Things that I Still do and Things I Don’t

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I’ve written about many experiences and activities over the life of this blog, and I’m sure some of you lie awake nights wondering if I’m still singing sea shanties or baking gluten-free sourdough bread. So, this post is an update.

I retired 1-1/2 years ago and have been learning how to slow down. There’s a fine line between relaxing and working on projects. I’m probably still too busy, but, as you will see, there are a few things I’m willing to put aside.

Things I Still do

Gluten-free sourdough baking: Yes, I’m still doing this periodically. I gain weight too fast from all the carbs, so I only do it once or twice per month to keep from looking like a marshmallow. I’ve learned how to successfully resurrect my sourdough starter (which I call my “baby”) from a frozen state. This is very helpful when I’m gone on trips or taking a sourdough break. I’ve switched from making round loaves to using a rectangular metal baking pan because that shape of bread is easier for making sandwiches, etc. I’ve recently learned how to make a killer sourdough focaccia bread pizza. (See original post: Sweet on Sourdough | Marie’s Meanderings)

Red Cross Volunteering: Although I am not as active as I imagined, I still volunteer for local and national disasters. When wildfire threatened a city north of Duluth this summer, I did my second Red Cross stint. I drove through thick smoke and helped staff a temporary shelter. Nobody showed up, but hey, we were there! (See original post: My First Red Cross Deployment | Marie’s Meanderings)

Marie at the kickboxing gym. Not bad for 63!

Kickboxing Workouts: Despite breaking my ankle twice (once from kickboxing and once from hiking in Scotland), I still do kickboxing workouts. Some people never learn! It’s been 4-1/2 years and I still love them. I go 2-3 times per week. On off days, I walk, bike, paddle, swim, do yoga, do nothing, or play pickleball. (Russ and I recently joined a league in a town that’s about a half-hour away from our house.) I still enjoy the variety of kickboxing workouts, and that the gym is just a few blocks away from my house. Having it so near makes it hard to beg off going on those days when I just don’t feel like it. But since I’ve done kickboxing for so long, I really don’t get many of those days anymore. It’s just part of who I am now, which is someone you don’t want to meet in a dark alley. 😊 (Original post: Marie Does Kickboxing | Marie’s Meanderings)

Screenwriting: I completed my first screenplay this year. It’s for a feature film set in northern Minnesota. I recently joined the International Screenwriters’ Association and have submitted the screenplay to two opportunities. Keep fingers crossed! I also joined a local screenwriters’ group that meets monthly.

Writing books: I’m not working on any of my own books right now, but my long-time writing group has completed a horror anthology manuscript that I’m shopping around. We just received a publishing contract from a small horror press, but we declined it because the publisher didn’t want to collaborate on text edits, the book’s title, or the cover! He said it was to save time on his end, but that wasn’t going to fly with my group. So, the search continues. It’s been 1-1/2 years so far, ugh! We might end up self-publishing it.

Prescribed fire communications: I’ve been working with two local groups that are trying to bring back the Ojibwe practice of prescribed burns to their ancestral lands along Lake Superior. The first burn happened a year ago. (See post Returning Good Fire to the Land | Marie’s Meanderings.) The second burn happened last month, but I need to wait to describe it here until a story I wrote about it for a local magazine is published in a few months. I’ve been contracted to help the groups with their communications strategies and media relations. So far, so good. The fires have behaved and no undue public alarm was caused.

Things I Don’t do

Sea shanties: I faithfully attended almost all the monthly shanty singing sessions at a local folk school, plus a few sessions for a performance group offshoot. But despite signing up for the group’s email list at least three times, I never seemed to make it onto their notification list. Also, initially, the song choices were collaborative and the leader was open to suggestions. I became disillusioned when a shanty I thought the group would enjoy was not picked up (despite several attempts), so when the group began again this fall after a summer break, I didn’t have enough enthusiasm to return. Now, I only sing shanties in the shower. (Original post: She Sings Sea Shanties Down by the Shore | Marie’s Meanderings)

Writing articles: I mentioned above that I wrote a prescribed burn story for a local magazine. I told Russ I want to retire from writing articles. I feel like I’ve written enough in my life! I haven’t done a recent count, but my vita is almost 80 pages long, and most of those are lists of articles I’ve written. I would be okay with stopping! My latest fire story would be a good one to go out on. Russ scoffs at the idea that I’ll stop. He thinks I’ll get excited about some topic and not be able to resist. We shall see.

Drinking dark chocolate café mocha: Due to the global cocoa shortage in 2025, I had to change my morning drink from a homemade dark chocolate decaf café mocha to a regular cocoa decaf café mocha. (Original post: Changing my Morning Routine | Marie’s Meanderings) My store still no longer carries dark chocolate cocoa, and I’m too lazy to order it off the internet, so I just drink regular cocoa now.

Invisaligns: I’ve been dealing with a five-year saga of not being able to chew my food properly. At first, my back teeth didn’t meet. I went to an orthodontist who fitted me with Invisalign braces (those plastic ones that are less visible than the metal ones). That worked, but then my front teeth got messed up. That got resolved (see original post: My Aligners are off!! | Marie’s Meanderings) but once I was in the maintenance phase of only wearing a retainer at night, my back teeth stopped meeting again. After months of consulting with an oral surgeon, doing jaw physical therapy, and chiropractic work, nothing has changed. My orthodontist has given up on me. He doesn’t know why my teeth reverted. The next step is to consult with my dentist. I assume he’ll want to cap my back molars with crowns so that they’ll meet. It’s disheartening to have spent so much money and time on my mouth, only to be back where I started. The saga continues…

Since we’re talking about health issues (what old person doesn’t?!) I want to mention that I did not escape unscathed from the Lyme disease I contracted this summer from a tiny deer tick. I caught it early and thought I was fine after the round of antibiotics, but symptoms slowly returned, morphing mainly into hypersensitive skin on my arms and legs. It really set me back last month. My doctor diagnosed me with post-treatment Lyme disease syndrome, which basically means I have nerve damage from the disease. The only treatment is time (4 more months?) and hope that my nerves recover on their own. My doctor gave me medicine for the pain, but it ended up gradually causing me even more pain somewhere else, so I’m off that. Ibuprofen seems to work best on my bad days. In essence, it only hurts when I move.

I want to close by saying that, of course, I intend to keep meandering, even though it hurts right now. Russ and I have two trips planned for 2027. I also plan to continue this blog, but I might slow down the pace. I appreciate your readership and comments. The blogging community is very special.

Biking From Grand Rapids to Bovey, MN

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View of a mine pit lake off the Mesabi Trail

We unwittingly saved the best for almost last in our quest to bicycle the entire Mesabi Trail in northern Minnesota. After completing this latest section, Russ and I have biked all but two parts of this 165-mile paved trail. By “best,” I mean it was the smoothest, most scenic section with some fun rolling hills.

We departed Grand Rapids from the trailhead, which is off a parking lot at the Itasca County Fairgrounds. On this unseasonably warm fall day, golden leaves crunched under our tires and fell from the trees in slanting sunlight as we passed. The only downside were a few mildly painful run-ins with Asian ladybeetles that had the misfortune to meet their doom as we whizzed into them.

Round trip, this section is between 14.5-16 miles, depending on your mapping ap. We passed iron ore mine tailings ponds and crossed the Prairie River on a wooden bridge. We only ran into one patch of bumps and that was in the town of Coleraine. Most of the trail is in the woods, but it does parallel a highway for a bit.

Lots of other people were also enjoying the trail on what could be the last warm day of the year. The trailhead where we turned around in Bovey features a bench that has a design cut into the back that pays homage to Minnesota’s state photo, which was taken in 1918 or 1920 by photographer Eric Enstrom, who had a studio in that city. It shows an elderly man bowing his head in thanks over a meager meal of bread and soup.

Minnesota’s State Photo, “Grace”

Enstrom titled the image “Grace” and intended it to represent survival, thankfulness, and faith in the face of hardship. The photo graced the home of my grandparents and many other places. One interesting fact is that the model for the photo was a salesman who just happened to be passing through when Enstrom asked him to pose. The rest is history!

The two sections of the trail we have left run from Bovey to Calumet and one new stretch near Ely. Temps have dipped into the 40s and 50s, which is too cold for me to bike, so those will have to wait until spring.

Prairie River

I haven’t written about every section we biked, only the memorable ones. For more information, see my other stories about the trail:

A Fall Bike Ride | Marie’s Meanderings

Bicycling from Keewatin to Nashwauk

Biking the Mesabi Trail from Ely West

The Mesabi Bike Trail from Mt. Iron to Kinney, MN

Biking the Mesabi Trail from Hibbing to Chisholm

Biking Along the Giant’s Ridge

Biking Across Minnesota’s Tallest Bridge

I’m inordinately proud of my Taco bike bell

A Visit to Listening Point and the International Wolf Center

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Sigurd Olson’s Listening Point Cabin

I named this place Listening Point because only when one comes to listen, only when one is aware and still, can things be seen and heard. Everyone has a listening point somewhere. It does not have to be in the north or close to the wilderness, but some place of quiet where the universe can be contemplated with awe. — Sigurd Olson, Listening Point

Those of you who have read my blog for a while may recall a quote or two from one of my favorite nature writers and conservationists, Sigurd Olson. He lived a couple of hours north of me in Ely, Minnesota. I never met him (he died while out snowshoeing in 1982 when I was in college), but over the years I’ve read most of his books and I admire his way with words and his way of being in the wilderness.

Olson’s home and cabin have been preserved by The Listening Point Foundation. It was formed to preserve his legacy and to advance his wilderness philosophy. During summer, they offer tours of Olson’s cabin and house.

One day last month, Russ and I booked a tour and meandered up to Ely with some visiting friends. It was a drizzly fall day, but that didn’t stop our excitement at finally seeing the places that helped shape Olson’s books.

The man himself as a cutout character in his Ely home.

We met as a small group for the tour of Sig’s cabin at Listening Point just off the highway and caravaned into the cabin parking lot. Our guide was a colleague of Olson’s from when he taught at Vermillion Community College. He gave us an orientation and some background information while standing in the lot, then we hiked a short trail to the cabin, passing Sig’s handcrafted sauna along the way.

You would think the cabin would be on the rocky tip of the point that juts out into Burntside Lake. Instead, it sits sheltered behind a huge boulder dropped by the glacier eons ago, with views of the bay. Sig wrote about his decision to locate the cabin in that spot in his book, Listening Point. Essentially, he wanted the protection and stability of that site, and to preserve the end of the point for contemplation, not living.

The one-story, one-room cabin was originally two stories. It was located elsewhere and moved to the site. There’s no indoor plumbing, only an outhouse. A fieldstone fireplace graces one side of the room. There’s a table for eating and two single beds for Olson and his wife, Elizabeth.

Listening Point

I was surprised to learn that Olson did not write at the cabin. He saved that for his backyard writing shack at his Ely house. You’d think the cabin would be the perfect place for that! Instead, he used it to gain experiences that he could write about.

After we toured the cabin, which is on the National Register of Historic Places, we wandered out to the point. A breeze whispered through the white pines, and I could almost hear the spirits. A low log bench sits atop a rock that offers a good view of the lake. Below it, a bronze plaque commemorates Olson.

We spent many minutes soaking in the peace. Soon, it was time to go. Although we didn’t sign up for it, our guide invited us to visit Olson’s house since he was going there to lead another tour, anyway. We readily agreed!

Ely was about a 20-minute drive away. We parked near a modest gray house with white trim. Upon entering, we were struck by how civilized the house was compared to Sig’s cabin. No wonder he needed a second place to get away. The kitchen has been remodeled since Sig’s time, but the rest of the place is much the same.

The living room serves as an informal museum to Sig’s life and accomplishments. The dining room looks out on his writing shack.

Sigurd Olson’s writing shack in Ely, MN.

We toured the shack, which is also on the National Register of Historic Places. In addition to being a writer and conservationist, Sig was a naturalist. Besides a typewriter and books, the shack is filled with finds from his wilderness travels. Rocks and animal bones line almost every available surface.

We came away with greater understanding and appreciation for this noted author and the land where he lived. We had some time to kill, so after lunch at the Evergreen Restaurant (highly recommended!), we visited the International Wolf Center. I’d been to the center a couple of times (most notably when I was doing research my Eye of the Wolf novel), but it had been many years, so I was interested to see their new educational exhibits and the new wolves in the captive pack.

Now, wolf-lovers, don’t get all up in arms about the term captive. The wolves in this pack have plenty of room to roam, and they aren’t taken from the wild. They function as ambassadors for their species, helping people learn about and appreciate wolves.

During a naturalist program about wolves, we watched in awe as several pack members appeared like ghosts out of the woods. We could see them through the large observation windows. That was truly magical!

Rowan, a member of the wolf pack at the International Wolf Center

We returned home from Ely feeling peaceful and just a bit wilder, with a strange impulse to howl on the next full moon. 😊

That Time Lake Superior Almost Killed Me

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Outside magazine recently published a story about Cold Water Immersion Stages and Survival Tips. The article reminded me about an experience I had as a college student when I was working for the National Park Concessionaire on Isle Royale, an island in Lake Superior.

I was a waitress at Rock Harbor Lodge during the summers of 1983-84. The lodge is one of the only civilized spots on the wilderness island, which has no roads or other amenities. Instead, it’s filled with wolves, moose, loons, and fog. Lake trout swim in the depths, hikers tread the challenging trails, and boaters brave the waves.

I think it was during my first summer when I was working dinner service on a hot day. Hot on Isle Royale is a relative term. In Florida, eighty-five degrees would seem like nothing, but on “the Rock” as we called the island, it’s a heat wave. Add in a hot kitchen and the effort of serving a lot of hungry patrons, and you have a bunch of waiters, waitresses, and cooks who are sweating through their white polyester uniforms.

A much younger Marie in her 1980s waitress uniform on the steps of Rock Harbor Lodge, Isle Royale National Park. Image by Dorothy Pramann

Outside the dining room windows, a view of the marina, with docks, sailboats, and the allure of Lake Superior’s cool blue waters beckoned. Everyone working that evening made a pact to jump off the end of the nearest dock once our shift ended.

Normally, I liked to ease into the lake slowly. I’d swum in the lake many times in a different, more sheltered, harbor nearby (Tobin Harbor). But I was young, reckless, and hot, so I joined my coworkers in the plan. I expected the water temperature to be the same as during my previous swims.

Our shift over, we all marched down the dock, fully clothed. I was perhaps the second or third person to jump into the water. The people before me whooped and hollered but had no trouble. I didn’t want to get my hair wet, so I launched myself off the high dock with arms and legs splayed to keep my head above water.

My vanity is what saved me.

As the Outside magazine story outlines about the body’s response to cold water immersion shock, the moment I hit the water, I gasped, but because my head was still above water, I gasped air instead of water. Also, both of my legs immediately cramped up, turning into useless weights that began to drag me down.

The water was frigid, much colder than I’d experienced before. What I didn’t realize was that an offshore breeze had created upwelling conditions, bringing near-freezing water up from the depths of the lake and into the harbor.

My arms still worked, so I pumped them furiously to keep afloat and to swim toward the dock. When I could catch my breath, I pleaded for help and said my legs didn’t work.

Amid all the shouting and activity of other people jumping in the water, it took a while for anyone to notice my plight. Eventually, I was able to reach the dock where two coworkers pulled me out. I don’t recall how long it took before my cramps resolved as the blood that had fled to my body’s core returned to my legs while I lay on the dock.

Thankfully, nobody else cramped up. Why me? Maybe I was also dehydrated or something. Who knows! I’m just “lucky,” I guess.

As I walked off the dock, I recall feeling grateful that I survived my cold-water plunge–grateful that I didn’t drown. Best yet, my hair didn’t get wet!

I had no other lingering effects, but I did learn one important lesson: test the water first, stupid!

Poetry Book Review and Other Writing Fun

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My poetry book, High Fire Danger, was reviewed in the latest issue of Lake Superior Magazine. Sorry, the review is only available to subscribers. But here’s an excerpt: “In her poetry, the language and images of nature permeate Marie’s writing whether about love, loss, family, or frustration.”

And here’s a review by a member of the Wisconsin Writers Assn. that you can read even if you’re not a magazine subscriber. Hope you have a chance to check out the reviews. High Fire Danger is available on Amazon.

Second, I received a fan email from a reader in Maryland. She read my first novel, Eye of the Wolf. “To say I enjoyed it is an understatement. What an unusual and vivid story! The last few chapters were absolute page-turners! You are such a lovely writer…” That made my week! The book is out of print but is available through many libraries.

For more information about my books, please visit the book page on my web site.

Camping in Brule River State Forest

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Tiny Scamp, tall pines

Russ and I took our Scamp trailer recently to northern Wisconsin for our one-and-only camping trip of the summer. We’d tried to camp earlier in the season, but had trouble making reservations in state and provincial parks because the reservations get snapped up so fast. We even woke up once before 6 a.m. to try and make a reservation but open spots were gone in seconds!

Thankfully, sites were available at the Bois Brule Campground, which I got to know during my stint as a Road Scholar trip leader this summer. We made reservations for three nights in mid-September.

One warning, however! Non-Wisconsin residents need to be prepared for extra fees, plus you need to buy a Wisconsin State Parks vehicle pass. If my memory serves me correctly, we ended up paying more than $150 for the privilege of staying in our camper in a place without electricity or running water. (There is a hand pump, however, and artesian wells nearby.) But we were determined to go camping, dammit! So, we made the reservation.

See the heart shape in the trees over our campsite?

Campsites nestled among tall pines and carpeted with pine needles attracted us to this campground near the Brule River. Plus, it was less than an hour’s drive from Duluth, and it had reservations available.

Stoney Hill Nature Trail

Our first evening, we took a walk around the campground. Ironically, we met some other Scamp owners who lived in Duluth! It felt funny to travel someplace distant and yet meet people who lived not far from us. We enjoyed a campfire that night as we listened to barred owls hoot along the riverbanks.

The next morning, we hiked the Stoney Hill Nature Trail, which is accessible from the campground and covers 1.6 miles in a loop. Interpretive signs along the way provide information about the natural and cultural history of the Brule River State Forest.

We chose to hike the loop clockwise for a less strenuous hike. (The other direction features a steep 184-foot climb that we would rather walk down than up.) The trail culminated in a lookout over the Brule River Valley. But once we arrived, we had to laugh because we couldn’t see a thing. The lookout is overgrown with trees! But we enjoyed the exercise and learning more about the area.

After lunch, we drove to Bayfield, a town about an hour away on the shores of Lake Superior. Our first stop was the Apfelhaus Cidery. Part of the Hauser Farm, the cidery is run by a former coworker of mine and her husband. The apples come from their own orchard. I’d seen the cidery tasting room when it was under construction and was excited to see it now that it’s open.

Our cider flight

We ordered a flight of four different ciders. Two were alcoholic and two were N/A. We enjoyed the N/A offerings best because they were sweeter. Our favorite was the cherry variety. As we sipped, we enjoyed a view of Lake Superior from the cidery’s perch atop a ridge.

Sated by cider, we made our way down the ridge to town. We spent time shopping and perusing the many art galleries and gift stores there. For supper, we ate on a dock jutting out into Lake Superior at Hoops Fish and Chips Dockside. Hoops is a commercial fishing operation, and they serve lake whitefish caught that morning. They used to only offer it fried and breaded with French fries but now have added it grilled with rice. I’d eaten there before but Russ hadn’t. We ordered one of each dish. Both were excellent! They also serve Apfelhaus cider.

Our whitefish dinners at Hoops

On our way back to the campground, we stopped at the infamous Moquah Bar, which you can read all about in a separate post, “We Survived the Moquah Bar.”

After another quiet night and campfire, we awoke the next morning to a mostly empty campground. Most of the other campers are fly fishers, who leave at the crack of dawn to fish the Brule River, which is famous for its trout.

The Brule-St. Croix Portage Nature Trail

We hiked again, this time traveling about a half-hour to Upper St. Croix Lake, near Solon Springs. The picnic area there is home to the Brule-St. Croix Portage Trail, which is what the Voyageurs and fur traders of old used to travel from Lake Superior to the Brule River and Upper St. Croix Lake. This would then take them into the St. Croix River, which led to the Mississippi River and beyond.

At the trailhead, you can either choose the portage trail or a bog trail that leads to a boardwalk. I’d already been on the bog trail, so we hiked the portage trail. It begins with a steep incline up a ridge but then levels out after that. Along the way stone markers commemorated historic explorers from the fur trade era. We hiked about half the trail.

After returning to the campground for lunch, we headed out with our bikes on the car to the small town of Ino, Wisconsin. Our goal was Forest Road 236, a seldom-traveled picturesque back road good for cycling and motorcycling. We rode 30 miles and only saw a few other vehicles.

We returned to the campground to enjoy our classic camping dinner of scrambled eggs and Spam. The only thing that would have made it better was if we had remembered to pack the ketchup!

As our trip came to a close, we reflected on the joys of camping in northern Wisconsin—from peaceful hikes and friendly encounters to delicious meals shared under the pines with the gurgle of the Bois Brule in the background. Sipping crisp apple cider with a view of Lake Superior was a highlight, perfectly capturing the spirit of relaxation and adventure that defined our getaway. We left feeling grateful for the memories made. I’m not sure if we’ll have other camping adventures since we are considering selling our Scamp. If this was our last outing, it was a good one!

Bayfield Harbor

That Time I Almost Sent My Dog Into the Duluth Ship Canal

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A ship passes through Duluth’s ship canal and under the Aerial Lift Bridge.

One beautiful summer evening about a decade ago when my goldendoodle Buddy was still alive, I took him on a walk in Canal Park, Duluth’s tourist spot. Sometimes it’s fun to be a tourist in your own town. People come from all over the country to watch the Lakers and Salties (Great Lakes and ocean-going ships) enter the harbor through the parallel concrete structures that form the shipping canal. The ships then pass under the famous Aerial Lift Bridge, which by now has lifted the roadway bottom span. The bridge operator greets the ship with a series of horn blasts. The ships answer, and any crowds gathered at the canal wave and cheer.

As I recall, we had walked under the lift bridge and were near the end of the canal on the harbor side. I thought it would be fun for Buddy to see the water over the wall. As it was, his view within the four-foot-high walls was just concrete and other people. I patted the foot-wide top of the canal wall with my hand in a gesture I THOUGHT would encourage Buddy to stand on his hind legs and put his front legs on the top of the wall so he could see over.

Buddy, the door-to-door salesman. Photo by Amanda Dahl-Sales.

But Buddy, 85 pounds of red goofy smartness, SPRUNG to the top of the wall! In total shock, I watched as he suddenly realized there was nothing but a deep drop into the water on the other side. Buddy’s toenails scratched the concrete in a mad scramble, and I probably pulled on his leash.

Thankfully, he fell backward onto the concrete instead of forward into the canal. In total shock, I comforted him and apologized over and over. Luckily, nobody else was nearby so I didn’t feel too much like a spectacle.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think he would jump atop the wall. I knew he was agile, but I didn’t know he was that agile! I shudder to think of what would have happened if he’d fallen into the canal. Although there are ladders placed periodically along the walls, there’s no way I could have lifted him back up.

A few weeks after our adventure, I saw a newspaper account of someone whose dog did end up in the canal. The person climbed down the ladder and held onto their dog until the Coast Guard could rescue them. That could have been us!

Although shaken, Buddy soon forgave me and forgot his close call. We walked back to the car on wobbly legs. You can bet that I never patted the tops of any other walls after that!

We Survived the Moquah Bar

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My shadow in front of the Moquah Bar. Proof that I really was there!

During a recent camping trip to the town of Brule in northern Wisconsin, Russ and I meandered to a place we’d noticed several times on a highway detour a few years ago. This establishment is in the tiny town of Moquah (pronounced Muck-wa, Algonquin for bear). Whenever we passed the small building, the door was always open, which looked inviting. Not so inviting was its ramshackle plywood construction. Through the open door, we could glimpse a low ceiling and bar stools. The homemade sign out front proclaimed this intriguing venue was the Moquah Bar.

At 5 p.m. on a Saturday, we girded our loins and decided to pay the bar a visit. We parked out back by the outhouse, also made of plywood. We walked past the outdoor seating area, which consisted of picnic tables on a cement slab surrounded by concrete blocks. Evidence of last night’s festivities (or maybe several nights’ worth) littered the tables. Apparently, if patrons don’t pick up after themselves, nobody else does, either.

The outhouse

We peeked inside the open doorway. Dollar bills, graffiti, can cozies, bras, and underwear festooned the ceiling and walls. Nobody else was there except for a white-haired man behind the bar. He looked up from his book but didn’t offer a greeting. I got the feeling he’d rather keep reading. And I was okay with that. I’m an author, after all!

We later learned (thanks to social media) that the barkeep/owner’s name is Bud. He’s been running the bar since 1975. When it burned in the 1980s, Bud slapped together a new place out of plywood. The Moquah Bar is known as the Plywood Palace, and also as one of Wisconsin’s diviest dive bars.

We tried to engage Bud in conversation, but he’s hard of hearing, so that didn’t last long. Russ managed to ask him what the story was with all the ceiling decorations. Bud said it was something people “just decided to do.”

Russ was impressed that the bar refrigerator had an N/A beer he could drink. I made the mistake of ordering a shot of brandy. This was a mistake not because of the taste, but because it came in a glass. Word on the street is that Bud doesn’t wash the glassware. Maybe he thinks the alcohol kills the germs? Come to think of it, I’m not sure that the bar has running water. That could be the real reason! I was blissfully ignorant of the “don’t drink from a glass” unwritten rule at the time and enjoyed my shot.

We wandered around the bar, marveling at the sights, which included a broken jukebox, a foosball table, and a two-inch gap in the roof where the back bar structure joins the front. Russ signed a dollar bill with a sharpie and added it to a post with a thumbtack. A few minutes later, the dysfunction of the place weighed too heavily on me. “We’ve got to get out of here!” I hissed to Russ. He agreed. We said our goodbyes to Bud and left.

As we passed the outhouse on the way to our car, Russ helpfully suggested I use it before our drive back to the campground. You can guess the look I gave him! Once on the road, although we were relieved to be out of the bar, we were also proud that we were brave enough to visit it. This bar was quite the opposite experience of our visit to Ravenstone Abbey pub.

Another acquaintance of mine recently visited the bar. To see his account and more photos, visit the Perfect Duluth Day blog.

So, we visited the Plywood Palace and lived to tell the tale! But wait. Is that a fever I feel coming on…?

Ravenstone Abbey

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In a small town on Minnesota’s Iron Range, a boy and his friend scooter along the sidewalk outside a restaurant. One boy mentions he needs to use the bathroom and begins to head toward a nearby park with public restrooms. The other boy, heavyset and wearing a red T-shirt, enters the restaurant’s fenced yard and approaches a large stone with a sword sticking out of it.

“You trying that again? You’ll never do it!” says the Bathroom Boy, continuing on his way.

Red T-shirt Boy crouches and tugs on the sword, pulling with all his might.

Alas, the sword does not budge. Red T-shirt Boy will not become the future King of England. But he can dream, can’t he?

As you may have guessed by now, the restaurant that features the Excalibur sword is not your normal restaurant. On the National Register of Historic Places, Ravenstone Abbey in Coleraine is the stuff of Medieval dreams. A pub/restaurant, coffee shop/bistro, and axe-throwing dungeon are housed in a painstakingly renovated 1908-era Methodist Episcopal Church/YMCA.

The building served as a church until 1976, when it was abandoned and fell into disrepair. The windows were boarded up, water leaked through holes in the roof, and animals took up residence.

Once they saw it by chance in 2021, future owners Jozsef and Sue Palavics fell in love with the derelict building and its towering stone walls (made from local stone) and stained-glass windows. By 2024, as their website says, they created “a place where history meets modernity, where the old-world charm of a medieval castle blends seamlessly with the excitement of a contemporary event venue.”

Russ and I meandered up to Coleraine one evening for supper at the abbey. As we sat at our table next to one of the original stone walls, we appreciated the oil lamp on the table, which was held by a small knight figurine in shining armor.

The Queens Salad

I ordered The Queens Salad, which featured mixed greens, mandarin oranges, red onion, feta cheese, pecans, and dried cranberries with a poppyseed dressing. Russ ordered The Kings Salad, which featured romaine lettuce topped with buffalo chicken, diced tomatoes, cheddar cheese, bacon, red onions, and croutons with a buffalo ranch dressing.

Both were reasonably priced and delicious! I also ordered a refreshing gin gimlet. The service was excellent, and our waiter helped me navigate my food intolerances (wheat/corn) to find something I could eat.

The Axehole Dungeon

Once finished, we peeked into the Axehole Dungeon. Nobody was throwing any axes at the time, but it looked like fun. We did not partake, but are keeping the experience in mind if we take guests there someday.

The Buttery Pub

As we left, Russ sat in the giant wooden “throne” in the entryway for a photo op. We walked to our car, noting some young girl urchins playing along the side of the building. I loved that the local children felt welcome there.

If you ever find yourself in northern Minnesota, indulge the imaginative child in you and check out Ravenstone Abbey! Maybe throw an axe or two while you’re there. (As per usual, I was not paid to say this.) 😊

The Plovers Have Landed!

/ mariezhuikov / 15 Comments
The piping plover pair that nested on Wisconsin Point this summer. The birds are marked with colored plastic bands to identify and track individuals. Photo credit: Mikayla Erickson

I’m happy to announce that the endangered piping plover shorebirds (Charadrius melodus) have nested for the first time in 49 years in Superior, Wisconsin. This culminates years of habitat restoration work by many groups, including the St. Louis River Alliance, which I worked for in the past. I wrote the first grant to receive funding for this work, but I left the Alliance for my Sea Grant job before I could see the results come to fruition.

I took what I learned through that experience and applied it to my second eco-mystic-romance novel, Plover Landing. The book tells the story of Melora, who is fighting to save the habitat of these birds on the shores of Lake Superior. It was published in 2014.

In Plover Landing, the birds nest on Minnesota Point, but in recent reality, they nested in a bird sanctuary on Wisconsin Point. We’d often had reports of single plovers passing through on migration, but this time, a male and female plover must have been passing through at the same time and decided to make a go of it.

Alas, their nesting efforts were not successful, but natural resource managers hope they might return next spring and try again. Here’s a link to a good Wisconsin Public Radio story about the topic.

I am so excited to see the situation I dreamed of in my novel burst into reality! And I’m happy that these adorable birds are making a comeback.

If you’re interested in my books, please check out my Books page. And if you live in the Twin Ports, be sure to visit my booth at Chester Bowl Fall Fest in Duluth on September 19th. I’ll be selling and autographing books along with local poet Stanley Kusunoki.