn't until my talented, driven, wise and intelligent mother had passed away that I wanted to honor her by learning to knit with the hope of using those well worn needles which had passed on to me once she had gone on ahead.

Colorwork purse

I was splendidly fortunate to live by proximity next to an accomplished knitter, and an excellent teacher. She took me under her wing and sparked the thrill of success in me to drive me on with my new obsession.

It was a keen sense of learning a skill which had once been taught to the youth of my Gaelic speaking ancestors. The color work of the Shetland Isles called me back, back through the centuries.

Edison in his birthday sweater

The Fishermans sweaters once each unique to the fisherman that knit his own spectacular creation was worn in the unhappy event that he should perish at sea and that his grief striken family may identify him by his sweater.

Men and women across this big, blue planet have learned the art of knitting. Many a knitter is born of necessity. First, learning to carry their own weight and told they must knit their own socks if their feet are to be covered, others are spurned on by the family need to earn income and the gorgeous fibers of hand harvested, organic dyes and age old skill are picked and thrown into brilliant color work hats, gloves and sweaters for market.

Felted slippers

Evie in her layette sweater, hat and booties

Evie in her silky wool lace sweater - 7 months

My interest has proved to be strictly for the grandchildren and if they allow me a break from that next thing they would like me to knit for them, I then focus on my daughters, then precious and dear friends.

Someday I will have a scarf or mittens or perhaps a sweater I will call my own but for now, I knit for a most splendid friend with the help of her fascinated kitty Angelina.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then I thought it best to simply demonstrate why I continue advancing my knitting skills with this last picture of my granddaughter Evelyn. There is truly nothing else left to say.

The Remaking of Shaun White and the 2014 Sochi Olympics

2014-02-08T17:29:00.002-06:00

It's cold in the Arrowhead Region of northeastern Minnesota on the midshore of Lake Superior. We like our winter sports up north and I in particular have loved watching Shaun White in all his spectacular Olympic wins since capturing Olympic Gold for the halfpipe in 2006.

He is maturing now and looking to the day that Olympic wins will not be his primary focus. But at the 2014 Sochi Olympics, Shaun White is laser focused once again on what he does best, the halfpipe. Shaun ran trial runs on the slopestyle at this Olympics but after hurting his wrist, he declined the slopestyle calling it an 'intimidating course'. He and his fellow athletes have all stood together to voice their concerns about the risks and potential for harm on the Russian Olympic courses.

Now he is focusing on the halfpipe. I am happy for Shaun's decision to walk away from the slopestyle course. I think it shows a maturing Olympian that understands it's in his best interest to focus on what he does best. It's human to grow past the bullet proof attitude and actions of early youth and to mature to a reality based view of decision making based on calculated risk. I am glad to see Shaun moving in what I believe to be a sound direction.

After all, there was the shedding of the Flying Tomato nickname by Shaun. Then came the suit and tie with his gorgeous, thick, curly cascades of auburn hair. Then most recently in my purview which is so limited I admit but altogether mine, is the dramatic clean haircut in addition to the suit. Bravo Shaun!! Maturity and clean cut grooming looks magnificent on you.

I'm convinced that Shaun White will have a fabulous run at the halfpipe at the 2014 Sochi Olympics. He will leave this Olympics, no matter the outcome, being my darling of snowboarding and always the captivating, intelligent hope for tomorrow kind of guy that I imagine him to be. So I'm all in Shaun, go out and nail it. I'm rooting for ya.

Credit and further commentary can be found at:

http://espn.go.com/olympics/winter/2014/snowboarding/story/_/id/10422894/2014-sochi-olympics-shaun-white-ok-slopestyle-withdrawal-confident-halfpipe

My Broody Hen Fluffy and Sympathetic Rooster Manny

2014-02-07T01:58:00.000-06:00

Fluffy's hormones have shifted into overdrive and her maternal instinct will not be daunted. My sweet, friendly Buff Orpington has gone broody.

She has made the decision to sit day and night on not only her eggs but her flock sisters until little walking fluff balls appear from under her breast.

Other hens are squeezing into the little doghouse with her in anticipation of seeing their egg coddled by Fluffy too. Once they lay their egg and leave, Fluffy carefully rotates her flattened out body to reach the little treasure and then scoops yet another webble wobble with her beak safely under her plump bosom.

I started letting Fluffy keep her eggs three days ago when it was clear this girl had caught the broody fever in a big way. There was no leaving her eggs for food, treats or fresh water. In that time, I have gone from collecting six eggs down to one.

Easter, my Easter Egger and Rosy, my Rose Combed Brown Leghorn laid for me yesterday in the upper nest boxes but I contributed Easters still warm egg under Fluffy too. Easter lays large, beautiful blue eggs and Fluffy happily accepted yet another egg to stretch over.

We don't need anymore Rosys. This winter, Rosy has been a pill with scratching out every last piece of straw from the nest boxes daily. I wonder each day if she is silently amused by watching me retrieve the straw and fluffing it back in place. She is... lets just say, 'not bearing confinement' well. Rosy is my only white egg layer and she didn't begin laying consistently until just this last month. She doesn't cost very much in feed which is excellent feed to egg ratio but none the less, no more little Italian Princess Rosy chicks for me.

Fluffy had no other hens to observe and follow. After all, she was one of fifteen little fluff balls that I ordered by mail from Murray McMurray Hatchery in Iowa. It is in her DNA code which she is following as the ancient rhythms of her mothers and their mothers before her guide her to create and guard this promise of new life under her.

And then there is my hunk of a man rooster Manny. He has gone broody sympathetic on me. Yes, he sits for hours now in the middle nest box in quiet solidarity to his first love of his life Fluffy girl.

You see Fluffy and Manny discovered procreation together long before the other girls would do the crouch, squat, submission pose for him. Manny and Fluffy were in love. She would follow him everywhere and he watched over her as the perfect suitor as judged by a watchful mother was I.

Back then, Manny was in competition with seven other roosters to get the girl(s). It became exhausting just watching the daily dance of young roosters trying every tactic imaginable to do the deed.

They would attempt the full on rush to catch the pullet... any pullet, or from the rear when she can't see him coming, to down right mean spirited in their hormonal madness. Finally, my decision became necessary to select 'the' rooster to remain and then the sad business of culling out all but my Manny for the pullets as well as the cockerels sake. Once Manny was free to lead his girls without interference, he brought a calm, organized unity to the little flock and peace abounded once more.

The day is brisk at six degrees heading into the afternoon sun. The sky is baby boy blue with wisps of cotton ball clouds. Fluffy has taken ownership of the little doghouse that my grandsons moved into the chicken coop and now we wait... If all goes well for Fluffy, she will be a proud mother in less than twenty one days. We are going to have new life and little baby chicks soon at Raspberry Ridge. I am so very excited for Manny and his Fluffy girl.

Wolves Come to Call

2014-02-04T23:18:00.002-06:00

Wolf track next to my gloved hand

The sun is stronger now and a definite sense of change is afoot at Raspberry Ridge.

The hens have sensed it for a couple of weeks now. My six girls are faithfully laying six eggs everyday. They seem to be responding to the warmth and brightness of the sun with a drive to create new life.

Another sign of the beginnings of new life can be found in the visit I had yesterday afternoon from a pair of grey wolves. They are so intelligent and vigilant that they once again left me signs of their visit when I and my Jeep went away for several hours in the afternoon. This has become routine for both the wolves and I, and I never leave my chickens out during my times away for this very reason.

The larger of the pair, left tracks that are equal to the size of my hand. Those of us in the Arrowhead Region of Minnesota are familiar with the size and majesty of these wolf tracks. Oh and I have stories of these intelligent and majestic animals which I mumble and quietly reveal if pressed to speak of my encounters.

I was pleased to see these wolves didn't venture further into my compound but instead focused on the snow hare super highway which intersects with the deep watershed that winds it's way down to the Beaver River some 800 feet below my property.

There is a deep reverence I hold for the Grey Wolf. I have had some intense interactions with these beautiful creatures. My initial confrontations were surreal and left me questioning whether I should be alarmed or awed. But, as encounters mounted, the next logical step was to bring the Department of Natural Resources into the mix.

My hand print next to the wolf track

It was their role to soothe me as a local resident which had clearly had some disconcerting encounters with these huge predators. I was told that by virtue of proximity alone, that it was inevitable that I would encounter territorial conflict with the Grey Wolf packs that I was sandwiched between.

After all, I am at the intersection of a great ancient, geological site called Fault Line Ridge as found on the Superior Hiking Trail Geological Maps of Lake Superior. This valley is profoundly beautiful and the Sawtooth Mountain ridge line is home to one of the top ten hikes in America. The Superior Hiking Trail overlooks my property atop Fault Line Ridge lined with it's wild blueberry bushes ripe for the picking in July and at times later into August.

I surmise the tracks were a young mated pair of wolves looking for new territory apart from their home pack(s). Two major wolf packs call Beaver River Valley their home territory. One rather large pack is seen frequently by the North Shore Mining employees which operate at Mile Post Seven not more than a quarter of a mile to my north. The other pack has proved to be fiercely territorial and follows the river upstream to my south.

Grey wolves mate in the Arrowhead Region in February and into March. They often begin their visits to my property during this time. There will be markings by both the male and female and they often hunt the snow hare which are food for so many predators this time of year.

It is a joy to witness such awesome spectacles here at Raspberry Ridge. I feel blessed every day now that I wake and rise to meet this new life that is mine here in the most northern reaches of Minnesota. All and all, I am thrilled and blessed to find the tracks of these regal and profoundly vexing predators. It was a good day.

My Rescued Rabbit Together Again with His Flock

2014-02-03T01:09:00.002-06:00

Mamaw, Ethan, Edison, Petey and Thumper August 2012

Thumper is my friend. He came to me back in 2011 after I had learned to knit and was contemplating how I
might be able to acquire angora wool. My life long passion for animal rescue sent me on a path toward finding an angora rabbit in need of a home and it was then that I happened across my Royal Rabbit, my Regal French Angora bunny Thumper.

Petey mesmerized by Thumper

He had been born for sale sometime in the spring of 2011. An auntie had purchased him for a pre-adolescent nephew and his unsuspecting father. He came to their home with all the cuteness that a baby French Angora bunny brings. There was a hutch to purchase, toys, grooming accessories and even a personal carrier. This little bundle of cuteness was given the name Thumper and he enjoyed the adoration, fondling and care from his young, boy friend.

Then Thumper grew up. He still required adoration, fondling and care but his newness had worn off for the young boy now coping with divorce and two homes. Thumper no longer could hold the interest of his adoptive, boy friend and his days were spent alone and isolated in his hutch. Fortunately for Thumper, the father was keen to his plight and a rabbit rescue was found and the switch to his new life at Raspberry Ridge was complete.

Thumper has enjoyed adoration, fondling and care in his new home. He has been a particular hit with my grandsons Ethan and Edison.

Recently, my rabbit whisperer friend Deborah has dubbed him Sir Rabbit and now when she stops by, I get a furtive hug and watch Deborah drift by me and to Thumpers' side for his soft lick on her hand of greeting as she talks tenderly to her Royal Rabbit. We have great fun musing of her love affair with Thumper.

Chicks on Feb 2013

His new family includes my little flock of chickens. After all, he sat across from the running fluff balls and watched their drama unfold late last winter. That was a year ago and there had been several winter months since he has last seen his flockmates.

Thumper and I have gotten back in the swing of ensuring he is getting fresh air and exercise outdoors. He got the happy occasion to hop toward the sound of Manny's familiar cock-a-doo-dal-doooo and join his flock mates this week.

Fluffy and Manny inspecting Thumpers approach

I got the joy of documenting his happy reunion through pictures and narrative follows...

Thumper attempts to approach while being disarmingly beneign as he feigns disinterest for a time. And then, chaos ensues...

He follows the familiar sounds he knows to be his curious and interesting co-habitators. Hop, hop, he hops, then under my feet and strategically in the corner by the exit door.

Thumper happy to be home

Manny on offense

Manny steps in close while his girls watch their chivalrous man of a rooster lunge into action but Thumper will not be dissuaded.

Meanwhile, I stand in the gap between these two men and mediate toward a positive outcome.

I soothe and placate Manny as my tone and demeanor signal there is no need for an attack on this intruder which so boldly dares to enter uninvited.

Hens watching Thumper for ques

His female flock mates thrust their beaked heads forward and to the right in order to see him better.

Chickens develop near sight with their right eye and far sight with their left. So the girls lurch and cock their faces to their right to bring him into focus. Who is this stranger that accompanies their human benefactor?

Manny fluffs his feathers and signals the girls of danger with a shrill "Eeeeeerrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhhhh". His verbal alarm for danger approaching from the ground.

Manny issuing the alarm shriek

My incredibly good boy Manny... He survived the culling of seven roosters that competed for the opportunity to stand guard, lead the flock to food, protect the weaker hens from the more dominant and keep the flock in a content, natural harmony with the promise of fertile eggs that one day will hatch into fuzzballs cuddled under breast.

Thumper deep within the ranks now

He was and is the complete package.

He has never, ever bullied the girls, he has never shown aggression toward a human being, he steps high and clucks and clucks when he finds food for his girls and remarkably refuses to partake until he sees that every hen has had her fill. He is the ultimate rooster in my estimation. I may never see another rooster like Manny and I love him so much for all his honorable and noble traits.

Happiness Abounds at Raspberry Ridge

So, because this little band of mine grew up together, all ended as I had hoped. I ultimately walked away and did a couple of hours of chores outside while Thumper got to enjoy a much needed reunion outing with his flock once again.

Blogging in -50 Windchill

2014-02-01T17:47:00.000-06:00

I admit it. I'm in my bed warm and cozy tonight while the winds whip outside. There is a deep need to tuck my chin under my collar and close my eyes but I just have to set a sentence down on this first of what will be many entries to my online journal.

Sleep well dear ones.

The Polar Vortex is Descending

2014-02-01T06:37:00.002-06:00

Firebox is full and a total of about five loads of wood hauled and stacked in my someday living room for my primary heat source. This stacked wood should take me through sometime Monday. Wood is easier to transport on a dolly when the temps don't make it hard and slippery as kryptonite.

The first week alone brought the polar vortex of 2014. I live in the cabin now but still depend on the 'little house' with its operational hot water shower for my hygiene needs. I employed the two electric heaters I own to protect the water lines and on-demand water heater of the little house. On the third day of deadly windchills, I kept vigil helplessly as first the water faucets at the sink froze solid and then later that afternoon the shower froze solid. My fallback strategy was to move both the electric heaters in front of the on-demand water heater. Plastic pipes could be replaced but the investment of the copper coiled heater could not. A dear friend came to my rescue with another radiant heater and her help stemmed the tide and returned water flow to the little house on the fifth day of the siege.
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That first week of the polar vortex took the ambient temperature of the cabin down to 50 degrees. There were several mornings that I woke to temperatures in the low 40's by my bedside and mid 30's in my makeshift kitchen. I have difficult to control asthma and I'm on the maximum protocol for medication. One of the triggers is cold air so I covered my mouth and nose and stirred into action. The fist defense on those days was opening up the propane cook stove oven door and cranking the temperature up to 400 degrees. Then I made haste to the someday living room and would begin the stirring of coals.

There is an art to heating with wood and this last month has brought trial by fire - literally. There have been factors in play that brought another winter with inadequate chinking of the cabin. My fireplace is rated to heat a 3000 sq ft space efficiently with two zones. I heat about 2000 sq ft now between the first floor and crawlspace, but it can't keep up with this winter of 2014. Two of the four first floor log walls are only chinked on the exterior. That makes for a huge disadvantage because of the lack of insulation.

There will be radiant heat when I can get the controllers installed. I put in all the tubing under the first floor with my oldest daughters help a couple of years ago but for now it's wood, electric heaters and propane cook stove when -50 comes calling. I'm ready as I can be and the cold is closing in as I write.

Raptor Strike by Chicken House Today

2014-01-31T01:48:00.000-06:00

I've been seeing the signs of a raptor hunting in my yard for over a week now. It was always rather elusive ... a couple of feather shafts cut into the snow. My chickens had refused to come out of their coop and if I could coax them to the door, they would look wild eyed directly into the sky and then disappear into their coop again.

Today, there was no question about what had transpired directly in front of my chickens little home. The snow hare had hopped up atop the three feet of snow in front of the tractor wheel and had headed directly for the chicken coop. The raptor was upon it instantly it appears, It must have been a good size snow hare because there was much dragging and the deep impressions of a struggle to lift the animal went on for a distance of ten feet.

It's wonderful to witness the size and wing span of this incredible predator. It has been just as interested in small shrew highways as it was this hare. Hunger is a mighty motivator in intense cold. There is a demand for additional protein in order to stay warm and of course survival is a arduous task in the Arrowhead Region of Lake Superior.

The bird gained total control of the animal once it cleared the snow with it's talons in the animal. There were no more beating wings visible beyond the coop and the last snow hare track can be seen in the foreground of this last picture.

I was vigilant today watching for signs of a large raptor while I had my rooster Manny and his six hens Fluffy, Star, Easter, Bebet, Thelma and Rosy out for some daylight and scratching in the snow. Fortunately, I saw no signs of danger for my chickens in the woods that line my clearing.

If it's an owl, my good friend and neighbor Becky tells me that it will walk right into a chicken coop and kill a chicken. There will be nothing left of a bird that has been killed by an owl. They will consume everything,even the feathers.

It will surely continue to feed on the voles, mice and shrews that continue to pop out of the snow here and there when they hear me approach. I have plenty of snow hare super highways for it to monitor. I'm just hopeful I will be able to protect my little flock as they stretch their wings and get a break from the monotony of the closed coop.

Did I mention Thumper most assuredly will need extra guarding when he comes to call on his former house mates? Well he will because rabbits have very poor eye sight, but that will be for another time.