Author: mariezhuikov

I’m an Isle-ophile. Are You?

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St. Martin Island, West Indies.

St. Martin Island, West Indies.

An island doesn’t have to be very far away from shore or very big to accomplish its true work: to surround you with imminent water, and to unhitch you from the grappling hooks of your own life for a while. – Minnesota Author Bill Holm, Eccentric Islands

I love islands. I’ve known of this affliction for quite a while, even before I heard the term for it: isle-ophile. Some of my most intense experiences have happened on islands. I like how islands make me feel and how they make other people behave (unless they are deserted islands, then it’s not so pretty.)

I first got a feel for islands when my parents took us camping. I have hazy young memories of Mackinac Island in Lake Huron; Prince Edward Island in Canada; the U.K.; and Madeline Island, Stockton Island, and Isle Royale in Lake Superior.

My exposure to Isle Royale led me to work there during college for two summers at the rustic resort. Then there was Grand Manan Island off New Brunswick, Newfoundland, Gero Island in Maine, Cumberland Island Georgia, Key Largo Florida (and eventually all the keys), Puerto Rico, Catalina Island in California, Ludlow’s Island in Minnesota, Orcas Island of the San Juan chain in Washington, St. Martin in the West Indies, and Brigantine in New Jersey.

Each place has provided intense experiences — unlike those a person can have on the mainland. Islands have offered: opportunities to form and intensify friendships, crazy experiences with animals, cold refuge from storms, hot refuge from heartbreak, family vacations, work conferences, romantic vacations, and immersions in local culture.

Islands force people to depend on one another more than they do when on the mainland. Usually, you’re more at the whims of nature because you’re in the middle of a body of water. Communication with the outside world is sporadic and takes more effort (although it’s a lot easier now, with computers). You’re living on the edge, but that edge is defined and it’s hard to get lost.

I’m irresistibly drawn to islands. Are you?

Here’s another reason to ponder about why islands draw people, offered by Mr. Holm:

In one way, all islands are female, surrounded by female water. John Fowles, in his book, “Islands,” says, “The domain of the siren had been where sea and land meet; and it is even less for nothing that the siren is female, not male.” Islands are secret places where the unconscious grows conscious, where possibilities mushroom, where imagination never rests. “All isolation . . . is erotic.”

“Doing” Madeline Island in an Hour – a Photo Story

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Say you have an awful terrible job like mine (smile) that requires travel to a picturesque lakeside (as in Lake Superior) town (as in Bayfield, Wis.) for a meeting. Let’s say that after the Bayfield meeting your coworker has another meeting that requires travel by car ferry to a nearby island. He invites you to use the car while he’s in his meeting so you can tool around the island and take scenic photos for the various publications produced by your organization.

Bayfield, Wis.

Bayfield, Wis.

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Let’s say you only have an hour to spend on the island before your coworker’s meeting is done and you have to ferry back to the mainland. Where would you go on the island? Why, you would go where the ferry worker recommends, that’s where!

I recently meandered over to Madeline Island on the south shore of Lake Superior under such circumstances. Without prompting, the lady selling ferry tickets pointed to a sand spit in Big Bay State Park on a map and said, “If I was going to Madeline Island today, that’s where I’d head.”

I recently meandered over to Madeline Island on the south shore of Lake Superior under such circumstances. Without prompting, the lady selling ferry tickets pointed to a sand spit in Big Bay State Park on a map and said, “If I was going to Madeline Island today, that’s where I’d head.”

I figured she knew what she was talking about. While my coworker was in his meeting in the quaint town of LaPointe on the island, I drove to the park which, like any good cheap hotel, included an option to just pay for an hour. I located the trail to the sandspit and enjoyed a short hike through a verdant ferny forest...

I figured she knew what she was talking about. While my coworker was in his meeting in the quaint town of LaPointe on the island, I drove to the park which, like any good cheap hotel, included an option to just pay for an hour. I located the trail to the sandspit and enjoyed a short hike through a verdant ferny forest…

...that gave way to a grove of white pines just before the beach.

…that gave way to a grove of white pines just before the beach.

Dozens of swimmers enjoyed the cool waters of Lake Superior.

Dozens of swimmers enjoyed the cool waters of Lake Superior.

I had just enough time to take off my sandals and wade in.

I had just enough time to take off my sandals and wade in.

Then I departed and looked for a scenic overlook I noticed near the park entrance. The view was all right, but the beach was better.

Then I departed and looked for a scenic overlook I noticed near the park entrance. The view was all right, but the beach was better.

By now, I had fifteen minutes left to drive back to LaPointe. Once in town, I had time to snap photos of a few local landmarks before rejoining my coworker and heading for the ferry back to Bayfield.

By now, I had fifteen minutes left to drive back to LaPointe. Once in town, I had time to snap photos of a few local landmarks before rejoining my coworker and heading for the ferry back to Bayfield.

I think I’m in love. Seriously. I will return someday when I have enough time to do Madeline Island justice. Much more awaits.

I think I’m in love. Seriously. I will return someday when I have enough time to do Madeline Island justice. Much more awaits.

Nantucket Sleigh Ride Via Loon

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Loons dancing in the morning mist on Tuscarora Lake in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. (Photo taken by me in the mid-1980s.)

Loons dancing in the morning mist on Tuscarora Lake in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. (Photo taken by me in the mid-1980s.)

Strange things happen sometimes in the Northwoods – this land where humans and animals live so near each other. When I was young (8? 9?) my family went fishing on a lake north of Duluth. While casting our lines, we noticed a loon swimming nearby, calling in an unusual manner. As outdoorsy types, we had heard many loons before, but this one sounded more plaintive than normal, like it was in distress.

The loon kept circling — swimming near us, which was also odd for this rather stand-offish species. My dad said something like, “I think that loon needs help,” so we canoed toward it. Soon we saw the problem. A homemade fishing pole crafted from a large branch trailed about fifteen feet behind the bird. My dad grabbed the pole, thinking he could just pull the loon toward us and find where the fishing hook was lodged in it.

Ha! He underestimated the power of the loon. Upon feeling the tug of the line, the loon took off and dove underwater. My dad kept his grip on the pole, and the loon proceeded to pull our canoe (and the three or four of us in it) through the water at a good clip.

Now, a Nantucket sleigh ride is what used to happen to whalers after they harpooned a whale. The whale would take off, towing the whaling boat and its occupants through the sea until the whale tired and surfaced. That’s what was happening to us, only our whale was a loon.

Soon the loon tired and my dad was able to pull it close enough to capture in his gloved hands. This in itself was a feat of daring. Adult loons are about the size of a goose, and their bills are long and sharp.

After my dad wrestled it onto his lap, we discovered the hook embedded in the bird’s neck. Imagine — all that force from our lake sleigh ride concentrated on such a fragile body part. But that hadn’t stopped the loon.

My brother handed my dad the pliers and he was able to remove the hook. We released the loon back into its watery home. As the loon departed, its call was different. Happier.

Was it saying thank you? I’d like to think so.

In Which I Learn About Aquaponics (and eat it, too!)

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A salad made with aquaponic lettuce. Photo by Moira Harrington.

A salad made with aquaponic lettuce. Photo by Moira Harrington.

Last week, a small cadre of my co-workers and I visited an aquaponics facility in Montello, Wis., to learn more about this intriguing way to grow food. The types of food involved are fish and plants: walleye and tilapia, and just about any type of veggie one can imagine. This alone would be cool, but what’s even more notable is that the water used in the system is recirculated and reused, thanks to the wonders of bacteria and a specialized filter system.

The facility we visited housed joint operations by Nelson and Pade Inc. and the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point. Nelson and Pade sells aquaponics systems commercially, along with the fishy and veggie fruits of their labor. UW-Stevens Point conducts research into new aquaponics methods.

Aquaculture tanks that hold tilapia fish.

Aquaculture tanks that hold tilapia fish.

How does aquaponics work? Basically, the fish are grown in aquaculture tanks. The resulting nutrient-rich water from the tanks is filtered through several systems and pumped into plant-growing systems. The plants grow in their own individual base of porous rockwool atop the water in floating platforms. No soil is needed. The plants receive enough nutrients and natural fertilizer from the fish water to grow. The used plant water is then filtered again and recirculated back into the aquaculture tanks.

The goal with aquaponics is to provide a sustainable system for growing high-quality food. Pesticides aren’t used on the plants for fear they will contaminate the water and hurt the fish. Instead, natural methods are used like mites that eat pests.

The plant growing platforms.

The plant growing platforms.

The systems don’t take up much space or use much water after the first set-up, and they produce high volumes of food: ten pounds of plants for every one pound of fish. People can purchase systems small enough to fit in a home or classroom, to those large enough for family farms. My guess is that anyone able to keep fish alive in a home aquarium would be able to do the same thing in an aquaponics system. Sure, the aquarium in this case is a bit more expensive, but the concepts are the same.

To round out the tour, our group ate at a local café where aquaponics lettuce was used in a tasty strawberry walnut salad. It was super good. If you ever get the chance to tour such a facility or eat aquaponics-produced food, go for it!

The luscious resulting lettuce.

The luscious resulting lettuce.

Spending the Fourth of July in . . . the Twilight Zone

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William Shatner and the gremlin in

William Shatner and the gremlin in “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.”

While most people in Duluth were finding their way to favorite spots on the hillside or waterfront to watch the night’s fireworks display, I got distracted by the SciFy channel’s Fourth of July Twilight Zone Marathon. I had socialized and visited the beach earlier in the day, and was watching a bit of television before leaving for the fireworks. Problem was, an episode was airing that scared the bee hooosis (Minnesotan for bejesus) out of me when I was young.

I hadn’t seen “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” since that fateful night my parents were out and I watched a scary television show despite their instructions to the contrary. Would the episode be as frightening to now? Would the face that appears in the airplane window when the passenger draws back the curtain make me hide behind the living room curtains like when I was little?

I had to watch it. Fireworks be dammed. Cue Rod Serling’s opening narration:

Portrait of a frightened man: Mr. Robert Wilson, thirty-seven, husband, father, and salesman on sick leave. Mr. Wilson has just been discharged from a sanitarium where he spent the last six months recovering from a nervous breakdown, the onset of which took place on an evening not dissimilar to this one, on an airliner very much like the one in which Mr. Wilson is about to be flown home – the difference being that, on that evening half a year ago, Mr. Wilson’s flight was terminated by the onslaught of his mental breakdown. Tonight, he’s traveling all the way to his appointed destination, which, contrary to Mr. Wilson’s plan, happens to be in the darkest corner of the Twilight Zone.

Robert Wilson is played by a young William Shatner. His wife sits beside him on his plane ride home from the sanitarium.

I marveled at the 1960s clunky airplane backdrop, made with cheap wood paneling, the airline seats with so much room on either side they looked like today’s first-class seats, and the quaint plaid curtains covering the plane windows.

Was I was scared watching the show now? Of course not. I’ve been too jaded by the likes of “Jaws,” and “The Exorcist,” and “Amityville Horror,” and dozens of other horror movies for a little Twilight Zone to scare me. But I understood why the story was so frightening when I was younger; it was the feelings that Mr. Wilson was alone in his belief that someone was out on the airplane wing. The plane is in peril from this person outside. Only he knows this, but he can’t make anyone else believe him because the humanoid (which we later learn is a gremlin) hides when anyone else tries to see him. That kind of emotional tension must have been unbearable to me as a child.

Plus there’s the tension and surprise when Mr. Wilson closes the curtain after seeing the gremlin the first time, but then wants to open it up later, just to check if anything is really out there. His hand hesitates above the curtain as he struggles with his feelings. When he draws back the curtain, the gremlin’s morose yet curious face fills the entire window. (I suspect this is the point where I fled behind the curtains.)

Nightmare_ar_20,000_Feet_GremlinThe gremlin’s appearance in the window is scarier than the appearance of the gremlin itself. He’s more like a wooly clown with a bad make-up job. But it’s all the peril and tension that made this episode so memorable.

This little trip down horror memory lane was worth missing the fireworks show. Even after all these years, it reminded me what makes a good horror story: tension, surprise, peril, and emotional isolation.

Now, if I could just remember that the next time I write a horror story. Who knows? Maybe I will scare the bee hooosis out of a seven-year-old.

A Technological Leap

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Old vs. new technology.

Old vs. new technology.

Last week at work I made the leap from my thirty-year-old tape cassette recorder to a digital voice recorder. What took me so long, right? The thing was, my cassette recorder worked just fine. I bought it for my first job as a reporter when I was in college (for the Minnesota Daily – best college newspaper in the nation! Smile.)

I bought it at a Radio Shack store on campus for $40, which was a lot for a poor college student. My trusty Panasonic has captured the voices of so many people – I can’t even begin to count them: wolf researchers, medical researchers, the MN law team that represented the government of India in the Bhopal poison gas lawsuit, tall ship captains, animal behaviorists, state legislators, water scientists, and guys who just wanted to sell fitness equipment.

What prompted my foray into this century’s technology was the need for a digital sound file for a project I’m working on. I suppose I could have figured out how to do that with my cassette recorder, but it seemed like it was time to switch. Besides, cassette tapes are getting hard to find and the digital recorder is so small and easy to carry around.

I admit – it took me several tries to get up enough energy to read the instructions (yes, I actually did that) and to make the switch. The recorder sat on my desk for about a week with several aborted attempts before I got serious about figuring it out. I suppose that’s a function of age. Young people seem to absorb new technology by osmosis. For us oldsters, it takes the right mood and amount of energy. We’ve updated so many things in our lives, we run out of steam and enthusiasm – at least I do.

But I’m excited to imagine how many interesting people this digital recorder will have in its files, and hopefully, I won’t have to upgrade again in this respect during the rest of my career. But the way things are going, I’m sure there will be some other form of technology that will require a similar effort.

Jersey Shore Sojourn

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Did you know that the United States has a national historic elephant landmark? It's in New Jersey, and her name is Lucy.

Did you know that the United States has a national historic elephant landmark? It’s in New Jersey, and her name is Lucy.

My impression of New Jersey turned inside out last week when I traveled there. Before that, my main experience with the state was gained through several extended stays in the Newark Airport (one overnight on a hard plastic chair) and from brief, accidental, distasteful viewings of the “Jersey Shore” TV show.

What I learned:

Hydrangeas are my new favorite flower. Two varieties are pictured here.

Hydrangeas are my new favorite flower. Two varieties are pictured here.

  • New Jersey is not an industry-strewn state. Nature abounds in the pine barrens, designated natural areas, wildlife sanctuaries, and even in the tangle of forest along the highway.
  • Hydrangeas are obviously New Jersey residents’ favorite flowers.
  • It can get hot there! My Minnesota blood was thinned by the 80- to 90-degree days. There’s even a native cactus.
  • Drivers are not allowed to pump their own gas at service stations according to state law.
  • Liquor is sold as “packaged goods” (which provides easy fodder for jokes among the dirty-minded).
  • The state is home to Lucy, a human-made, six-story elephant that serves as a national historic landmark.
  • Palm trees can grow in New Jersey. Although they are not native, certain species can survive, providing the last word in tropical ambiance for its beach-going residents.
  • Beach culture is alive and well on the Jersey Shore. Several times I had to shake myself and remember I wasn’t in California.
  • Although people can be crass by Minnesota standards, at least one person in New Jersey was pretty darn nice (ahem).
A clutch of four piping plover eggs seen through the fence that protects the nest.

A clutch of four piping plover eggs seen through the fence that protects the nest.

The highlight of the trip for a piping plover novelist like myself, was seeing plover nests, chicks, and adults. While my home of northern Minnesota hardly has any, the beaches of New Jersey are home to about 100 pairs of breeding plovers. These endangered shorebirds (reminiscent in looks to a killdeer, but much cuter) are monitored and protected by the New Jersey Division of Fish and Wildlife and conservation groups like Conserve Wildlife Foundation of New Jersey.

I also saw frolicking dolphins, horseshoe crabs, diamondback terrapin turtles returning to the sea from laying eggs, and bunches of other birds unusual to me.

If you ever get a chance to visit the Jersey Shore, don’t be scared off by its television-show namesake!

Why did the terrapin cross the road? To lay its eggs, of course! Here's one on her way back to sea.

Why did the terrapin cross the road? To lay its eggs, of course! Here’s one on her way back to sea.

Farmers’ Market Find

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bacon jam spread

I have been quiet for a while because I have been meandering. And what did I find during my jouney? Bacon jam! I made the discovery at a farmers’ market in Brigantine, New Jersey. At $15 a jar, it’s a bit pricey, but as the seller lady said, each jar contains a half pound of bacon. I couldn’t resist. I have a bacon-lover in my family, so the purchase was a foregone conclusion.

It’s made in Pennsylvania and according to the product’s website this bacon spread makes a great topping for scallops, cheese-based appetizers, sandwiches, and as a mix-in for sauces. Although there are different varieties (black pepper, red chili & garlic), I opted for the original, which features just plain bacon.

Who knows what other wonders await in the world?

My Favorite Tree is Gone

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My favorite tree is now a stump.

My favorite tree is now a stump.

It took a long time for me to come to terms with cutting down a maple tree in my yard that was dying (see “Tribute to a Tree” from 2013), but I did it. The pileated woodpeckers had continued their pounding until the branches sported several foot-high holes (which, by the way, were not used for nesting). This spring, its leaves were sparse.

My tree was suffering and it was time to go before a strong wind or ice storm broke its limbs and endangered my shed, garage, or house. After procuring several price quotes, I chose a local company, which came sooner than I expected. I arrived home one day for lunch to see chunks of it carted away on a flatbed truck, the core of it as brown and rotten as a criminal’s heart.

What my tree used to look like.

What my tree used to look like.

I thought about making the trunk into some sort of statue or using the wood for a memento, but just the disposal of the tree was so expensive, I couldn’t think of doing anything so fancy. Plus the wood was rotten, so whatever was made from it probably wouldn’t have lasted. I counted the rings on the stump before it was ground up. The tree was at least 90 years old. I said a few words over the stump in remembrance.

Good-bye, favorite tree. I’m going to plant two young trees in the yard in your honor.

The Moon Lodge

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MoonLodge

I often think the Native American practice of separating women who were having their periods from the tribe for four days or a week in their own tent was misguided. They should have separated them the week BEFORE their periods to limit the emotional carnage caused by PMS!

Then again, can you imagine what things would be like inside a tent of PMS-ing women? All closed in, together?

Maybe that’s not such a good idea.