The next stop on our New England road trip was Manchester, Connecticut, and the beautiful Wickham Park. We chose this particular park because one of Russ’s cousins was a long-term manager of it, and it has connections to Russ’s family. Although Russ’s cousin Jeff is retired, he still works at the park “part-time” as director emeritus. That’s in quotation marks because, although his official position is part-time, we suspect he spends much more time at the park!
Just off Interstate 84, the park is managed under a nonprofit, private foundation and was created in 1961. It contains 280 acres of gardens, fields, woodlands, ponds, and sports facilities. People can even get married there in one of two stunning venues, including a log cabin. The entry fee is very reasonable ($7).
This log cabin was being set up for a wedding. It sits on a hill with a stunning view of Hartford, CT.
The majority of the park was a gift from businessman and inventor Clarence Wickham. If you’ve ever used an envelope with a little plastic window in it for the address, you’ve used one of Clarence’s inventions.
We received a personal tour from Jeff and his wife. We didn’t have time to tour the entire park (which would take more than a day, anyway), so we only saw the Irish Garden, the Italian Shrine, the Lotus Garden, the Oriental Garden, the Scottish Garden, and the Nature Center.
The Irish Garden and Wickham Park.
The highlight of the trip was a tour of a new garden that’s not open yet to the public. It’s named for Jeff and Russ’s family. (I’m not going to divulge that name here, but if you go to the park, it will be obvious). It was conceived by Jeff and his wife, financed by the family and donors, and built with the help of park staff. It celebrates the relationship between art and the natural world, showcasing sculptures and other art forms, including topiaries sculpted from plants. It even sports an observation tower and labyrinth. Some bureaucratic matters are still being finalized, but as soon as the paperwork is complete, the art park will open to the public.
The view from the observation tower in the “family art garden.” The building in the background used to be the carriage house but now houses the park office.
Russ and I interact with an art piece in the family garden.
The place exudes peace. If we lived in the area, I’m sure it would be one of our favorite places to visit and hold family gatherings. As it is, we live over a thousand miles away. So, we’ll have to visit it in our memories.
Here’s yet another side detour from my New England travelog. Don’t worry, I’ll get back to it!
The other night Russ and I meandered around the backroads north of Duluth, joining many others who parked their cars in random spots and looked up to the spectacle happening in the sky.
That spectacle was the northern lights. I took these photos the second night of the show at about 8:30 p.m. It was so kind of the aurora to happen before bedtime! We found a spot on a gravel road where we could see a whitish curtain of aurora on the horizon. We first stopped at a town hall but there were too many lights, so we went back down the road until we found a dark area. I took a few test shots with my phone camera and wowza! Jackpot.
A green curtain filled the sky, with some red overtones. As the lights continued to dance, the red intensified. This color is rare in auroras.
Here’s an explanation from a local astronomer, Astro Bob (King). I don’t totally understand it, but here’s what he said about that storm:
Red aurora occurs high up in the atmosphere at an altitude of around 150-300 miles. Green emission happens at lower altitudes, around 75 miles. Both are produced when incoming charged particles strike and energize oxygen atoms. After the impacts, the atoms release that energy in the form of green and red light when they return to their original relaxed state.
At high altitude, the number of atoms drops sharply — it’s basically a hard vacuum up there. After it’s struck by a charged particle, an oxygen atom needs almost two minutes to release that energy. If a neighboring atom were to bump into it during the transition, it would short-circuit the process. But because there are so few atoms at that altitude, oxygen has time to release red light before a collision occurs.
There’s so little oxygen to begin with at high altitude, a strong storm is required to crank up enough oxygen atoms to produce the red aurora. Seeing red is a good sign that a significant storm is underway. Overall, the Nov. 11 storm reached the G4 (severe) level, with aurora reported in all 50 states (including Hawaii) and as far south as the tropics.
A farm house and barn stood off to the side and provided more visual interest to the shots. Eventually, the cold got the better of us and we crawled back into our car to return to our modest home filled with artificial light.
Russ and I decided to see New England in the fall. We began our road trip earlier this month in New York City even though this mid-Atlantic state is not technically part of New England. We landed in NYC because Russ’s son lives there. We wanted to visit him and he planned to join us for the first few days of our ten-day trip.
Besides the colors, our other goal was to visit sites relevant to ourselves and our ancestors. But first, some fun in NYC! This was not our first visit. In 2019 we dropped in just before COVID hit. (See “Unicorns in New York City!” and “Images.”)
We booked a hotel in Brooklyn. The place looked great online but when we arrived, we were surprised to see it lay in a gritty neighborhood filled with graffiti. We never felt unsafe, but we definitely knew we were not in Duluth anymore!
A sculpture atop the fort on Governor’s Island, NYC.
We’d agreed to spend most of a day on Governor’s Island, a 172-acre former military installation in the heart of the harbor that’s reachable only by ferry. Native Americans used to fish there and gather nuts from the island’s plentiful trees. After colonization, the Dutch promptly set about cutting down those trees, and established a sawmill and fort. The island’s location made it a strategic military base. It was occupied later by the British and the U.S. Army. In more recent days, the island was the site of an historic meeting between President Ronald Reagan and Russian leader Mikhail Gorbachev.
Now the island is managed by several entities, including the National Park Service. The island is a car-free zone, so after disembarking from the ferry, we walked around. Later, in a fit of classic tourism, we elected to pedal the island in a dorky four-person bike surrey.
The Field Station of the Melancholy Marine Biologist art installation.
Besides old brick army personnel quarters and homes, the island sports eateries, an urban farm, a private spa, and art installations. Given my Sea Grant background, my favorite artwork was named “The Field Station of the Melancholy Marine Biologist.” Ensconced in an old military building, the mixed-media work “suggests an abandoned research outpost filled with scientific objects, instruments, artifacts, and samples. Through the windows, the viewer finds a scene preserved in time—a staged moment that invites you to imagine the life of a solitary researcher faced with the realities of a dark future defined by declining ocean health and climate change.” (Art installation sign text.)
A view of the Staten Island Ferry and Manhattan from Governor’s Island.
The island offers great views of Manhattan, the Statue of Liberty, and the harbor. Once back on the mainland, we attended the Broadway musical “Six,” which is about Henry the 8th’s six ill-fated wives. Given the topic, one would expect a depressing show, but it comes off full of female empowerment and strength. I highly recommend it!
Day 2 took us to Russ’s hometown of Old Saybrook, Connecticut. More on that, next.
A rare show lit up the sky above our cabin last night. Russ and I meandered down roads in the dark, feeling our way by the gravel crunching under our shoes. We made it to a bog that has a good view north.
As the aurora silently danced above in curtains of reds and greens, lightning bugs danced closer to the ground, their feeble white lights the last of summer.
If you’d like to see my photo page with lots of other images (organized by topic: water/wood/stone/sky/travel and lighthouses) please visit my photography page and choose a topic: https://mariezwrites.com/photography/.
The Hawkins Mine Pit in Nashwauk. We heard peregrine falcons on the cliffs to the right.
Russ and I have been biking short sections of the 150+ mile-long Mesabi Trail in northeastern Minnesota. Stretching from the Mississippi River to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, the trail will be complete in the next year or two. At that point, it will be 165 miles long, making it one of the longest paved trails in the country.
We’ve biked the trail twice this summer (and many times in the past – a list of other posts included at the end). Those recent trips weren’t very noteworthy, so I didn’t blog about them.
This section of the trail took us between two iron ore mining towns. We began in Keewatin, which was formed during the iron ore mining boom in the early 20th century. The town’s name comes from the Ojibwe word for “north” or “north wind,” and the soil is a rusty red from all the iron it contains.
The 11-mile round trip seemed like a gradual climb both ways to me. I’m not sure how that worked! Only one short, steep hill gave me pause, otherwise it was smooth cycling. The first part out of Keewatin follows an old highway/road that’s no longer in use.
We passed several lakes and mine pits, namely O’Brien Reservoir, Hawkins Mine Pit, and LaRue Pit Lake. A cold rain shower caught us about halfway to Nashwauk. I had to stop and clean off my sunglasses. Sometimes I think they need little windshield wipers! The rain didn’t last long, so we kept on going and the breeze dried our clothes.
Downtown Nashwauk, MN
When we reached Nashwauk, we stopped at an overlook at the Hawkins Mine Pit. It used to be an open pit iron ore mine but is now unused and filled with water. Steep red and tan cliffs topped with green trees line the “lake.” As we admired the view, we heard some squawking that sounded suspiciously like peregrine falcons. I’ve heard that they sometimes nest on the mine pit ledges, so perhaps there was a nest at the Hawkins Pit?
It’s believed that Nashwauk was named after a river in New Brunswick, Canada. The word is said to be from the Algonquin language and means “land between.”
As we turned around and headed back to Keewatin, we noticed a spur trail with a sign about the LaRue Pit Lake. The sign said the area features a boat landing, fishing pier, and is a tourist attraction. We decided to check it out.
Our bikes needed a rest at the LaRue Pit lake. We were fine, of course.
The spur trail came out on a paved road. Unsure which way to go, we chose to turn right, which ended up being the correct direction. The road took us down a steep hill to a picturesque lake. It looked like the “tourist attraction” was still under construction – no grass, just bare dirt that was being graded. An angler floated offshore in his boat, trying his luck with the fish. The LaRue Pit began as an underground mine in 1903-1905. The park looks like it will be a nice place, once finished.
The LaRue Pit lake near Nashwauk.
Then we biked back UP the road and rejoined the trail. Not far from the spur, we stopped at a memorial we had passed earlier. The name on the weathered white wooden cross was James Dorgan and it was dated 12/22/1973. The memorial looked in such good shape, we weren’t sure if that was the day he died or the day he was born. Once back home, I did a bit of sleuthing and discovered that it was his death date. James was a former Keewatin resident living in St. Paul who died in a car accident when he stopped to help his ex-wife, whose car was stalled. Another driver apparently hit him.
We were impressed by how well the memorial has been kept up for fifty-two years. Colorful plastic flowers decorated a flower box, and a wind chime hung from a post nearby. Solar lights illuminate the memorial at night.
We mostly had the trail to ourselves. Saw a few squirrels hightailing it across the pavement. Saw a few walkers. We passed a couple of other cyclists in town. Heard some ATVs but didn’t see any.
From rainstorms to pit lakes to falcons to ghosts, this is a good stretch to ride to get a feel for how important mining is to this part of the country.
Wishing everyone a good Labor Day Weekend!
For more information on other sections of the Mesabi Trail, check out my previous posts:
I’ll be doing a readings from my short story collection, The Path of Totality and my blog memoir, Meander North at this book fair, which is held just south of Superior, Wisconsin. I’ll also be selling copies of these and my other books, plus puzzles made from my photos. If you’re in the area, please turn out and support local authors!
Russ and I sacrificed a 40-day winning streak on the NY Times Connections word game to head to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness where there is no phone or internet service. We traveled with our friends Sharon and Mike to Brule Lake – a place I last visited 35 years ago.
To go easy on our aging bodies, we decided to do a canoe trip without any portages. (Portages are where you carry your canoe overturned atop your shoulders on a rugged trail to the next lake.) Brule Lake is large enough to spend several days there without needing to go anywhere else.
We were partially successful in meeting our goal. The only “failure” came on our third day of tent camping when Sharon and Mike decided to portage to a small lake for better fishing. We hiked the portage without our canoe to see if the lake was worth the effort of hauling it there. With forested hills and a cute island, the beauty of the new lake and the short length of the portage convinced us to bend our no-portage rule. It was a true wilderness lake with no campsites or other signs of human habitation.
To share the pain of portaging, we opted for a two-person carry, where we carried the canoe over the portage with one of us on each end of the watercraft – no hefting it up onto one person’s shoulders.
We were glad we did; canoeing on the lake offered views of a loon and its baby. We found the loon’s nest on the small island, where we ended up eating lunch much to the delight of the ants there. Our presence was probably the most exciting thing to happen to them in years! Sharon and Mike caught enough fish to feed us all dinner that night.
After we spent several hours on the lake (which I am purposefully not naming because Minnesotans don’t do that with good fishing lakes), the sky began to darken. We decided to head back to our campsite on Brule Lake. We couldn’t relay this to Sharon and Mike because they were at the far end of the lake.
We made it across the portage and out into the bay when the storm broke. The first drops of rain were huge and cold. We were wearing our swimsuits because we expected rain, so we didn’t mind being wet. What we did mind was the wind and the thunder/lightning! Yelling through the gale, we briefly considered riding out the storm on land, but we were so close to our campsite and the lightning was far away enough that we decided to power through and hope we didn’t get struck. (That was reckless of us, I don’t recommend staying on the water in a thunderstorm. Don’t try this at home!)
Our cute tent in dryer times.
We made it to camp and I quickly climbed into the tent to get into dry clothes. Russ was already so wet, he stayed outside. Once I changed clothes, the wind picked up even more. Russ had to tie down our lightweight Kevlar canoe to keep it from blowing away. From inside the tent, I held down the side the wind was hitting so that the stakes wouldn’t pull out of the ground. After what seemed like hours, the storm abated.
Our tent bottom (and a sleeping pad), drying out in the sun after the storm.
We were a little worried about Sharon and Mike, but this wasn’t their first BWCA Wilderness trip, so we assumed they’d be okay. But as the hours ticked by and the sun lowered, we began to discuss how long to wait until beginning a search for them. Not long afterwards, we heard them paddling back to our campsite. We greeted them with shouts of “You’re alive!”
They explained that they also stayed on the water during the storm, riding it out next to shore. (That was reckless of them, I don’t recommend staying on the water in a thunderstorm. Don’t try this at home!) Then they stayed on the unnamed lake to fish more. We ate the fruits of their efforts with relish that night – the first non-freeze-dried dinner Russ and I had eaten in days.
Mmmmm, wilderness walleye filets!
The next morning, our final morning, another thunderstorm rolled through, but it wasn’t as strong as the previous one. Once it stopped, we packed up our soggy gear and headed to the canoe landing, wanting to cross Brule Lake as quickly as possible in case another storm was gathering. Sharon and Mike planned to leave later.
We made it back to the landing. Driving home, we appreciated the gradual return to civilization. Backwoods gravel roads gave way to pavement that led us past homes and eventually to the small town of Lutsen. The day turned hot and muggy, so we stopped for ice cream on the way home to Duluth.
Our campfire on Brule Lake.
Now we’re back winning Connections again: 6 games so far. But we both agree this wilderness trip and the memories of spending time with good friends, listening to loons yodel, telling stories around the fire, and surviving thunderstorms were more than worth breaking our streak.
The Flatiron Mountains as seen from Chautauqua Park in Boulder.
When Russ and I were Scamping in Colorado last month, we visited Boulder with my son and his friends. One site was a local park that’s home to the Flatiron Mountains, which are a series of five impressive flat-sided peaks. The destination is popular with hikers and climbers.
I almost went to college there at the University of Colorado in Boulder, so that was one reason for our visit. Back then (and maybe even now) its biology program had a good reputation, which attracted me. I was even assigned a roommate. But at the last moment, I decided to attend the University of Minnesota instead for financial reasons. The university wasn’t far from the park we visited, and as we drove past, it was fun to ponder how my life might have been different if I’d stuck with my first choice of college.
Anyway, back to Chautauqua Park. We hiked 1-1/2 miles UP and DOWN the base of the Flatirons. The spring flowers were out, which added cheerful color to our high-altitude breathlessness. My son’s friend went to college in Boulder and had climbed the mountains and he regaled us with tales of his adventures.
Afterward, we ate lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant. As our meal wrapped up, we discussed the agenda for the rest of our day. Originally, we’d planned to shop at the Pearl Street Mall in downtown Boulder, but nature won out when we decided we didn’t have enough time and would rather stop at Golden Gate Canyon State Park for a short hike. As we rose from the table to leave, emergency vehicles raced down the road. We wondered what was going on, but didn’t give it much thought until the next day when we learned about the Pearl Street Mall hate-crime attack.
Every Sunday since the Hamas-led attack on Israel in the fall of 2023, pro-Israel people have walked at 1 p.m. through the mall toward the courthouse to remind people of the hostages taken. Sometimes they sing the Israeli national anthem. It’s a peaceful demonstration.
On the day of our visit, a man yelled “Free Palestine” and threw a Molotov cocktail into the crowd of demonstrators. You can read national news accounts for a description of what happened next. In the end, eight people were badly burned and four had to be airlifted to Denver. One later died. The suspect (a recent transplant from Egypt) was quickly arrested and now faces a possible death penalty.
The view from Panorama Point, Golden Gate Canyon State Park, CO.
Blissfully unaware of these circumstances, and as more emergency vehicles passed us going the other direction toward downtown, we drove to Golden Gate Canyon State Park on our way back to Denver. The park was recommended for hiking by my cousin who lives in Golden. We stopped at Panorama Point and enjoyed watching a dramatic thunderstorm roll past. As the storm turned toward us, we parted ways.
The next day when we learned about the Pearl Street Mall attack, we felt for the injured people, but also felt lucky that we had changed our minds about a mall visit and didn’t end up as collateral damage. The restaurant where we had lunch was only 10 blocks away from it.
What if I had gone to Boulder for college? What if we had eaten our lunch faster and decided to visit the Pearl Street Mall? I guess we’ll never know answers to the questions raised by these two close calls.
I dedicate this post and these images to the victims of the Pearl Street Mall attack.
The lure is more than scenery, varied vistas and magnificent lookout points; it is the consciousness of being at the threshold of the unknown. – Sigurd Olson, Listening Point
Finding a good view of the landscape in Minnesota is a challenge. So many trees and shrubs block the way. You have to work to see an unencumbered horizon – climb a rock ledge, climb a tree, climb a tower.
Duluth is an exception. Growing up here, I always knew where I was. The skinny, long city is built on the side of a hill on the shores of Lake Superior. You are either looking at the hill or the lake. Even with all the trees, you can tell where you were.
When I moved to the flatland of Minneapolis for college, I lost those landmarks and had a hard time orienting. Finally, in frustration, I took an elevator to the top of the fifty-seven-story IDS building in downtown. From that viewpoint, I could see the horizon and the major landmarks: the Mississippi River, the University of Minnesota, the Metrodome, and I finally began to sense the landscape despite all the trees.
Trappers Lake, Flat Tops Wilderness. Image by Russ.
Russ and I recently meandered to a place where the views come easy: Denver, Boulder, and the Flat Top Wilderness of Colorado. Walk down any trail and you’ll see mountains, lakes, valleys, ridges. I adore the feeling of looking a long way without any houses dotting the landscape. Sleeping in our little Scamp trailer at 9,000 feet, the only ones in a campground with no water, we were as alone and as much a part of the wilderness as we have ever been.
Big Fish Trail, Flat Tops Wilderness
Although in our homes we have all the modern conveniences and comforts, it’s hard to be truly happy without a connection to nature. In those far horizons, wherever they might be, is a partial answer to the hunger and unrest within us.
To paraphrase Sigurd Olson from Listening Point, “Some find their wilderness in the grandeur of snow-capped peaks and high flowering meadows. To mountain people, this is the primeval on a noble scale, a timelessness and immensity they seem to find nowhere else. They come down from the hills refreshed and ready once more for life among their kind.”
We are back among our kind now, refreshed and ready for whatever life may bring.
An endangered green turtle glides through the lagoon at the Cayman Turtle Center.
I’ve been offline for a while. Russ and I meandered to Colorado. We were disconnected from internet reality for a few days in the wilderness. I’m trying to catch up with your blogs but may never be able to do that. Sorry if I missed anything important. I’ve got a couple more Grand Cayman posts to write before I can move onto Colorado.
Back on Grand Cayman, our next adventure took us to the more populated side of the island and the city of Georgetown. Our first visit was to the National Gallery of the Cayman Islands. Once again, we were the only ones at the venue. Is no one else on this island interested in art?? But it was nice not to feel rushed while perusing the interesting offerings there. Entry is free, so what’s not to like?
On the way inside, we passed a beautiful rooster strolling the grounds. I must say it was the most handsome rooster on the island, perhaps a work of art himself? We saw many pieces inside the gallery that inspired and provoked. Some of my favorites: Confluence, a mixed media sculpture made of painted paddles that were historically used by Caymanian turtle fishermen. The artist used washes of oil paint on the paddles to create an atmospheric depiction of light and water, transforming the paddles from utility into relics of a bygone era.
Another favorite was We Can Beat the Storm, an acrylic painting that depicts a father and son in a traditional catboat (Caymanian traditional fishing boat) set amid calm waters. It symbolizes the passing of knowledge from one generation to the next.
ConfluenceWe Can Beat the Storm
Then there was Fish Skeleton, a mixed-media sculpture made from recycled materials and used car parts, recalling the mountain of debris left by Hurricane Ivan on the island. The artist wants to draw attention to the islands’ longstanding reliance on the oceans for sustenance and the increasing environmental pressures that threaten this relationship today. All I can say is I’m glad we didn’t run into this creature while snorkeling!
Indulge me with two more artistic offerings. Bon Appetit! is a sculpture that shows a giant fork stuck into a fishing lure. It raises issues of unsustainable fishing habits and the depletion of global fishing stocks. But it does so with a touch of humor and hubris.
Fish SkeletonBon Appetit!Osiris
The last piece of art that struck me is a digital collage on paper called Osiris. It shows the melding of a conch shell and a human face. The blending of fiction and reality illustrates the continued influence of the marine environment on Caymanian identity.
After the gallery, we made our way to the Cayman Turtle Center, a sanctuary and breeding facility for the endangered green sea turtle. We opted for the Turtle Adventure, which allows visitors to snorkel with the turtles in a huge lagoon. I brought my GoPro Hero camera along and was glad I did! I’ve seen a few skittish wild turtles in the ocean, but these turtles are habituated to people. I had a few swim right underneath me! It was definitely worth the entry fee. The turtles eat algae, so you don’t need to worry about them biting you, although clumps of algae (sort of gross) float around the lagoon, dislodged from turtle feeding.
The facility also has a turtle breeding program. According to their website, “the turtle release programs have resulted in the growth of the local wild population in the Cayman Islands of the green sea turtle, going from zero nests in 1999 to over 200 nests. Recently, researchers in an independent genetic study using DNA discovered that 90% of all green female turtles nesting in Grand Cayman are genetically related to turtles from the Centre.”
Turtle feeding time!
Russ and I were able to witness turtle feeding time in the breeding bay. These turtles are of reproduction age – typically 16 years old. Some weigh more than 500 pounds! They’re fed pellets and the funny thing is, they squirt water out their nostrils as they inhale them. It’s a sight not to be missed. The Turtle Center was another highlight of our trip, on par with Stingray City.
This is Hell.
Not far away is a small town called Hell. It has its own post office and is the size of about half a soccer field. The black craggy rocks that make up Hell are millions of years old and are made of limestone that has been eaten away by algae and ravaged by the elements. It does not look like a place where one would want to spend much time, but you can send postcards to people from Hell and buy T-shirts there.
On our drive back to the eastern end of the island, we stopped at a restaurant in Savannah that we saw in a tourist newspaper and heard other resort-goers rave about. It is called the Czech Inn Grill and is operated by an accomplished 4-star chef from Czechoslovakia. It’s mostly an outdoor venue, with walls composed of surf boards. If you’ve ever been to Tom’s Burned Down Café on Madeline Island in Lake Superior, it’s a lot like that.
This was my FAVORITE meal of the trip. Every meal we ate on the island was good, but this had the added ambiance of a green-eyed tabby cat and a rooster. It’s not every venue where you can share your meal with two grateful animals. Russ and I both ordered ribs. Russ had Asian ribs, I had Hawaiian ribs with Czech potato salad. They were divine! We arrived early for dinner and once again, were almost the only people there.
The cat, whose name we later discovered was Prince Harry, sat politely by our table, squinting at me in a most appealing manner. How could I not share my bounty with him? He ate the first few offerings, but then deferred to the rooster for several others after the bird figured out what was going on. Later, Prince Harry became more demanding, standing on his hind legs and putting a paw on my thigh to get my attention for more tidbits. I didn’t mind complying.
Prince HarryOur Mark (the heart)
The surf boards and wooden support posts were filled with graffiti – peoples’ names and where they were from. Under “Minnesota” written in large letters near the reception area, we added our names and date with a heart drawn around it in honor of our sixth anniversary. If you ever visit the grill, look for our mark. It was a truly memorable dinner!
Marie's Meanderings 