The Rouchleau Mine Pit as seen from Minnesota’s tallest bridge.
Russ and I explored a new (to us) section of the Mesabi Bike Trail in Minnesota’s Iron Range this weekend. The section we targeted took us across the state’s tallest bridge, the Thomas Rukavina Memorial Bridge, near Virginia, Minnesota. We driven over the 204-foot-tall structure plenty of times but always looked longingly at the walking/biking/ATV trails right next to the freeway, and today was the day to make our dream come true!
The Thomas Rukavina Memorial Bridge outside of Virginia, Minnesota.
We meandered to bike trailhead in the town of Gilbert at the Sherwood Forest Campground. Biking toward Virginia, we promptly lost the paved trail as it merged into the city roads for several blocks. I think in the past, trail directions had been painted on the road, but those have been lost to the weathering of snow and traffic.
A veterans’ memorial mural we biked past in Virginia.
We had a general idea of where to go, however. We just followed our noses for a few blocks and the trail reappeared, taking us past a restaurant and across Highway 37. Then we headed into the woods. I love these forested sections of trail with their lines of aspen and birch. Pink fireweed is beginning to bloom, which added pops of color to the route. One impressive stretch took us on a skinny peninsula high above a gravel pit and a wetlands area.
What the bike trail looks like across the bridge.
The topography is gradual and unchallenging. The only part my legs complained about was the gradual incline once we returned from the bridge, but I get ahead of myself.
Eventually, we reached the bridge. One side of the trail is for walkers and bikers. The other side of the painted line is for ATVs. A low concrete barrier separates the trails from the freeway. A high railing on the outside provides protection from dropping 200 feet but still provides a view of the Rouchleau Mine Pit below. This mini Grand Canyon was created by iron ore mining activities and now provides drinking water for the city of Virginia.
Wind likes to whip around the bridge, but the weather was fair for us. The bridge was built because mining companies wanted to dig where Highway 53 used to be. They gave the transportation dept. plenty of notice, but, as you can imagine, moving a highway is no small feat. This was the most economical route. Even so, the project cost $220 million! And the bridge was constructed as part of it.
The Oldtown-Finntown Overlook.
Thomas Rukavina, its namesake, was an Iron Range lawmaker born in Virginia. He was a staunch advocate for the Iron Range and its people. He’s also memorialized in a park about a half-mile farther down the trail from the bridge. Bridge View Park offers a good vista of the structure and some interpretive signs and benches.
Once we biked to the outskirts of Virginia, we stopped to investigate a rather overgrown overlook of the mine pit that features a 50-foot caged safety bridge out to the pit’s edge. It’s named the Oldtown-Finntown Overlook.
From there, we passed the historic downtown district with its quaint old streetlights and American flags flying. The trail took us to Lake Virginia. We decided this would be a good turnaround spot. We biked around the small lake, disturbing a gaggle of Canada geese, which hissed at us, and then headed back to Gilbert.
The total trip was 13.5 miles. Although the bridge was our main goal, it was fun seeing the other, unexpected attractions along the way and becoming familiar with a new route.
The Wisconsin State Capitol as seen from Lake Mendota.
May seemed the month for me to meander around Wisconsin. My communications group at Wisconsin Sea Grant goes on an annual field trip to familiarize ourselves with projects that our water research program works on and the researchers who we fund.
Although most of our staff is in Madison, Wisconsin, this year, we chose that locale for our field trip because we have several new staff members. This was especially useful to me, who works far away in northern Wisconsin.
One of our activities during the two days in late May was a pontoon boat ride on Lake Mendota. This is the lake where the University of Wisconsin-Madison is located, and Sea Grant has funded many research projects in and upon it. I had never been on the lake before, so I was looking forward to the ride. I know, I have such a tough job if I get paid to go on a boat tour!
Our videographer, Bonnie, arranged for the rental. She thought she would be able to drive the pontoon. But when we arrived, the staff said she was too young and that she had not taken a required boater safety course, so someone else who was older needed to drive the craft.
Captain Sarah at the wheel!
In stepped Sarah, our graphic designer. She had never piloted a pontoon boat before, but she had experience sailing, so we figured she was the next best thing. I could have possibly done it, too, but was happy not to have the responsibility since I am unfamiliar with the lake.
After Sarah’s short orientation to the pontoon’s operation, we motored off around the lake on a two-hour tour. Viewing how homeowners dealt with erosion in contrast to more natural areas around the lake led to interesting conversations among us.
When we were about a quarter of the way around the lake, a siren sounded. Everyone else on the boat seemed to know that this meant “get off the water!” We were near the university docks, so Sarah headed there. The problem is, she had never docked a pontoon boat before. She recalled from reading the orientation instructions that docking was the most dangerous part of operating the craft.
Understandably, she was wary. She thought maybe we could circle near the docks until the “all-clear” siren was sounded. In the meantime, the wind picked up and rain began to fall. Then came lightning. Sarah and Bonnie checked their phones. Both had received calls from the rental agency, telling them to get the pontoon off the lake.
After her third circle near the docks, Sarah gained enough confidence (or perhaps she was just worried enough) to try and dock the pontoon. She told us which side she planned to dock on, so we deployed the fenders and I organized everyone regarding who would throw ropes and who would jump onto the dock to catch them.
The only problem was that the wind was blowing with gusto by this time. Sarah’s plan to dock us on the left side quickly turned into a plan to dock us on the right side as the wind blew us in that direction. We adjusted on the fly and jumped out onto the right dock.
Stormwater gushes out into Lake Mendota underneath the college’s mascot, Bucky Badger. Note the mallard headed into the stream.
We secured the pontoon and stayed docked for at least a half hour. Rain poured down as the five of us huddled under its canvas roof. A brown plume of stormwater erupted from a nearby storm drain, carrying with it a red baseball batter’s helmet and assorted flotsam that the local mallard ducks surged toward, finding it irresistible. Gross!
Shortly, we discovered that rain leaked through the roof’s zipper, but that was easy enough to avoid. We thought of running through the rain into the shelter of the student union, but the surety of getting wet outweighed the danger of being on the water in a metal structure. Perhaps not so bright, but there were two other pontoons of people who had docked near us, and they were also waiting out the storm on their boats.
While rain poured down and thunder roared on our side of the lake, the pontoon rental people called Sarah and told her it was all clear and that we could go back on the lake. We were like, no way! We waited out the storm another half-hour.
Our unscheduled team-building exercise wasn‘t all terror. We saw this picturesque sail boat before the storm. Note the gathering clouds.
When it seemed like the storm was over, we hightailed it back to the rental place because we were overdue. Bonnie and our boss, Moira, were sitting in the front of the boat and the rest of us were under the canopy. Bonnie had a cap on. Moira didn’t, and she noted with some amusement that her long hair was standing on end.
I wasn’t sure if this phenomenon was due to the wind or some less friendly element, but it’s obvious there must have been electricity in the air. Bonnie didn’t notice it happening to herself because of her cap.
Capn Sarah quietly checked her weather app and gunned the motor. Eventually, Moira’s hair deflated, and we made it back to the rental center intact. Our two-hour tour had turned into a three-hour tour due to weather, but we weren’t charged any extra due to this “act of God.”
Later, at dinner, I looked on the internet to see what it means “when your hair stands on end when you’re in a boat on water.” The entry stated, simply and plainly: You will be struck by lightning!
When I shared this with my colleagues, we all felt lucky to have survived the tour unscathed. Sarah admitted that when she had checked her weather app while Moira’s hair stood on end, it had shown lightning in our vicinity.
After more conversation, it slowly dawned on me that, although I had no hand in organizing the pontoon ride or piloting the craft, my coworkers unanimously blamed me for our misadventure.
Why? Because, as we were about to board the pontoon, I was singing the theme song to Gilligan’s Island. And I MAY have mentioned something about a three-hour tour.
This post is reblogged from the Wisconsin Sea Grant blog, which I write for work.This is the second (and final) story in a series about my weeklong trip around Wisconsin as part of the Wisconsin Idea Seminar. Part 1 described our experience on the University of Wisconsin-Madison campus learning about Ho-Chunk history. This part will describe the rest of the trip in general, focusing on a tour of the Green Bay Packaging Co.
A Wisconsin Idea Seminar participant contemplates Black Smokey Falls on the Wolf River in the Menominee Reservation.
Continuing the first day of our tour, a Badger Bus took us to Portage, where we visited the Historic Indian Agency House, which is where the Ho-Chunk people came to collect their government allotments once they were displaced from their lands by settlers. Reading the names of the Native families on the outdoor plaques was a poignant reminder of this traumatic time in history.
Then we traveled to Appleton, where we took a walking tour of the town, learning about Black history. When the area was first settled, some land and businesses were owned by Black people, but by the 1930s, the town was entirely white due to organized, unofficial harassment that drove Blacks away. That has thankfully turned around so much that there’s even a soul food restaurant in town, which is where we ate supper.
Loblolly pine seedlings in the Green Bay Packaging Co.’s conference room. The company’s Arkansas plant uses loblollys when they need virgin wood fiber to make paper.
On Day 2, we drove to Green Bay where we toured the impressive Green Bay Packaging Co. There was a rumor floating around on the bus that this was the business that the Green Bay Packers football team was named after. Later, I discovered through my own research that this wasn’t true. The Packers were named after a meat-packing plant, which was one of their first sponsors. See, this Minnesotan really is learning about Wisconsin culture!
Green Bay Packaging makes paper from recycled materials. That paper is then used to make boxes. They don’t make the boxes on-site – they ship their paper elsewhere for that. Two years ago, they expanded their facilities on the same land by the bay. Much of the process is automated. Even so, the company employs more workers than before. In the early 1990s, this mill was one of the first in the world to become totally effluent free (zero discharge of wastewater).
We were led through the plant by Olivia Durocher, project development specialist, and Andrew Stoub, environmental manager. Durocher said that 50% of their recycled materials comes from “big box” companies like Target and Walmart and the other 50% comes from consumers. They produce about 550 tons of paper per year.
“Wisconsin has been a top producer of paper for a long time,” Durocher said. “We’re happy to have a hand in that.”
She explained that a paper fiber can be recycled seven times before it becomes too short to be used any more. That’s why other mills still use trees to make paper. “If you stopped introducing virgin fiber into the system, the entire country would run completely out of boxes in about six months or less. That’s why it’s important to continue to plant trees and use virgin fiber to produce kraft paper. It introduces that virgin fiber into the system. That’s why we can’t have all the mills be recycled mills,” Durocher said.
A map of all the communities we visited during our tour. Image credit: University of Wisconsin-Madison
Stoub said the water used in the plant does not come from the bay. About half of the water is recycled from treated water the mill has already used and half comes from treated wastewater from the city of Green Bay. The company uses the methane gas produced by their wastewater digestor to feed their boilers instead of burning the gas off, which many facilities do. Plus, the gas fuels a generator that produces enough electricity to power the mill’s wastewater treatment plant. “It’s a pretty cool sustainable system,” Stoub said.
During our tour of the plant, most impressive to me was its automated 100,000-square-foot paper warehouse. According to Durocher, it’s the largest vertically stacked paper warehouse in the Western Hemisphere. It holds 8,000 rolls of paper, which is the equivalent of 26,000 tons of paper – about 22 days of inventory. No people are allowed in the warehouse because of the danger of a huge tower of paper falling on them. As you can guess, when they built the floor for the warehouse, they took pains to ensure it was totally level!
We were able to view the warehouse through indoor windows. The paper is moved around by four vacuum cranes (Konecranes), which each employ 14,000 pounds of suction. Compared to mechanical cranes, the vacuum cranes allow workers to store the rolls closer together and move them around faster. Paper from the warehouse is shipped out by rail and trucks. Alas, I don’t have any photos of the warehouse or the inside of the mill because we weren’t allowed to take them.
Stoub said you can tell that a box came from the company’s materials because it will have their logo on it.
Highlights from the rest of the five-day trip included a visit to the Menominee Reservation where we learned about their sustainable timber harvesting practices and sawmill operation. We also visited Big Smokey Falls on the Wolf River on the reservation, where we had a chance to get a feel for the land and contemplate what we’d learned so far. That day ended with a tea-making workshop led by Menominee Elder Bonnie McKiernan. We made a mixture that’s good for colds, with bee balm (which I have a ton of in my yard; I did not know it was edible), peppermint and mullein.
Getting friendly with some dairy cows at Soaring Eagle Dairy.
On Day 4, we visited Soaring Eagle Dairy in Newton, a woman-run business. I learned more than I ever wanted to know about how that industry runs. Their milk is used by Land-O-Lakes Inc.
During the final day, we took a walking tour of Milwaukee’s South Side and visited Escuela Verde, a charter school. The tour ended with an art project where we were able to reflect on our experiences.
Through it all, our bus driver Bob was with us. He literally held our lives in his hands, and we respected him greatly. He became a favorite among us.
I came away from the experience feeling more familiar with Wisconsin. This Minnesotan still has a lot to learn, but I feel a bit more confident in my knowledge base now.
I’m a born and bred Minnesotan. I’ve lived there almost my whole life. Sometimes, that can make working for Wisconsin institutions like Sea Grant and the University of Wisconsin-Madison challenging. While I am technically a UW-Madison employee, I live in Duluth, Minnesota, and my office is just across the border in Superior, Wisconsin. Although I’ve worked for Wisconsin Sea Grant 10 years, I’m not as steeped in my workplace’s culture and geography as I am in my home state’s.
This can lead to some interesting mistakes. One happened a few months ago when a co-worker said they grew up on Wisconsin’s Fox River. I only knew the part of the Fox that connects to Green Bay so, in the story I was writing at the time, I put that person’s birthplace near Green Bay. I was chagrined to learn she actually grew up near Oshkosh on a branch of the river 50 miles away from where I originally placed her.
I hate making mistakes in my stories. Even if it’s just during a draft. So, when I saw an announcement for the Wisconsin Idea Seminar in the UW employee newsletter, I jumped at the chance to apply.
The seminar is an annual five-day immersive study tour of Wisconsin culture and geography for UW-Madison faculty and staff. It’s designed so that participants:
Gain a deeper knowledge of the cultural, educational, industrial, social and political realities of Wisconsin
Learn firsthand about the social and cultural contexts that shape the lives of many UW students
See and experience the University’s connections to the state
Understand the public service mission of the University
Nurture an increased mutual understanding between the University and the people of Wisconsin
What this looks like in real life is about 40 people on a big red Bucky Badger bus riding around the state, talking to people and to each other, participating in activities and drinking in the landscape. The theme this year was Forest + River, which was right up my alley as a water research storyteller who is also a Wisconsin geographically challenged person.
This post focuses on just one of our experiences during the seminar’s first day. I plan to write another post later about the rest of the trip and a visit to the Green Bay Packaging Plant, which makes recycled paper used in boxes.
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Our experience began on the Madison campus with a walking tour of Ho-Chunk sites. Amid a cacophony of spring birdsong, Bill Quackenbush, tribal historic preservation officer for the Ho-Chunk Nation, took us to several effigy mounds. These are ancient burial mounds formed in the shape of animals — birds, in the case of the two that we viewed.
Bill Quackenbush, Ho-Chunk tribal historic preservation officer.
The Madison campus is home to more of these ancient earthen monuments than any other university or college campus anywhere in North America, and probably the world. There are 38 burial mounds. At least 14 others have been lost to development. They are several thousand years old, perhaps as ancient as Egypt’s pyramids.
I learned something new right off the bat, mainly that there is a goose-shaped effigy mound right outside the Sea Grant office in Goodnight Hall. Granted, I don’t work on campus, but you’d think I would have heard something about that during my career here! Quackenbush said a Ho-Chunk village used to be where the office building is now located on the shores of Lake Mendota.
He explained how the Ho-Chunk are working to reclaim their culture. “These earth works are one small example of a portion of our life. We are no different today then we were back then. We humans like to take care of not only our babies and our children, but also our ancestors,” Quackenbush said.
The goose effigy burial mound near the Sea Grant office on the UW-Madison campus.
He criticized a stone marker on the mound not only for disturbing the site but for the text on it, which gives the impression that the mound is a thing of the past. “It isn’t a thing of the past at all,” Quackenbush said. “This is ever-present. It’s living and it’s here. Our ancestors are buried in this ground. They’re living, breathing things to us like that tree over there. Their bones have probably returned to the earth by now, but it’s the ground that is sacred to us.
“However, I don’t want to be all doom and gloom. There’s a lot of good things that have come from protecting these mounds,” Quackenbush added.
The mound site was designated on the National Register of Historic Places a few years ago. The University is working to restore an oak savannah that used to exist there.
The Ho-Chunk Clan Circle.
A short walk took us to the Ho-Chunk Clan Circle, a series of 12 metal sculptures that was dedicated earlier this year. Each depicts a clan symbol. Quackenbush said the circle represents the Ho-Chunk people as a whole.
Fitting my Sea Grant employment, I found myself standing near the Water Spirit sculpture. Quackenbush said the tribe was involved in the process of creating the circle and that the sculpture offers opportunities for him to meet and speak with more groups such as the Wisconsin Idea Seminar participants. He explained the various clan roles and how they fit into the tribe’s governmental system.
Next, the group was able to view a dugout canoe that Quackenbush built with the help of Ho-Chunk youth. They built it in much the same style as the ancient canoes that were recently discovered in Lake Mendota.
Quackenbush’s dugout canoe.
“This canoe doesn’t look very exciting, but the journey it’s been on is,” Quackenbush said. “When I saw that the historical society discovered the dugout canoes in the lake behind you as I was drinking my cup of coffee, it shot out of my nostrils! It was amazing to me because we had aspirations of putting one of them together.”
He worked with Dane County to find a suitable cottonwood tree that was going to be removed for a trail project. The county delivered the tree to a youth education center, which is where Quackenbush and the students worked on it. Everything came together and, like the clan circle, the canoe is a great educational discussion piece.
Amy Rosebrough, interim Wisconsin state archeologist, joined us and described how the historic dugout canoes were found. She also detailed the significance of the new canoe. “These lakes remember. With the canoes, they’re telling the story of the Ho-Chunk presence here.”
Her office’s goal has been to work with Quackenbush and other partners to keep that story alive, “…To let people know that when they’re out there fishing, this isn’t something new. This is something that’s been going on for thousands of thousands of years. It’s not just the mounds, it’s this whole landscape. And to have Bill and his team come through with this new dugout, that was a wonderful thing – to sort of bring that back,” Rosebrough said.
Our visit ended with a Ho-Chunk drum ceremony by the Iron Mound Singers. Listening to them was like hearing the heartbeat of the Earth. That is definitely not something I get to do everyday in my job as a science writer. As we walked back to the bus to head to Portage and Appleton, I felt privileged to learn more about Ho-Chunk culture and the history of the land where the university stands.
I’m reading “David Copperfield” by Charles Dickens in preparation for reading this year’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, “Demon Copperhead” by Barbara Kingsolver. Although it’s not a requirement to be familiar with Copperfield before reading Copperhead, the latter is based on former so I figure it can’t hurt.
Given my blog’s name, imagine my delight when, in the opening of Copperfield, I found a short treatise on meandering. David Copperfield was born with a caul (amniotic sack) around him. Back in the day, cauls were thought to have mystical properties, one of which was to protect whoever possessed it from death by drowning. They had value. David’s family sold the caul in a raffle. It was won by an old lady who died triumphantly in her bed years later at the age of 92. She was triumphant because she did not drown. But drowning would have been difficult for her even without a caul since she never went in or near the water except to cross a bridge.
Copperfield says, “Over her tea, to which she was extremely partial, she, to the last, expressed her indignation at the impiety of mariners and others who had the presumption to go ‘meandering’ about the world. It was in vain to represent to her that some conveniences, tea perhaps included, resulted from this objectionable practice. She always returned with greater emphasis and with and an instinctive knowledge of the strength of her objection: ‘Let us have no meandering!’”
That made me laugh. Good thing the dear departed lady is not alive to read my blog. She would surely find it objectionable.
I have been doing my share of meandering lately, thus my absence from this blog. I hope to write more soon about my adventures traveling around the state and culture of Wisconsin.
This is the Bell of Two Friends on Nicollet Island in Minneapolis. We came across it during an impromptu walk around the park pavilion. See the rope hanging down over the archway? Ringing the bell it’s attached to signifies a prayer for world peace and continued friendship between the people of Minneapolis and their sister city, Ibaraki, Japan.
The sculpture was inspired by a 2,000-year-old terra cotta mold of a bronze bell, discovered in Ibaraki. We didn’t know all this when we rang the bell, but we could feel the friendship somehow.
Nicollet Island is supposedly the only inhabited island in the Mississippi River. I’ve had the chance to visit it on several occasions. Each time, I come away thinking that if I was forced to move from Duluth (probably at gunpoint, which is what it would take) and reside in the Twin Cities, I might be able to be happy on this island.
I love the historic feel of it, the energy of the river that runs on both sides, the roar of St. Anthony Falls, the green spaces, and old homes. My latest visit prompted me to read a book about the island (“Nicollet Island” by Christopher and Rushika February Hage). I learned that there used to be five other islands near it but once settlers arrived, two were filled in so that they joined the riverbank, two were destroyed when a lock and dam was built, and one eroded.
The view from underneath the Hennepin Avenue Bridge on Nicollet Island.
Before it was named for explorer Joseph Nicollet, the Dakota people called it “wita waste,” meaning beautiful island. They fished from its banks and tapped maple trees that covered it. Rites of transition from childhood to manhood were carried out there and the island was considered as a safe place for women to give birth. Plus, it had the added benefit of the sound of the falls to drown out the screaming. 😊
Waterpower from the falls proved irresistible to the settlers, who used it to run sawmills and flour mills. Once the home of the most fashionable and prominent Minneapolitans, the island changed drastically after a fire in 1893 that began by boys smoking at a Wagon Works. Eventually, rebuilding occurred in the form of a Catholic high school and a monastery. Once-elegant apartments were subdivided and occupied by pensioners and veterans. As the economy tanked during the Depression, the island became home to the homeless.
The Hennepin Ave Bridge in black and white.
In the 1950s, the city razed many buildings in the nearby Gateway District, forcing even more homeless people to the island. Then the razing eyes of city government turned toward the island, but the residents resisted.
In the 1960s and 70s, the island was a favorite with the counterculture. Musicians, artists, (dare I say writers?), and drug-users coexisted with the poor island residents. They did not want to be “improved” upon by city planners.
In 1971, St. Anthony Falls and the island were designated in the National Registry of Historic Places. A city preservation commission helped with a movement to preserve the island’s historic homes. Eventually, a city park was established on the site of vacant industrial land.
Now, people like Russ and I enjoy walking, biking, and running on the island. And we ring a bell in world friendship.
Russ and I meandered to the big city recently: i.e., the Twin Cities, i.e., Minneapolis and St. Paul, Minnesota. One of our stops was a tour of the Wabasha Street Caves in St. Paul.
This series of seven caves are in a sandstone/limestone bluff not far from the Mississippi River. They were dug in the 1850s to mine silica for making glass.
Our tour guide was named Lois. She began our tour not in the fancy entrance that leads to a refurbished part of the cave, but in a more primitive entrance, where we could see what the unfinished, original walls look like. While we stood in front of an entrance to a side cave, Lois explained that once the silica mining was over, the caves were used to store produce from off the river boats. Temperatures range from 50 to 55 degrees, which makes the caves ideal for storing veggies, growing mushrooms, and aging cheese.
The Wabasha Street Caves were once home to the largest mushroom growing operation in the United States. An immigrant Frenchman and his wife saw the cave’s dampness, darkness, and cool temperatures as the perfect environment for growing the delectable fungi. Plus, the streets of St. Paul provided a free source of growth medium in the form of horse manure.
Although that operation eventually ceased, the mushroom company lives on today in the form of Lehman’s Farm in Lakeville, Minnesota, which sells its marinated mushrooms to high-end food outlets like Lunds & Byerlys. The caves were also used by the Land O’Lakes Company to age Roquefort cheese.
In the 1950s, the caves fell into disuse until a flood caused massive damage to St. Paul. Lois said the caves were seen as the perfect place to store all that untidy debris. She shined a light down a side entrance where she stood to show us it was filled with old tires and dirt. But, before the flood, in the 1920 and 30s the cave was modified as a speakeasy, casino, and a nightclub. The debris-strewn side tunnel was thought to once lead to the speakeasy.
Tour guide Lois tells us spooky tales of nefarious doings in the Wabasha Street Caves.
From there, our tour moved into the refinished part of the cave. We saw the long bar, which was rebuilt based on old photos. Stucco covered the ceiling and water pipes and electricity ran through the walls. A separate section contained a dance floor, fireplace, and a stage. Lois said that famous jazz bands used to perform in the cave’s Castle Royal Nightclub.
The nightclub and casino were favorites with local gangsters. St. Paul had the reputation as a safe haven for them. The police wouldn’t arrest gangsters as long as they didn’t commit any crimes in St. Paul, although Minneapolis was fair game! The gangsters also shared their ill-gotten gains with the police department. This was called the Layover Agreement.
Despite this agreement, one notable crime happened in the caves. Four gangsters were gambling after hours. One of them apparently took umbrage at the conduct of the others and shot them all dead with his Tommy gun. At the noise, a cleaning lady ran in from another room to find three of the gangsters lying dead in pools of blood. She alerted the police who came to investigate.
Suffice it to say, with the cozy relationship between the gangsters and the police at that time, justice was not served. The police cleaned up the scene and chided the cleaning woman for filing a false report. It’s thought the bodies of the three gangsters still reside in the caves somewhere. Despite the protestations of the police, evidence of the crime can be seen in bullet holes on the cement fireplace.
Now the caves function as an event center and tourist attraction. They offer swing dancing and special ghostly tours. We were fascinated to learn about the caves and the shady history of the city of St. Paul.
When last you heard about us, Russ and I were having past life regression sessions in Prescott. That done, we left Prescott a day early under the impending threat of ten inches of snow. We drove across the mountains to the funky mining town of Jerome. Russ had not been there before and we were so close, it seemed a must-see.
Like on my previous trip, we ate lunch at Bobby D’s BBQ. This time, it was Russ’s turn to sit in the “haunted booth” where a former restaurant owner died. Despite this unappetizing tale, we heartily enjoyed our lunch of BBQ chicken, ribs, onion rings, and zucchini fries. They make the BBQ sauce on-site. Our favorite of the four was the jalapeno, molasses and brown sugar one. Zippy but not too spicy, even for us Minnesotans.
Sated, we searched for Nellie Bly’s kaleidoscope shop, which I’d visited last time. Then, I did not purchase any of these tubular wonders. Now, I had some relatives’ birthdays as an excuse. I even bought a small polished wooden one for us. Sometimes, you just need to look at the world in multiple triangles.
A kaleidoscope image I took with my phone camera, looking through the scope when back at home.
After some more browsing, we decided it was best to hightail it to lower elevations before the snowstorm came. We drove to Phoenix where we stayed overnight. The next day we visited the Heard Museum, which specializes in Native American art. From the sculptures outdoors to the paintings indoors, it was all marvelous. But my favorite exhibit was “Stories Outside the Lines: American Indian Ledger Art.” Hidden in several upper floor hallways, the drawings show events and past achievements that Native artists recorded in ledger books.
According to the museum, this art form began in the late 19th century when several Great Plains tribes were relocated to reservations by the U.S. Government. Many of their cultures had traditions of recording events on animal hides using natural pigments. Faced with imprisonment for practicing their cultural traditions, the Natives turned to the materials they had at hand, which were ledger books and colored pencils, provided by traders and government agents.
What struck me was their two-dimensionality. They looked like something a school child would draw except for the subtle sophistication of the topics they depict.
Russ and I are both big “Outlander” book and TV series fans, so our next stop was in the suburb of Phoenix at the Poisoned Pen Bookstore. The bookstore is near Outlander author Diana Gabaldon’s home and she sometimes does events there. We found that we missed Diana by a mere day – she was going to be speaking the next evening. Although tempted to stay, we had relatives waiting for us in Tucson, so we had to content ourselves with buying a few books instead. (After I got home, I discovered that one was autographed by Diana!)
An example of ledger art, courtesy of the Heard Museum.
Later, we drove south to Tucson and stayed at a relative’s home. We awoke the next morning to, you guessed it, a few inches of snow. It was the first snow the city had experienced in several decades. It seems we just could not escape it. However, the white stuff quickly melted.
A blooming cactus at the Sonoran Desert MuseumBighorn sheep, Sonoran Desert Museum
We saw my son in Tucson and toured the Sonoran Desert Museum. Both Russ and I had been there before, but my son hadn’t. It had been years since we’d been there – the exhibits seemed more numerous and larger than I recall, but I suppose some had been added since the 1980s!
Our trip capped off with a hike in Madera Canyon, which to me seemed more like a valley than a canyon in the national forest nearby. The area is known for its birds, so we made sure to take in the bird-feeding station at the Santa Rita Lodge after our hike. We saw a lot of turkeys and Mexican jays.
Thus, ended our trip to Arizona to escape the snow. We failed in that regard, but the experience was successful in so many other ways.
When Russ and I travel, we usually do many “outward-looking” things like hiking, biking, seeing the sights, etc. For our recent trip to Arizona, we decided to go on a more inward adventure. We contacted a local psychic for past life regression sessions.
I’ve never shopped for a psychic before, but I figured the internet was a good start. A search of psychics in the Prescott area came up with three hits. The one that looked the most legit to me was “Psychic Readings by Deva.” Deva does readings by appointment only. She lives in a lovely home on the outskirts of Prescott.
We corresponded by email to set up the appointment. That went fine, except on my end. I was so distracted by dealing with the details of our impending trip that I sent Deva the incorrect dates of our visit. I thought I was setting our sessions up for the end of February and she thought they were going to be at the end of March!
When we showed up a month early, of course, she wasn’t home. Her husband was, though, and we were able to set up a session with Deva for the following day. Deva was very accommodating about this and I am forever grateful. I’m usually not such a scatterbrain. Was I unconsciously trying to sabotage the experience? Only Carl Jung can answer that!! (Get it? The famous Swiss psychoanalyst? Anyway…)
Besides past life regressions, Deva does tarot card readings, hypnosis, and energy work. She’s originally from Germany and has an accent that fits a session on a couch, which is where we laid during our separate hour-long regressions in her basement.
But first, while we were still sitting upright, Deva asked why we wanted the sessions. We basically just said we wanted a different vacation experience. Deva explained that in past lives, we could be different genders and races. There could be some violence involved since human history is so full of wars and conflict.
Russ went on the couch first while I waited upstairs, reading a book.
I was looking forward to the experience. I can’t say that I’m a true “believer” in past lives, but I am open and curious. I was bummed when I feared I had messed up our opportunity with the date snafu and was so glad that it worked out, after all.
A past-life regression is definitely not something I would have ever considered doing at home, where life is so busy. However, years ago, I bumped into a group past life session that was going on once down the hall from a meeting I had in the same building. A bunch of handouts entitled, “Tips for a Group-Guided Past Life Regression Experience” lay on a table, beckoning me. I picked one up.
One of the tips was to ignore your critical thinking so you can be fully present in the experience. This is very hard for me because I’m judgmental and critical by nature. Another was to trust that the information that drops into your mind during the regression is exactly what you’re supposed to see, even if it feels like you’re making it up.
When it was my turn, Deva spent about 20 minutes of the session on relaxation – taking me from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. Then came some imagery work that prepared me for exploring my past life/lives.
I ended up describing three lives. I really did feel like I was just making it all up, but thanks to that handy stolen tip sheet, I realized that was okay. I was male in two of the past lives, and female in one. One of the lives had a lot of violence and loss, but the other two were rather tame, except for a prairie fire and an absent husband.
In each life, I learned a lesson. None of the lessons were things that particularly resonated with me currently, and I didn’t really see anyone in my past lives that is in my current life. But I did end the session with a deep feeling of loss. Tears welled into my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. Deva found some tissues for me. 😊
I felt like I’d been through a ringer afterwards. It felt like one of those vacation experiences I often tend to get myself into — like a trail that’s way more difficult than the guidebook described.
On our way back to our hotel afterwards, Russ and I exchanged notes. He explored one life during his session. It seemed like it was in greater detail than my lives. But there were many similarities in it to the life of mine that had a lot of violence and loss. We were even the same ethnicity, although we were in different time periods. The lessons learned in these separate lives were eerily the same.
The session helped me understand some of my passions and dislikes and why I seem to have lost my green thumb.
In summary, Deva was great. The experience was unique, but if you do a past life regression, don’t expect a flippant jaunt down a flat trail, even if the guidebook classifies it as “easy.”
Russ and I wanted to escape Minnesota’s snowy winter and cold. We also wanted to visit my son who’s in college in Tucson, so we hoofed it south a couple of weeks ago.
Our first stop was Prescott, a small historic town in north western Arizona roughly between Phoenix and Flagstaff. I’d visited the town as a child. The tall pines and bright sun (due to the 5,000-foot elevation) had piqued my interest.
I must convey the correct pronunciation for Prescott. The locals say “Preskitt.” If you call it Press-Scott, they might shoot you with their open carry pistols.
We drove up the mountains from Phoenix at night, missing views of the saguaro cacti that stand as sentinels on the landscape. As we neared Prescott, a light rain began to fall. We checked into the Hassayampa Inn, which is on the National Register of Historic Places. We chose it for this reason and because it’s within easy walking distance of the town’s many attractions. Also, it has a coffee shop, bar, and art deco restaurant (the Peacock Room).
The inn’s name is derived from Apache and is named for a nearby river. Hassayampa means “the river that loses itself”— fitting for a mysterious stream that often disappears beneath the earth and reappears elsewhere. The inn’s promotional language says that the inn has the same effect on its guests, “who often come for a chance to lose the tensions of hectic urban life and emerge restored.”
Our plane got delayed, so we didn’t arrive at the Hassayampa until near midnight. A cheery fire in the lobby welcomed us and did the night clerk, who gave us (and our luggage) a ride in an old-fashioned cage elevator up to our floor.
When we awoke in the morning, the rain had turned cold. The view out our window included about four inches of snow covering the land. So much for our grand plan to escape the white stuff!
After breakfast in the Peacock Room (excellent, plus friendly staff), we walked around town picking up supplies. The historic district was only a couple of blocks away. Alas, the museums (the Sharlot Museum was one) we had hoped to visit were all closed due to snow, but many stores were open as were the saloons and restaurants on Whiskey Row. This historic district developed after a fire in 1900. When rebuilt, the area featured an “inordinate” number of bars (40), built to quench the thirst of gold miners and settlers drawn to the town.
For supper that first day, we ate at one of the original saloons: The Palace. In addition to imbibing scotch whisky (how could we visit Whiskey Row without it?), I had a scrumptious burger called “the beast,” which is made from a mix of meats including boar and elk. I heartily recommend it!
The Hassayampa Inn lobby fireplaceThe Hassayampa Inn lobbyThe Beast Burger, Palace Saloon
Unlike in our hometown of Duluth, MN, the snow in Prescott melted fast. Most of the streets were clear by the afternoon.
We spent our second day hiking around Watson Lake and visiting the Heritage Park Zoo, which is in the same vicinity. Watson Lake was especially dramatic, with rocky dells rising straight out of the water. We saw lots of Canada Geese and other waterfowl there.
While on our hike, we also saw an interesting warning sign. It alerted us to the presence of flying discs, since the lake has its own disc golf course. That’s not a sign we see every day!
We had intended to stay in Preskitt for another day, but an impending snowstorm, which was supposed to drop a foot of the vile white stuff on the town, chased us out early. The hotel manager was supremely understanding and promised to refund our aborted night’s stay. So, the next day we headed out of the mountains for the historic mining town of Jerome, and then Phoenix.
But before we left Prescott, we had one more adventure planned: past life regression sessions with a local psychic. More about that in my next post!
Marie's Meanderings 