Humor

We Survived the Moquah Bar

/ mariezhuikov / 18 Comments
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…?

Food for Thought

/ mariezhuikov / 4 Comments

I’ve been too busy meandering around to visit other blogs or post on my own lately. As I process all that I’ve learned and keep meandering for another few weeks, here’s a “filler” post about food. On the label of this product (which shall remain nameless) note the “natural flavor with other natural flavor” description.

Russ and I found it funny. What do you think that could mean? Is one flavor more natural than another, or does the product contain doubly natural flavors? It’s a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

I hope you’re enjoying the height of summer!

Sea Lamprey Cuisine Radio Story

/ mariezhuikov / 24 Comments
The business ends of two sea lampreys. Image courtesy of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.

I interrupt my France travelog (again) for a breaking news story. Thanks to this very blog, I was interviewed by the Canadian Broadcast Corp. about That Time I Organized a Sea Lamprey Taste Test | Marie’s Meanderings post, which I wrote in 2020. I later reworked the post for a blog I used to manage for work and that’s where the CBC reporter saw the story. (It’s also included in my Meander North book.)

Her 9-minute feature about how the invasive and ugly sea lamprey are a sought-after food in Europe aired last week. You can listen to it here: Amy Hadley: Sea Lamprey Cuisine | Superior Morning | On Demand | CBC Listen. I loved the light tone she took and that she was able to speak with sea lamprey cooks and Fishery Commission staff.

It just goes to show, you never know where blogging will take you sometimes!

Brussels Sprouts = Carrion?

/ mariezhuikov / 16 Comments
Photo by Polina u2800 on Pexels.com

My husband’s nickname is Russell Brussel. He has a fondness, some might call it an obsession, with Brussels sprouts. We were cooking supper the other night: caramelized Brussels sprouts pasta with toasted chickpeas – a great vegetarian meal that we’ve cooked before – and I noticed a curious thing. The day was warm, so we had the kitchen windows open. Gradually, gobs of large black flies collected on the screens. They not only collected, they swarmed. In a spontaneous, miniature airshow, they divebombed the screens, as if trying to get inside.

Curious about whether this was happening elsewhere around the house, I checked other windows. No. The phenomenon was only happening at the kitchen windows. Thank god for the screens or we would have had an invasion on our hands!

We were busy cooking and then eating, so I didn’t think much more about it, although I noticed that the flies dispersed once the cooking was done.

The next morning, I did an internet search about whether flies are attracted to the smell of cooking Brussels sprouts. As you can probably guess, YES, they are!

Here’s why:

  • Odor Amplification:

Cooking can intensify the smells of food, making them more noticeable to flies, which have a highly developed sense of smell. 

  • Volatile Compounds:

When heated, Brussels sprouts release various volatile organic compounds, some of which might be similar to those produced during decomposition, a known fly attractant. 

  • Opportunistic Feeders:

Flies are attracted to a variety of food sources, including those that are decaying or decomposing. 

The process of cooking, especially when done with heat, can amplify the odors of food and make them more appealing to flies. Brussels sprouts, like other vegetables, can release volatile compounds when cooked that are similar to those found in decaying organic matter, which is a common attractant for flies. This is due to the presence of methyl eugenol, which is also found in other fruits and vegetables such as cherries, raspberries, and basil. When this compound is present in high concentrations, it can be intoxicating to flies and other insects.

Now you know! Plus the next time we have Brussels sprouts I can joke to Russ that he’s cooking carrion again.

Three Neighborhood Bear Fiascos

/ mariezhuikov / 23 Comments
Photo by Tomu00e1u0161 Malu00edk on Pexels.com

My home on the shores of Lake Superior in Duluth, Minnesota, lies next to a large and wild city park. We’re often blessed by visits from local wildlife. While I was on a walk earlier this week, I learned a new bear story from one of my neighbors, and it reminded me of two other stories about neighborhood bears.

The story my neighbor told me happened years ago at the house next to mine. The incident involved honey, a black bear, and guns. Warning: things do not end well for the bear.

My neighbor said that the event even got written up in the newspaper, so when I returned home, I began a search. I found it! The headline from the Sept. 25, 1958, Duluth News Tribune reads: “Honey-Loving Bear Killed. Elaborate Trap Ends Bee Hive [sic] Raids.”

Ole Martinson used to live in the house next door. He was a beekeeper and had several hives. Oak trees also grace the yard, and bears are drawn to the acorns. That fall, a 250-pound bear was bulking up for winter and raided the hives. Martinson complained to his neighbors, who decided to help him with his plight. The article says that the residents, “had fired about 15 shots at the bear in three days, but never were successful in hitting the animal.”

Can you image people discharging firearms within city limits like that now? (Currently in Minnesota, it’s illegal to discharge a firearm within 500 feet of a dwelling or occupied building unless you have written permission from the owner or occupant.)

After the unsuccessful hunt, a policeman who lived at the end of the road (Royce Hanna), and another neighbor concocted a plan with Martinson. They strung a line of light bulbs from a garage to a field and a lookout was posted to whistle when the bear approached in the night. The whistle was the signal for the lights to be switched on.

According to my neighbor, who witnessed the event, the first night they tried this scheme, the lookout mistook moonlight glinting off the lightbulbs for the bear’s eyes and Hanna shot out a lightbulb instead of a bear. (Apparently, they didn’t turn the lights on before Hanna shot!)

The second night, the bear walked into the trap “with 35 to 40 spectators hidden nearby. . . Someone whistled at the right time, the lights flashed on and Hanna opened fire. The policeman’s first shot wounded the bear. His second killed the animal.”

My neighbor told me that Hanna almost lost his job because he had called in sick that day and then his boss read about it in the newspaper. I guess the lesson is, don’t give interviews to newspaper reporters when you’re supposed to be sick! He also said that someone else in the neighborhood had skinned the bear and kept the hide.

The second story happened last fall. The people who now live in Martinson’s house had multiple bear raids on their garbage can, which they unwisely left outside all the time. I could tell the culprit was a bear by the scat left behind. Have you ever seen bear scat? It can look like a pile of chocolate soft serve ice cream in a pile as large as a dinner plate, depending on the size of the bear.

To deter the animal, they rigged the garbage can lid with straps to hold it down, plus tied the container to a tree in their yard. I just laughed when I saw this. Like a few little straps would deter a huge bear! Here’s a photo of what their container looked like the next morning.

Score one for the bear! After this, my neighbors cleaned out their garage enough that they could fit their garbage and recycling containers in it. I’m not sure why they didn’t do that in the first place. Must be slow learners. Or maybe they thought it was only a racoon.

Anyway, knowing that the house next door has been a bear target for years is sort of fun. At least this time, the bear got away with its life.

The third story happened in my own back yard about fifteen years ago. We were eating breakfast when we noticed the bear. My former husband was so excited, he burst out of the house clutching some doughnuts AND RAN TOWARD THE BEAR. I ran after him, asking what he was doing. “I want to feed the bear!” he said. I must mention that my former husband was from Russia. I guess that’s just what they do.

The bear took one look at this crazy Russian running toward him and promptly turned tail. He climbed a tree in a yard a few houses away. Disappointed, my husband left the doughnuts at the base of the tree for the bear once he climbed down.

I don’t recall if the bear ever ate the doughnuts, but this story was forever cemented in the annals of family history. Remember that time your dad chased a bear?

It’s a Lego Kind of Christmas, Sort of

/ mariezhuikov / 19 Comments

I ordered my son a Lego “toy” for Christmas last year. At 25, he’s not a kid anymore, but he has fond memories of putting Legos together in Christmases past. The Lego was a design of the universe with a “you are here” pointer.

That must be how I got back on the Lego mailing list. I received their catalog in the mail last month and noticed it featured some Christmas decorations that could be made from Legos. Russ and I like to put together puzzles in winter. This would be like a three-dimensional puzzle.

How fun! I thought. What a cool holiday activity that we could do. Plus, the grandkids will love seeing it.

I ordered a table decoration that looks like a red candle with a pine wreath around it. It arrived just fine. Russ and I waited until the weekend after Thanksgiving to begin working on it. (I’m one of those people who rails against the encroachment of Christmas on Thanksgiving, so there’s no way we would have done it sooner.)

We started it late one evening when we were already tired, so only made it a few pages into the instructions before we stopped. It was fun. As we built it, I marveled at this engineering feat that would soon turn into a Christmas decoration. We decided to save the rest for the next day when we had more time and energy.

This was where the going got tough.

The next day, building the Lego was fun up until we realized it was built for people with smaller fingers and better eyes than we have. There came one point when every time we added a new element, another one (or two, or three) would fall off. Before long, much festive swearing ensued as our frustration mounted. Oh, and did I tell you the Lego was rated for ages twelve and up? We had to stop working on it to avoid violence. (To the Lego, not to each other.)

The next day, we carefully and slowly approached the Lego decoration again. It was looking nice, but we dared not touch it for fear something would fall off. We did have more mishaps of that sort, but not as many as the day before. Still, at one point I had to excuse myself because I was getting too frustrated. Russ worked on it by himself (he’s much more patient than I) and made good progress. By the time I dared return, we were working mostly on the candle, which was much easier than the foliage and the berries. We ended up needing to make some modifications to the parts so that the candle would fit properly but finally, after three days, we finished!

Much rejoicing ensued, but we were careful not to touch the decoration for fear it would collapse in a heap. I’m thinking we might need to cover it with a glass case so that the grandkids don’t touch it when they visit. 😊

Russ brought up the idea of taking it all apart once the holidays are over so that we could try to build it “properly” next year. I told him there’s no way I’m building that thing again. Besides, I’m pretty sure we followed the directions correctly. Maybe we should just coat it in superglue so that it will last for a few years . . ?

That Time I Lost a Canoe in the Wilderness

/ mariezhuikov / 26 Comments
Me and my boys in our Old Town canoe, Clearwater Lake. Photo by Sharon Moen.

It was August 2003 and my friend Sharon and I decided it would be fun to do a mother/children canoe trip in Minnesota’s Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. At the time, my boys Hunter (4 yrs) and Logan (11 yrs) had been camping but I don’t think they’d been in the wilderness yet.

We planned to stay on Clearwater Lake, which I became familiar with years ago when I was a volunteer wilderness trail crew member for the Forest Service. I had fond memories of the clear water and impressive rock ledges on the campsites there. I used to work for the Forest Service and had been in the wilderness many times, so I was quite comfortable taking my children there in our red Old Town canoe without their dad.

Marie, Hunter, and Logan. Photo by Sharon Moen

Sharon brought along her two girls, Sierra and Savannah, and their dog. I can’t recall exactly how many days we camped – maybe two or three. The weather was great, and the water was warm enough for swimming. A submerged log lay not far offshore from our campsite and provided endless hours of entertainment for our children as they swam. They could stand and bounce on it, which made it seem like a wilderness theme park ride. A downed tree near our campsite also fascinated them.

Marie camp cooking. Photo by Sharon Moen

We spent evenings around the fire regaling each other with tales of our wilderness exploits and prowess. One afternoon, we decided to canoe to a campsite farther down the lake that I recalled was a good fishing spot. A large rock ledge with a deep drop off was also the perfect place for a picnic lunch. We beached our canoes on the small sandy beach at the empty campsite and the festivities commenced.

Sharon about to help Logan unhook his fish.

Later, Logan caught a fish. As Sharon was trying to unhook it for him, the hook went into her finger. I performed minor surgery to get the hook out and all was well. That was, until I noticed a red canoe floating across the lake.

“Huh, that canoe looks the same as mine,” I said to Sharon.

She looked at the beach where her canoe sat all by itself. “That IS your canoe!” she said.

What I, Miss Wilderness Expert, didn’t count on was the wind switching. Part of my canoe had still been in the water, enough so that it floated away.

I panicked. Losing a canoe in the wilderness is like losing your car in the city; maybe worse than losing your car because there’s no public transportation in the wilderness. I was ready to swim out and grab it. I’m not sure why I didn’t think of paddling to it in Sharon’s canoe with one of my children and having them hold onto the canoe so we could tow it back. Anyway, swimming was what made sense at the time. And time was of the essence before the canoe drifted farther away.

I was ready to jump into the lake when a couple in a motorboat happened by. Although motors are not allowed in most of the wilderness, there are a few lakes like Clearwater where they are allowed. I think it’s because there’s a resort on this lake.

“That your canoe?” One of them asked. When we responded in the affirmative, they followed up with: “Want us to get it?”

That earned an enthusiastic “Yes, please!”

Helpful motorboaters return my canoe. Photo by Sharon Moen

They grabbed the canoe, no problem, and brought it back to us. We thanked them profusely and I made sure that sucker was totally out of the water when I beached it this time.

Over the years, Sharon has made sure I don’t forget this incident. We trotted it out just last week when having lunch with a new coworker who wanted to know how long we’d been friends.

Although it was incredibly embarrassing at the time, losing my canoe was a good lesson about not getting too complacent in the wilderness or in life. You never know when the wind might switch.

The whole crew.

Fish are Friends

/ mariezhuikov / 13 Comments
Northern pike illustration by Virgil Beck, courtesy of the Wisconsin Dept. of Natural Resources.

If you’ve watched Disney’s “Finding Nemo” movie, you probably recall the scene where Bruce, the ravenous great white shark pledges to curb his natural impulses as a way to improve the reputation of sharks. “Fish are friends, not food,” he says during a mock Alcoholics Anonymous meeting undersea.

That line runs through my head whenever anyone asks me if I fish in the lake at my cabin.

I tried fishing there once, a couple of years ago. I dug out my angling gear, which hadn’t been used in years. As a child, I enjoyed fishing, once I got over my squeamishness at impaling angleworms on hooks and handling the sunfish I caught. I thought it might be fun to resurrect this pastime.

I asked Russ if he wanted to fish. His answer was short and definitive: “No.” Then he added, “And don’t come running to me if you can’t get the hook out of the fish’s mouth.”

Oh well, more fish for me! I bought a fishing license online. Then I set up a chair at the end of the dock, tied on a rubbery lure impregnated with fish scent, and began casting.

Not long afterward, I caught a long, skinny northern pike. These fish have a lot of teeth. They’re voracious eaters and are considered an undesirable invasive species in the western U.S. Since this one was too small to eat (and pike are supposedly full of bones, as well) I gingerly picked the fish up to unhook it, intending to throw it back.

I’d hooked it well. I couldn’t get it out though just using my hands. Now, most experienced anglers have a pliers in their fishing tackle box. I was just getting re-started, so I hadn’t quite got that far in my preparations.

I carefully laid the fish on the dock planks and scurried into the boat house, looking for a pliers. I couldn’t find one, so I went back to the dock and put the fish back into the water, securing my pole so the pike couldn’t swim away.

I ran into the cabin and asked Russ if he had a pliers in his toolbox. Grumbling a bit, perhaps shaking his head, he retrieved the tool for me. I ran back to the dock, fishing the fish out of the water. I began to work on the hook again. It was stuck into the fish’s mouth at such a weird angle, I couldn’t get a good grip.

At this point, I was getting stressed out. I felt urgency to release the fish back into the water so that it could survive being hooked, and I knew that messing with it so ineffectually was probably stressing out the fish, too.

I worked on the pike a few more minutes and then put it back into the water. I realized I was going to have to break my promise to Russ. The life of this watery being depended upon it.

I ran back into the cabin. “Russ, please, you’ve gotta come help. I caught a pike and I can’t get the hook out. It’s stuck in this weird angle and I just can’t do it.”

Bless his reluctant heart, Russ took pity on me, or perhaps he took pity on the fish. He sauntered down to the dock, picked up the fish, and with a single flick of his wrist, dislodged the hook.

I stared, dumbfounded, as the fish swam away into the murky depths.

To this day, I don’t understand how Russ unhooked the fish so easily. It must be a Man Thing.

My return to fishing was not fun. I decided it was too stressful to continue. I tell this story about Russ and the hook whenever anyone asks me whether I fish.

I’ve realized I’d rather be like another Minnesota woman I saw on the television news. She feeds the sunfish that gather underneath her dock, even forming a five-year friendship with one of them. The fish follows her when she swims. She dislodged a hook from its mouth once after someone tried unsuccessfully to catch it.

That’s more in my nature. I want to be like her. The television woman digs up worms, which she no doubt cuts up for the fish. I don’t think I can do that, but I can buy some commercial fish food pellets and see if those will work. I used to take care of a tank of sunfish in a Forest Service reception office where I worked, and they ate pellets just fine.

That’s going to be my project come ice-out this spring.

Free motto for a trash company!

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Photo by Anthony Nguyen on Pexels.com

I received a text from my trash and recycling company the other day, telling me their schedule had changed for the week due to the New Year holiday. From nowhere, a motto popped into my head: “We’re at your disposal.”

If you own a trash company and need a motto, please feel free to use this one. 😊

When Your Butt Forgets What it’s Supposed to do

/ mariezhuikov / 11 Comments
This does not look like a dead butt to me. Photo by Oleg Melevych on Pexels.com

I recently learned there’s such a thing as “gluteal amnesia.” Have you ever heard of that? I hadn’t.

It’s a condition caused by our society’s sedentary lifestyle – literally by sitting on your butt too much. Also known as “dead butt syndrome,” gluteal amnesia happens when your gluteus maximus muscles (the major muscles that make up your butt) lose their ability to contract naturally. There are different theories about why being sedentary causes this to happen, but it does seem to happen to some unfortunate individuals.

Having a dead butt can cause lower back problems and sometimes pain that resembles sciatica. Also, it can give you a saggy butt. Oh no!

To compensate, a person can do exercises, among them squats, hip thrusts, and bridges. Experts say that with proper treatment and exercise, there is hope for resurrecting dead butts.

According to Self Magazine and Healthline, the condition can even impact people who exercise regularly if they sit a lot when they don’t exercise. Suggestions for preventing it include breaking up time sitting with walks and stair climbing.

Rest assured, my butt is just fine, thank you, especially since I began kick boxing workouts. But now you can say you learned something today.