Musings

Savannah, Georgia, and Sapelo Island

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Forsyth Park, Savannah

I meandered down to Savannah for a work trip last month. I’d visited the city once before, but that was a long time ago, and I didn’t stay long. I must say I enjoyed spending four days in this southern gothic berg, even though most of the time I was in an air-conditioned hotel listening to presentations.

When I did get outdoors, I loved walking along the Savannah River down historic cobblestone streets. Live oaks draped with Spanish moss lined the route and historical sites seemed to emerge around every corner.

One morning, I managed to take a guided trolley tour around the city. It was one of those tours where you can hop on and off to explore the sights more closely. The trollies run every 20 minutes, which makes exploring very convenient. (Note: There are two trolley companies, so make sure you’re at the correct stop to board!)

I’d heard that Forsyth Park was picturesque, so I hopped off there and meandered around. The park offers wide sidewalks, those wonderful live oaks, and a large fountain. Near the fountain, a sidewalk trumpeter played a mellow tune. Even so, children walking by danced and hopped around to the music.

For the hungry, there’s a restaurant (Collins Quarter) in the park that offers takeout and sit-down dinners. People were lounging outside, dining under umbrellas on the patio of the Greek Revival building. I wasn’t hungry but didn’t want to pass up such a quaint place, so I ordered an iced spiced lavender mocha (decaf) from their takeout window. It was divine! The drink contained espresso, Condor chocolate, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and lavender. I would rate it as one of the best mochas I’ve ever had. I sipped this purple cinnamon flower elixir as I walked to the trolley stop. It made the short wait more enjoyable.

The fountain in Forsyth Park.

Besides the mocha, another thing that impressed me about Savannah was the way they remember the different ethnic groups that helped found the city. About a tenth of the original settlers were Irish, so a Celtic cross stood in the park by my hotel. On the trolley ride, the driver pointed out a marker honoring Scottish Highlanders. Since I was just in Ireland and Scotland, this warmed the cockles of my heart and made me feel at home.

Once I was back near my hotel it was lunchtime. I decided to check out The Pirate’s House Restaurant. The building was first opened in 1753 as an inn for seafarers and then, as its website says, it “fast became a meeting place for pirates and sailors from the Seven Seas.” The building fell into disuse after World War II, but has been restored and is now considered a house museum.

I ordered the soup, salad, and sandwich, which featured she crab soup and a chicken salad croissant. Delish! As I ate, I realized that the building, with its uneven floors and clapboard siding, had a familiar feel – like I’d been there before. As I read about the restaurant’s history on my placemat, it struck me. I’d imagined this place while reading the book, “Treasure Island,” by Robert Louis Stevenson! Stevenson had visited Savannah and the house was thought to be his inspiration for the inn where Captain Flint died, uttering his last words: “Darby M’Graw, fetch aft the rum.”

The Sapelo Island National Estuarine Research Reserve Visitor Center on the mainland.

The next day was field trip day for my conference. I had selected a trip to Sapelo Island off the Georgia coast. The island is a National Estuarine Research Reserve, part of the same national network dedicated to environmental research, education, and stewardship that the coworkers in my office back home work for. As you may recall, I’m an isleophile (I love islands!), so that, combined with the whole Reserve thing, is why I chose this particular field trip.

Not just anyone can visit the island. No roads lead to it—you have to take a ferry. Also, you need to be invited by the Reserve or one of the residents of the small island community of Hog Hammock. Many of the residents in Hog Hammock are Gullah—descendants of former slaves with their own unique culture.

Gullah ring shouters.

A few days earlier, our conference had kicked off with a stirring performance by Gullah ring shouters. They shuffled in a counterclockwise circle while singing, dancing, clapping, and stomping. Ring shouting is an African tradition that the slaves brought with them and is still part of the Gullah worship services. Hog Hammock is one of the last remaining Gullah communities in the U.S., and is under threat due to land development and zoning.

We boarded the ferry and traveled through the salt marshes to the island, where a flock of terns greeted us, sitting on the dock railings. Our first stop was the Reserve office where one of their naturalists oriented us to the island. Then we traipsed outdoors for a service project. The thirty of us weeded a native plant garden and transplanted live oaks into larger pots. The oaks were being grown to help rehab a former airstrip on the island. The island used to be owned by tobacco magnate, R. J. Reynolds. He built a mansion there (which sports a bowling alley and tennis courts and is now available for rent to large groups), a dairy barn and outbuildings. He wanted his compound on the island to be self-sufficient.

After the trees were all transplanted, we headed to the dock to collect some tiny salt marsh critters to bring back to the office lab and look at under microscopes. We found crabs, small fish, and barnacles.

A beach on Sapelo Island. I loved how natural it was.

After eating lunch under a shelter at the beach, our next stop was the University of Georgia Marine Research Institute. After Reynolds died, his widow donated the dairy barn compound to the university for that purpose. Students spend the summer on the island conducting research projects, and we saw several in progress.

The marine research institute on Sapelo Island.

A film screening studio is one surprising thing that Mr. Reynolds built into the dairy barn. Apparently, he had many friends in Hollywood who would fly out to the island to screen movies. He even had two extra-wide chairs built to accommodate his heftier movie mogul friends. We sat in the room and watched a movie about the research institute. But I must admit I was distracted by wondering if any famous movies were screened in that remote barn.

The turkey fountain on Sapelo Island.

Another surprising decorative feature at the institute was an outdoor fountain that features cement turkeys. Yes, you heard me, turkeys. Why? Conflicting stories abound. Some say it was R. J. Reynold’s idea. Others say it was his wife’s idea. It’s certainly not something you see every day, especially at a marine institute. When I first noticed the fountain from a distance, I assumed the turkeys, with their fanned-out tails, were large scallops or oysters. Huh.

Our last stop was the Sapelo Island Light Station. But on our way, we drove through Hog Hammock and were able to see where the ring shouter performers lived. The homes are very modest but some Gullah are selling their land to mainlanders who want to build larger homes, which would drive up property taxes.

The lighthouse is a red and white striped affair that rises 80 feet into the saltmarsh air. A tiny museum in a building alongside it offers bits of history and memorabilia. Others on our tour climbed the tower for the view from the top. I opted out. This northern lady was pretty sapped by the southern heat by then. Climbing a spiral staircase in a tower without air conditioning just didn’t appeal to me at that point.

Sapelo Island Light Station.

Then it was back to the ferry for us and a long bus ride back to Savannah. I felt privileged to have the opportunity for this special trip to the island and to learn more about Georgia’s environment and culture. It was fun to give back a bit, too, by transplanting those baby live oaks.

Savannah’s “Waving Girl” statue at night, waving hello (or is it goodbye?) to my blog readers and ships that pass on the Savannah River.

Listening to the Savannah River

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The Savannah River spoke to me as I walked its banks at night. Stark white and neon purple lights reflected across its surface, and it whispered, “I’ve been widened, deepened, and dirtied. Cargo ships ply through me. Tourists in paddlewheel boats churn atop me. Factories have dumped their pollution in me. I am ancient, older than those who use me. Once you are gone, I will remain. I will become whole again.”

Two Nature Encounters

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Painted turtle photo by Andrew Patrick on Pexels.com

I usually take two walks every day. Recently, on one of my walks, I saw a painted turtle crossing the gravel road. It was headed in the direction of a small lake and had already made it across most of the road. But was now it had stopped. I worried it might get run over by an inattentive driver. I was tempted to pick it up and move it in the direction it was traveling, yet didn’t want to overly disturb it.

Luckily, as I stood behind the turtle, pondering, it began to move closer to the road’s edge. I slowly stepped forward and kept encouraging it to move in this way until I was sure it would be safe.

I wondered whether it was a late hibernator emerging from an inland pond or if it had laid its eggs somewhere and was now making its way back to the lake. I often see multiple painted turtles hanging out on a log at the end of the lake or swimming with their noses just above the water on quiet evenings.

After I walked a few more yards, a drizzle began. Then the drizzle became a shower. I wasn’t wearing a raincoat, so I cut my walk short and began quick-stepping my way back home. About a hundred yards past the first turtle, I saw another one that was almost the entire way across the road. It was moving quickly, so I didn’t worry about it like I had the first turtle.

Curious at seeing the two turtles crossing the road at nearly the same time, once back inside, I searched online for a possible explanation. Google said: “Every year, in mid to late spring, turtles start to move. The males are looking for partners and the females are looking for a good place to make a nest for their eggs. Unfortunately, for a lot of them, this means crossing busy roads and many don’t make it.”

In addition, Mississippi State University said that in the South, a legend says that rain is on the way any time you see a turtle cross the road. They continue, “There’s very little truth to this myth, even though it does seem like rain is in the forecast after we see one of these creatures slowly making its way across the street.”

Given my experience that day, I’m inclined to believe this legend!

Then I looked up the spiritual meaning of a turtle crossing your path. Google said it’s a sign of good fortune to come. Turtles are also omens of good health and symbolize a long, prosperous life.

If that ends up true, I’ll let you know in about thirty years.

My second wildlife encounter happened the next day. The moment I stepped out the door for another walk, I felt something land in my hair. I thought it was a bug and tried to brush it away. Out fell a five-inch black feather!

I looked around but whatever bird had lost the feather was long gone. However, a crow sat in a tree not far away. The feather certainly looked like it could be a crow feather.

While I’ve come across feathers on the ground before, I’ve never had one actually fall on me. The event was rather surprising and noteworthy (thus this blog post).

The feather that fell on my head.

I seemed to be a roll with interesting animal encounters. Once again, I consulted the wise and wonderous internet for interpretation. I searched for “meaning of crow feather falling on your head.”

Nothing came up under that specific heading, but there were lots of entries about the “meaning of coming across a crow feather in your path.”

Apparently, like with the turtles, this is a good omen. A woo-woo yoga site said, “When a crow feather lands at your feet, it is a positive omen, meaning your calls have been heard and answered. If a feather comes to your path magically or surprisingly, it means a spirit is supporting or guiding you.”

Since the feather fell on my head, I must really be protected and supported!

Another site said it can also signify a visitation by a male loved one who has passed.

For several months, I have been working on a nonfiction story about a male relative. Although I was not born when he died (tragically and suddenly), I’ve found myself wondering if I haven’t conjured up his ghost with all my recent attention.

If he is watching over me, I’m okay with that. He was a good guy and I wish I would have had a chance to know him. Even if he’s not, these natural encounters have been interesting.

When I told Russ about the mysterious crow feather atop my head, he said, “At least it was a feather and not something else that birds usually let drop!” That’s my guy.

I think I’ll take another walk and see what happens next.

Northern Nights and Lights

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Thanks to a gargantuan sunspot group 15 times the size of Earth, we on Earth in northern climes were treated to a spectacular aurora borealis display last night.

The evening began with a thunder shower, which led to a picturesque sunset, which was capped off by the northern lights display.

I ran around with my camera, documenting everything at our cabin in northern Minnesota. I had tried before to photograph the sky at night with little luck. But this time, it worked! My camera captured even more colors than were visible to the “naked” eye.

As I wandered on gravel roads in the middle of nowhere with eyes raised to the eternal mystery of the dancing sky, our resident loons began to call. Spring peepers croaked and a distant train whistle blew. We are so fortunate to live in these times, in this place.

If I Were a Real Photographer . . .

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In my workaday world where I drive around, sit at my desk, eat, and sometimes sleep, I often run across photo opportunities that I don’t have the time or energy to pursue. I’ll be driving down Duluth’s hillside and see the sun shining in an interesting pattern on Lake Superior, but I have a work meeting to get to, so don’t have time to stop. Or, I’ll be walking into the grocery store and there’s a spectacular sunset but I’m on mission, so bye-bye sunset. Or, darn, I don’t have my fancy camera with me, just my cell phone, so I won’t take the shot.

Often at these times, I’ll sadly joke with myself, saying, “If I were a real photographer, I’d find a way to take that photo.” I can’t count how many times I’ve thought that over the years. My hope is that once I retire, I’ll have more time to follow up on these photo opportunities, but that’s about a year off.

This morning at our cabin, one of those moments happened again. I’d been awake in bed since 5:30 a.m. It was now an hour later, and sleep was not returning. From bed, I could see the lake, its far shore lit golden by the rising sun, water as smooth as glass with winter’s ice only recently melted.

Lying there, I thought, “If I were a real photographer I’d get outside and take that photo.” But I was cozy and drowsy. Outside, it was probably only 40 degrees.

But the spectacular shoreline lighting was only going to last a little while. It would be a shame to miss this opportunity. All I needed to do was get out of bed . . .

Beside me, Russ slumbered peacefully. I didn’t want any movements I might make to wake him . . .

Then, I thought about what fun it would be to actually be a real photographer this morning. Sure, I only had my cell phone, but that was better than nothing.

I hopped out of bed, donned my light blue fuzzy bathrobe, grabbed my phone, and jumped into my big Sorrel boots. As I headed outside, I could see the light fading from one section of the far shore. It wouldn’t be long before the bare trees were a drab brown once again across the whole thing.

As I neared our small beach, a duck farther down the lake took off in startled flight. That might have had something to do with it seeing a blue monstrosity emerge on shore!

I raised my phone and fired off a few shots, walking along the shoreline to gain a better vantage. The sun lingered for a few more minutes, enough time to take a few good images. I especially liked one with some reeds in the foreground.

Phone lowered, I stood for a while, drinking in the view directly with my eyes. All was still and quiet.

I turned to walk back the few yards it would take to get to the cabin. After a couple steps, I was stopped by the sound of something crashing through underbrush in the neighbor’s yard. I recognized two dogs, Kamikaze spaniels, as I like to think of them, headed right toward me! One sported black spots, the other brownish-red.

I knew from previous encounters with their master on the road, the dogs running beside his ATV for exercise, that they were nice dogs with a lot of energy. Whenever they pass a driveway, they head down it, circle the yard with noses to the ground and meet their master back on the road.

Still, to ensure they were forewarned of my presence, I greeted them with, “Hi dogs, hi dogs!”

Unlike the duck, the dogs took no notice of me and sped right past. One rounded the far corner of the cabin and headed back to the road, while the other took a detour around our boathouse and then ran through the forest, rejoining its buddy.

In all, I was only outside this morning for a few minutes, but a lot happened. As I opened the cabin door, I felt a bit more like a real photographer.

My morning’s work.

In Which I get Paid to Work in a Bar

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The Kom-on-Inn in West Duluth. Image courtesy of Jennifer Webb, University of Minnesota Duluth

I recently worked in a bar. Not as a bartender, though. I didn’t even drink! I was there to view art and explore how it relates to community and the restoration of the St. Louis River, which flows along the border of Minnesota and northwest Wisconsin. You can view my resulting story on Wisconsin Sea Grant’s “Unsalted” blog here.

Battling for Security

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Will this post be about a quest for emotional security? No! It’s all about web site security.

I recently completed several frustrating weeks of time (on and off) to get my author and photography website deemed “secure” with an SSL certificate. What is it? SSL stands for Secure Sockets Layer, which is “an encryption-based internet security protocol.” An SSL certificate is a digital certificate that authenticates a website’s identity and enables an encrypted connection.

I’d put off buying the certificate because the need for it strikes me as a money-grab by web hosting companies – rather like the kind of security a person receives from payoffs to the Mob. 😊

But now, many web browsers won’t even let people access “unsecure” (or insecure?) websites without going through a lot of clicking acrobatics. My analytics have also been dropping, so I decided to splurge and get the SSL certificate.

I didn’t want to hassle with coding it, so I purchased a more expensive option where I wouldn’t have to deal with that. I thought I could just buy the certificate and that would be it, but NO. I waited several days, and nothing changed with my website. It still came up as unsecure in my browser.

So, I called my web hosting company and asked for help. In a minor miracle, I was actually able to talk to a real person. As an added bonus, he had a sense of humor and he appreciated my humor. All was good. Except for the fact that my website was built on a platform that was too old for the fancy SSL certificate where I didn’t have to do any coding.

Mind you, my web site is only 10 years old, but in technology years, that’s ancient. As a result, the humorous tech guy gave me a partial refund and signed me up for the less-expensive-but-needs-coding certificate. He was also nice enough to add some of the needed code to my site. He said it should begin working within 48 hours.

It didn’t. I won’t bore you with the details, but the fix involved two more phone conversations with my web hosting platform and one hour-long online chat with my domain-name-holding company. Said company had to do a backdoor end-run special code to make the certificate work. It wasn’t something I could have ever done myself.

The process was a pain in the butt and took a good five hours of my life, but anyone who cares to visit my site can now do so with a sense of internet security. I am happy about that. What I am not happy about is that I will have to do this every year!

It might be time for a new web site, but I think I’m gonna eke the rest of my money’s worth out of this one, first. 😊

Missing my (Photo) Babies

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About a week ago, we drove north along the shore of Lake Superior to Grand Marais, Minnesota. We carried a precious cargo: a dozen landscape images I took, printed out on canvas, metal and paper. They had been accepted for my first public exhibit at a local health facility in the town.

I was excited by this opportunity to share my hobby with an audience. Once we arrived, we were met by the organizer who helped us unload. He also showed us where the images would be hung. We left my works with him and headed home on our two-hour drive.

After a half-hour cruising past pine trees along the rugged landscape of Lake Superior, I began feeling like I’d left something important behind me in Grand Marais. The feeling nagged until I acknowledged it and searched my psyche for its source.

One of the babies I left in Grand Marais, MN. This is Oberg Lake in northern Minnesota.

It didn’t take long for me to realize the important things I left behind were my photos! The feeling was similar to when I dropped both of my children off at college. I turned to Russ and said, “My babies! We left my babies back there!”

He looked at me quizzically, but Russ is a quick study and soon smiled.

I did not expect that feeling. I didn’t realize I was so attached to the images, many of which have hung in my home for several months. It’s not that I don’t trust the exhibitor, it’s more I feel like I’ve left part of me in Grand Marais. Of course, the feeling isn’t as strong as what I have for my human babies, but it kept coming back over the course of the next few days. Russ got used to hearing me blurt sporadically, “My babies, I miss my babies!”

As with dropping my children off to college, I hope this is a one-time thing that will get better with time. But it’s made me wonder if other photographers experience this when they let their images out of their sight. I’d appreciate hearing any impressions you wish to share.

The Minute Men and the Minister

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In preparation for a trip to Ireland and Scotland that Russ and I are planning, I was rummaging around in a genealogy book that my mother and her sisters prepared about the side of my family that has U.K. roots. I was looking for Irish names. I came up empty. Thanks to family lore and 23 & Me, I know I have Irish blood but I’m not sure where it came from.

As I rummaged around in the book, I came across a pamphlet written in 1877 by Willard Parker (Detroit, MI) that I had noted before but never spent much time reading. It was about my Great (to the 4th power) Grandfather Caleb Parker. He was born in 1760 in Shrewsbury, MA, to Stephen Parker Jr. and Abigail Wright.

Caleb Parker

The surname of Parker originated in France. In essence, it means “park-keeper” and is an occupational name describing a gamekeeper. Could this be why I like “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” so much? (The book’s main character is a gamekeeper.) The name was introduced into England after the Norman (Viking/French) invasion in 1066.

Caleb’s original name was Nathaniel, but his parents changed that along the way to honor his brother Caleb who died in the French and Indian War in 1755 or 1756. The soldier was never heard from by the family. I suspect Nathaniel must have been very young when his name change happened. The French and Indian War ended in 1763 when Nathaniel was three, so maybe his parents changed his name during that time, once they gave up hope of Caleb the elder’s return.

Caleb/Nathaniel married a woman named Thankful Pratt of Shrewsbury in 1782 when he was 22 years old. He was a soldier in the late part of the Revolutionary War. While in the army fighting under George Washington, he acquired a taste for military life and in 1793 (after he had moved to Vermont), the governor appointed him captain of the Vermont Militia.

Militia fighters were also known as minute men because they had to be ready to drop everything they were doing at home with only a minute’s notice when needed for battle. They are immortalized in Longfellow’s poem, “Paul Revere’s Ride.”

About six years later, Caleb resigned his commission and moved to Stukley, an eastern township of Lower Canada, not far over the Vermont border. He died there in 1826. His wife, Thankful, lived 23 more years, dying in Stukley in 1849.

The couple had 11 children who met various fates. One was killed by a falling tree. One was a founder of Stukley township. The writer of the pamphlet said that Caleb’s “descendants have been mostly tillers of the soil. If there have been but few distinguished men among them, I may say, in all truthfulness, that honesty, industry, temperance and Christian character have been the prevailing characteristics of the son and daughters” of Caleb. “These qualities have been inherited from our emigrant ancestor [Thomas Parker], whose descendants in New England are not unworthy to rank honorably with those among whom they dwell.”

Parker Tavern image: By Swampyank at English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0

Thomas Parker, Caleb’s grandfather, came from England originally, sailing on the ship “Susan & Ellen” in 1635. I was surprised to discover that he has his own Wikipedia entry! Thomas was a Congregational Church deacon and had a large family with his wife, Amy Aylesworth. He founded Reading, MA. I also discovered that the oldest surviving building in Reading is named after the family. The Parker Tavern was owned and operated by Thomas’s great grandson Ephriam and it has been turned into a museum. I’m thinking a trip to Reading, MA, is in order someday!

If I were more talented with graphics, I would make a genealogical chart for you, but my skills do not lie in that direction. I did scribble one out with pen and paper for my reference, though, to try and keep everyone’s name straight.

My line of the family is descended from Thomas’s son Nathaniel Parker. But Thomas had another son (I’m unclear whether his name was Hananiah or Thomas) who had some notable descendants. One is John Parker who was another minute man like Caleb. John led the Lexington, MA, militia in 1775. In fact, he was a model minute man. A sculptor used his likeness for the famous Lexington Minuteman statue that stands on the Lexington Battle Green.

The Minute Man statue on the Lexington Green. It’s based on militia captain John Parker.

John led the fight against the British in the battle of Lexington on the day the Revolutionary War began. The militia suffered lopsided losses to the British (8 militia killed, 10 wounded to only one British soldier wounded). One of Parker’s men, many years later, recalled Parker’s orders on the Lexington Green: “Stand your ground. Don’t fire unless fired upon, but if they mean to have a war, let it begin here.”

During the skirmish, John witnessed his cousin Jonas Parker killed during a British bayonet charge. Later that day he rallied his men to attack the British returning to Boston in an ambush known as “Parker’s Revenge.”

John is featured as a character in the book and movie called “April Morning,” which is about the beginning of the Revolutionary War. The book is mandatory reading in many a U.S. classroom.

Sounds like I will also need to visit Lexington in addition to Reading some day! I can’t believe that a relative of mine was involved in the very beginning of the Revolutionary War. If I had known that earlier, I would have paid a lot more attention to my American History class in school.

The other notable descendant is Theodore Parker. John was his grandfather. Theodore was a noted Unitarian minister and abolitionist. Just out of Harvard Divinity School, Theodore preached at a church in the Boston neighborhood of West Roxbury. That church still stands today as the Theodore Parker Unitarian Church with a statue of Theodore on its grounds. But eventually, he left after being kicked out of the Boston Unitarian brotherhood for his “radical” views on abolishing slavery and other religious matters. He also believed outrageous things such as women should be allowed to vote, and to become doctors, lawyers, and (gasp!) even ministers.

Reverend Theodore Parker

Theodore is credited for famous quotes later shortened and used by President Lincoln and Martin Luther King. The phrases are, “a government of the people, by the people and for the people” and “the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.” The former was used by Abraham Lincoln in the Gettysburg Address and the latter by Martin Luther King.

By coincidence, I’m a Unitarian! (Or perhaps it’s not a coincidence?)

Those Parkers were quite a bunch. It’s not every day that a person discovers their ancestors have their own Wikipedia pages, movies, statues, and a tavern and a church named for them! Plus, I learned that they founded two towns. I don’t think my mother and her sisters knew any of this because they never mentioned it.

Although my search for Irish ancestors was unsuccessful, I learned more than I ever dreamed about my family and their role in shaping early America.

Theodore Parker’s statue in front of the Theodore Parker Church, a Unitarian parish in West Roxbury, Massachusetts. Photo by By Biruitorul (talk) – Biruitorul (talk), Public Domain

Bog Beauty

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Bogs get a bad rap. People tend to think they’re just a waste of good land. However, they have a unique beauty, especially when frosted with winter.

This is my favorite bog that I often visit in northern Minnesota. I’ve written about it before. (See Bog Wonder). I recently finished reading “The Good Berry Cookbook” by Tashia Hart. It’s much more than recipes about wild rice. She also describes her relationship to plants and the importance of Manoomin (wild rice) to her Native culture.

One funny story she shared was about spending an hour admiring plants (orchids, Labrador tea, pitcher plants, etc.) in a bog. A car pulled up on the dirt road near the bog and parked. A woman emerged and then, “squinted at me, and began to shout, ‘What are you doing out there!’ It came across as less a question about what I was doing and more a question about my character. ‘Looking at flowers!’ I replied, still crouched low. She stood there for a bit, hands on hips, obviously disturbed, then shook her head and flailed her arms as she stomped back to her vehicle and drove away.”

Tashia mentions that one must be careful not to sink into bogs. Perhaps the woman was concerned for her safety. But Tashia felt safe there. Moose walk on the floating plant masses and seem to do fine. But to be safe, she recommends bringing a friend along.

She offers a recipe for Swamp Tea, made with the Labrador tea plant. I think those reddish masses in my photo are dried up Labrador tea plants. The tea is supposed to lift anxieties and aid creativity.

Sounds good to me. Next time I’m at “my” bog, think I’ll put on my rubber boots or snowshoes, grab Russ, and meander out there to gather some tea leaves. We’ll see if anyone stops and yells at us.