That Time I was the Subject of a Federal Whistleblower Complaint

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A page in my life story that I’d rather not have repeated, but a page that is interesting, was written back in the 1990s when I was a federal employee. I was working in public affairs for the USDA Forest Service in the Superior National Forest. This particular forest is also home to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW), renowned for its canoe routes and primitive character.

As part of my job, I often helped with public meetings, and I wrote and edited documents. At the time, the agency was working on its first-ever management plan for the BWCAW. I wrote some of the background information for the plan and I edited the final version of the document. The plan required public comment, which we gathered by hosting meetings in towns across northern Minnesota. I sent out news releases about the meetings to the media and in general, just tried to ensure that people knew about the opportunity to comment.

Around that same time, I was a board member for our local chapter of the Audubon Society (you know, the environmentalist bird-lovers). I edited their newsletter and helped plan monthly programs. I can’t recall the exact timing of things, but I eventually quit the board because I was just too busy. The problem is, the new editor forgot to take my name off the board member list that was published on the back page of the newsletter.

After a few months, I noticed my name was still listed, and I asked the editor to delete it just for accuracy’s sake. A few more months later, it was still on there. I reminded the editor again, and he took it off.

As it turns out, it was too late. Somewhere during this time, the Audubon newsletter published a story in favor of the new BWCAW plan. Someone in Minnesota who was connected to the Blue Ribbon Coalition (an organization originating out West that advocates for the use of motorized vehicles on public lands) saw the newsletter story and noticed my name on the list of board members.

This person (who shall remain nameless) and the organization he was affiliated with did not like the new wilderness plan because it limited the use of motors in several areas where they had been allowed previously. He, with all the logic of the clueless, came to the conclusion that it was ALL MY FAULT that motors were being restricted in the plan because I was a board member of the Audubon group. He filed a complaint to this effect through the federal Whistleblower Program. He also complained about the manager of the BWCAW in a separate filing.

This was during a time when the Forest Service was getting political heat for not investigating claims. Heh heh, lucky us. Taxpayers got to foot the bill for an investigator to travel from Washington D. C. to Minnesota for several days to investigate us.

In the complaint about me (which I don’t think I ever got to read, but I got told about it by the investigator), the man claimed that my job within the agency put me in a position of power to influence the new rules that were being proposed in the plan, and that because I was a member of Audubon, I had a conflict of interest.

I explained to the investigator that I wasn’t even on the Audubon board when they developed their position in support of the BWCAW plan. I described the oversight that left my name on the back of the newsletter. I also explained my role in writing the plan, which did not include any omnipotent power to make up new rules against the use of motors in the wilderness. (I only WISH I had that type of power.)

Even though I was sure no wrong-doing would be found, being investigated by the feds was not comfortable, which was another outcome I’m sure the Complainer Guy wanted.

In the end, both the wilderness manager and I were found “not guilty,” and we were able to continue about our business. You can bet that we thought harder about how we did our business, but we continued it, nonetheless – savvier about the tactics used by some organizations.

On Being a “Professional Woman”

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business_womanMy fair city has a group for women in business called the Professional Women’s Network. It first came to my attention when I was in high school. I was invited to one of their luncheon meetings as part of a program they had to reach out to students.

I’m not sure why I was chosen – I had no interest in business. I wasn’t even a woman yet (grin). But I went with a couple of other invited classmates anyway, because – free lunch!

I recall that the women were all very nice, but I was too young to understand the need for such a group. I decided it just wasn’t my thing.

And I also wondered about the organization’s name. The wording makes it sound like they are all women who are professionals at being women – leading to visions that their meetings are really about sharing hairstyle and clothing tips, swapping recipes, or divulging secrets on how to work their wiles on men.

Over the years, I would chuckle whenever the organization’s name floated into my field of view. If I ever did end up becoming a member, I would advocate for renaming it the Women’s Professional Network.

And Then There Were Two: An Update on the Status of Isle Royale’s Wolves

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The remaining wolf pair on Isle Royale. Photo by Rolf Peterson.

Last week I attended a public meeting by the National Park Service to hear about their preferred plan to deal with the declining wolf population on Isle Royale, a remote island-sized park in Lake Superior.

If you’re a long-time reader of this blog, you may recall the story I wrote about the issue in 2015. At that point, there were three wolves left on the island. Now there are only two.

The deformed wolf mentioned in my last story is nowhere to be found (presumably dead) and the other two wolves, who may or may not be its parents, are still alive.

Researchers have discovered that they are a male and female wolf who are related to each other in several incestuous ways. (Hard to avoid this when you live on an island.) They are father and daughter, but also half-siblings. And they are old for wild wolves — six and eight years old. As such, it’s not likely they would have any (more?) ultra-incestuous offspring.

During the meeting, the park service staff discussed four alternative plans of action they are considering. Their preferred plan calls for the introduction of 20-30 wolves starting next fall/winter over a span of three to five years. It’s known in the Environmental Impact Statement as Alternative B.

The other alternatives involve taking no action, introducing a smaller number of wolves over a period longer than five years (20 years), and taking no action now but allowing for the option of action in the future.

Under Alternative B, the park service plans to capture packs of wolves, if they can, and to release them ASAP together on the island. They will collect wolves from the Great Lakes area, and ones that are not habituated to humans and are already used to eating moose for food. They want the wolves to spend as little time in holding pens as possible so that they don’t become habituated to them. Initially, the park service will provide moose carcasses (from Isle Royale) for the wolves to eat, but then will leave the wolves to fend for themselves. They will monitor them (with radio collars, etc.) to see how they are doing.

The fact that the park is considering messing with wolf introduction is a big deal. Normally, they are a “hands-off, let-nature-take-its-course” organization. But the wolves are so important to the island’s ecosystem and to controlling the moose population, that public pressure and human-caused global environmental changes have made the park willing to change its philosophy.

When I commented on this issue back in 2015, for nature-purist motives I was against any action. But now since it seems like the wolf population is indeed doomed, and it’s not likely that wolves will wander over to the island from the mainland on an ice bridge during the winter (especially right now as I am writing this and it’s 50-frikin’ degrees in February!), I am okay with the idea of introducing wolves.

What I am not so okay with is introducing the new wolves while the two existing wolves are still living on the island. At the meeting, when someone asked this question, the park biologist dismissed the concern, saying the existing wolves would have a survival advantage over the new wolves because they already know the island’s terrain, etc.

But come on, what chance do two old wolves have against 20-30 young whippersnapper wolves? I fear they will be shredded to pieces by the newcomers. I think it’s kind of inhumane to introduce the new ones while the old ones are alive. But for some reason, the park service is hot to do the introductions ASAP.

Another question that was dismissed at the meeting is whether the park would alter its plans for introducing the wolves if an ice bridge to the mainland was in place. The biologist said that wolf experts have told them the wolves would likely stay on the island.

I question this as well. The park service plans to get the wolves from MN, WI or Michigan. If I was a wolf, and my family and I were taken from our home not that far away (wolves can easily travel 40 miles in a day), dropped somewhere new, and there was a way to escape and go back home, I sure as heck wouldn’t stay there. Studies of wolves introduced in other situations found that they do travel away from the site of introduction toward their site of origin.

One would think the park service would want to ensure that the introduced wolves would stay in place by not introducing wolves if there was an ice bridge, but apparently not. This could be a waste of time and expense to taxpayers.

Another comment that was dismissed, and this time I’m glad it was dismissed, was the idea that people be used to control the moose population on the island instead of wolves. This would involve hunting, of course. Hunting on Isle Royale is currently prohibited by federal law. But also, I’d just rather not have the top predator on the island be humans instead of wolves. There are plenty of other places where people can hunt. And I can only imagine how hard it would be to haul a moose carcass over those island ridges. It was hard enough to haul my own carcass over them when I hiked!

Okay, enough of my ranting. If you’re interested in commenting on the plan, the deadline is March 15. And if you’d like to learn about Isle Royale’s wolves in a fun way, please read my novel, “Eye of the Wolf.”

Feeling the Loss at Paisley Park

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Paisley Park

Last weekend, a friend and I meandered to Prince’s home in Chanhassen, Minn. The late musician’s home, Paisley Park, has been turned into a museum and recently opened for tours.

Even though I’m not the hugest Prince fan, he’s such a Minnesota icon that visiting his home seemed the thing to do on a weekend get-away from The Great White North. And I wanted to learn more about this musician who died so unexpectedly last April.

When I was in college in the early 1980s, other than his songs over the airwaves, my introduction to Prince was via a poster on the inside of my dorm neighbors’ bathroom door. When I ended up using their bathroom because the one I shared was occupied, there was Prince, lounging around nekkid as the day he was born, while I peed.

Hardly an auspicious introduction, but surely a memorable one.

Then there was the time I took my dormmate to a restaurant in downtown Minneapolis for her birthday. As we prepared to order our food at our second-floor table, our waiter arrived, breathless. “Prince just came in!” He gushed. “He’s seated at a table on the first floor!”

My dormmate and I looked at each other and shrugged, nonplussed, not interested enough to go downstairs and gawk. Our musical tastes then tended toward the B52s, Sting, and Dire Straits. As our waiter continued his excitement over the star, I, of course, was thinking of that bathroom poster. 🙂

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Prince in Purple Rain.

Over the years, I watched Prince’s Purple Rain movie, enjoyed his music, and saw a few of his energetic and flashy performances on TV. I liked him, but not unusually so.

Then came last year. What was it about 2016 and the loss of so many musicians?! It was like they had a karmic bullseye upon them.

After Prince died, like many other people, I watched his past Superbowl halftime performance, relistened to his music, and rewatched part of Purple Rain. I couldn’t help but follow the news speculation about his death and the mess that is/was his estate.

I began to gain a greater appreciation for his talent and his style. That old cliché, “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone,” fit for my belated appreciation, and was another factor that drew me to Paisley Park.

If You Go

The first thing you need to know about visiting the museum is that you can only buy tickets online in advance. The high interest and demand necessitates it. Guided tours leave every 70 minutes and they will be running at least through April of this year.

Another thing is that you can’t use your phone on the tour. You will be asked to turn it off, and the attendant will slide it into a little case, locked by one of those magnetic thingees similar to the anti-theft devices on jeans. They don’t want you taking pictures inside. But you can take photos after the tour in a tent that’s set up just outside the museum.

Impressions

The first thing that struck me is how close Paisley Park is to the freeway. I’ve probably driven past it a few times over the years and never recognized it for what it was. With its bland white exterior, I thought it was an industrial park or something.

Once inside, I was struck by the symbolism of the murals. Blue sky and clouds decorate the atrium (the sky’s the limit?) along with white doves. We craned our necks to catch a glimpse of Prince’s pet dove, Divine, in its cage on the second floor. A velvet purple couch with paisley pillows sits underneath the atrium windows and a plastic box that holds a replica of Paisley Park and Prince’s ashes. Off the atrium, you can look through glass doors to see Prince’s dining area and television room. His office is off the other side of the atrium as well as several other rooms that are now filled with memorabilia from his concert tours.

I was struck by how small the furniture was. Prince seemed so larger-than-life on television, but in reality he was only about 5’-2”.

Our tour guide knew Prince personally. He explained that the connection was made through his wife, who was Prince’s babysitter when he was young. It was very cool to have someone guide us who actually knew what Prince was like and had an emotional attachment to him.

During the rest of the tour, we saw the motorcycle Prince rode in the Purple Rain movie and outfits he wore during concerts. In his sound studio we got to hear one of the unreleased songs (an instrumental) from his mythical musical vault. Most impressive was a full-size concert venue room where he could practice for his tours and hold his own concerts.

The tour ended in the room that was Prince’s private music club. A small dining area there serves food that Prince liked (vegan rice crispy bars?!), which are available for purchase. The gift shop featured a wall bedecked with memorials that people had placed outside Paisley Park after Prince died.

I left impressed by the way Prince built Paisley Park to foster his creativity. It’s truly not a place that anyone else could just purchase and live in. Like Graceland is to Elvis, Paisley Park holds Prince literally and figuratively. It’s a monument to a Minnesota icon — one who some Minnesotans like me didn’t fully appreciate until it was too late.

Release Your Inner Bird with Aerial Yoga

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Marie doing a diaper wrap straddle back.

One of my favorite local newspaper columnists recently wrote an article that poked a bit of fun at the many alternative forms of yoga that seem to abound. He cited Laughter Yoga as a rather humorous practice, and made up his own Minnesota-inspired yoga names like Labrador Retriever Yoga or Walleye-Jigging Yoga, and Removing Built-Up Ice From Under Your Fenders Yoga. Another recent article appeared in the paper describing Adaptive Yoga for disabled people.

BUT what they’re all missing is Aerial Yoga.

A friend and I had a chance to try it last weekend at The Aviary  in the basement of an historic brick building in Minneapolis. One disclaimer: They don’t only teach Aerial Yoga. They also teach aerial fitness moves.aviary-trip-009

The room was festooned with blue silk sheaths, hung from the ceiling on rotating hooks. The introductory class we attended (you have to take an intro class before you can do a “regular” class) attracted about a dozen people of all shapes, sizes, and genders.

Jane, our instructor and member of the “flight crew,” was ebullient, strong, and fit – but not so unattainably fit as to cause immediate depression upon first glance. She was patient with her instructions, going through each move several times to ensure we all understood.

She first taught us how to sit in the silks, and by doing so, trust that they would hold us. I believe she said they could hold up to 250 pounds. Then she taught us how to do a backbend and grab our feet. I am not quite that flexible, but I did do the backbend part.

Another disclaimer: This class is not for people who cannot tolerate being upside down. And, as my friend discovered, it is not a good idea to eat raw fish and half a bottle of water beforehand. She felt nauseous the whole time after that first backbend.

Jane then led us through a series of other moves, stretches and some strength training. I was reminded how much work it can be just to lift the weight of your own body.

You may recall that I enjoy Hot Yoga. The moves I learned through that were helpful in feeling comfortable with this class, but with all the inversions and wrappings, Aerial Yoga is different – more like flying.

My favorite pose was the diaper wrap straddle back, where you lay back in the silks, and invert by lifting your legs, doing the splits, and then wrapping your legs around the silks for stability (pictured).

We ended class in a bat pose, which found us all hanging upside down like the poses’ namesake.

I would love to try another class. Even my nauseous friend wants to. But our hometown 150 miles away does not offer an Aerial Fitness facility. (Come on, Duluth – get one!) Next time I’m in Minneapolis, I will have to make a point to allow time for it.

I encourage you to try Aerial Yoga if you ever get the chance. Release your inner bird!

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The Hardest Thing I Do All Day

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Drawing by Ruiizu-Chan.

I have an eye condition that requires me to put drops in them every morning and evening. To help the drops work better, I’m supposed to keep my eyes closed for about two minutes each time.

Being a good rule-follower and because I really do want relief from my condition, I do it, standing in my kitchen with the oven timer on. But I’ve come to think of it as the hardest thing I do all day (after getting out of bed, that is).

How can standing still with eyes closed for two minutes be so bad, you ask? Because it requires mind control. During those two minutes I think of at least a dozen things I should be doing rather than standing still: I should turn on my computer. I should unload the dishwasher. I should write a check for my son’s lunch money. I need to write down that appointment in my calendar. I need to change a word in one of my stories to something better. I wonder what the weather’s going to be like this week?

At first, I often gave into into these impulses and turned on the computer or wrote in my calendar. I’d close my eyes again later, but it felt like cheating. It wasn’t long before I took the two-minute task as a challenge. Let’s see if I can keep my eyes closed the whole time this time.

You know what happened . . . I tried to do all those same things with eyes closed. This had mixed results along with some bumps and bruises. (Smile.)

So, taking a cue from author Elizabeth Gilbert’s first experiences with meditation in “Eat, Pray, Love,” I challenged myself to keep my mind quiet so that keeping my eyes closed wasn’t such a hardship.

If you’ve ever tried mediation, you know it’s hard. An untrained mind is an unfettered being. It resists control. It wants to float around at will. You, dear blog readers, know how my mind loves to meander.

But by practicing twice a day, every day for a huge total of four minutes, I’m getting better at it. When I feel the urge to do something, I recognize it and deflect it. I give myself permission to do nothing. I concentrate on my breathing or on the sounds around me. I file away impulses for action until after my time is up. I try to be present.

I’d like to think the practice not only helps my eyes, it’s helping me master myself.

So if you ever want to try something really hard, try standing still with your eyes closed for two minutes. I dare you!

The Gathering of the Orbs

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A girl and her orb.

Today is the time when all the ice orbs for the Lake Superior Ice Festival are gathered. The orbs I contributed are the colored ones in the photos (and in the bucket).

The water is frozen in water balloons, and the balloons are removed later. A group of Headstart children from Superior, Wis., participated in this community art collaborative, and it was so fun to see them enjoying the outdoors and learning about water and ice.

dsc03803City of Superior staff are arranging the orbs in the shape of Lake Superior in the city park on Barker’s Island to highlight the importance of fresh water. Each orb represents a day that water is important to us. The goal is to create 365 of them to represent a year.

Take a moment to consider how important fresh water is to you!

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My bucket o’ orbs.

Snow Boat

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It’s funny how having a camera in your hand makes you see things differently. I walk by this boat on an island in northern Wisconsin every day but didn’t really SEE it until I was wandering around with my camera.

Skiing (and Waxing) Nostalgic

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Marie at the start of her first cross-country ski race, waiting for Charlie Banks to signal the start.

Last weekend, a friend and I revisited the Korkki Nordic Ski Trail, where I competed in my first cross-country ski race forty years ago. The year was 1977 and I was in eighth grade, part of my junior high school’s ski team. My equipment included wooden skis and bamboo poles with black rubber baskets. Clad in bell-bottom jeans and a ‘fashionable’ down vest, my head protected from the cold by a knit hat with a huge ball atop it, I ended up winning the race and the city championship for my grade.

Winning the first race I ever entered – you would think it would be a good experience and I’d return to the same trail dozens of times to relive the glory. But I didn’t. Why did it take me four decades?

20170116_145524That’s what I was trying to figure out as I shooshed down the trail on my fiberglass skinny skis (waxable ones) last weekend.

Now, the thing you need to understand is that Korkki Nordic is Old School. Only one track winds its way through pines on land tucked in the highlands along Lake Superior’s North Shore. And the trees are close enough to lean over and kiss as you go by – not ten feet away on either side like most ski trails. Classic skiing only; none of that fancy-schmancy skate-skiing.

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My friend, on the trail.

The trail system is maintained by a nonprofit organization and was started by the very man who kept time during my first ski race. Charlie Banks is no longer with us, but his legacy lives on.

The trail is sort of out of the way. With so many good ones in Duluth, that could be one reason why I didn’t come out here. It wasn’t a place my parents usually skied, and they were the ones driving the car when I was young. But still, why didn’t I come here when I was older?

As my friend and I started skiing, I noticed the timekeeping house was still near the trailhead. After we traveled down the trail a ways, I recalled how clueless I was during my race. Our “coach” didn’t even ski himself, and he did little to prepare us. I only knew that racing meant going as fast as you could until you reached the finish line, so that was my strategy after the staggered start. This led to overtaxed lungs and leaden arms and legs. But I kept going, although I was alone and scared by this new experience and unfamiliar trail. Finally overcome, I paused a time or two to catch my breath on the uphills, terrified that another skier would pass me, but I never saw anyone.

My friend and I continued skiing and I recognized the feel of the trail – lots of small hills, nothing too scary — especially if you take the easy route options, which I did, having nothing left to prove. We skied four kilometers, which I suspect was the same distance as the race. The finish line banner we crossed under looked suspiciously like the exact same one from my stressful race.

Was that it? Even though I won the race, was the stress of it so unpleasant that I had no desire to return to the scene until forty years later? Could be. I recall that in subsequent ski races, somehow I learned more about pacing and didn’t get as burned out.

As I crossed under the banner last weekend, I realized that whatever kept me away for so long, I’m finally over it!

I’m gonna return soon to this little woodland ski trail gem.

Two other local writers have written about their memories of Korkki Nordic, read here for Eric’s and here for Eddy’s.

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Marie’s Meanderings in Review – 2016

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My favorite photo of the year: The Moray Coast of Scotland.

Hello blogging friends. As I complete my fourth year of blogging, I am still amazed by the geographic reach of the visitors to Marie’s Meanderings. It tickles me to start the day knowing that someone in Swaziland or Moldova read my blog.

The reach of my stories continues to slowly grow. In 2016, more than 4,000 people from 100 countries viewed my blog. My homeland of the U.S. had the most viewers, with the United Kingdom second, which may have something to do with my series of stories about my trip to Scotland this year.

Here are the five top posts for 2016:

Invisible Gold Medals for Mom
Maybe I should feel insecure that my most popular post was not written by me. It was a posthumous guest post written by my father as a tribute to my mother for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. I lost both my parents this year, and telling their story in my father’s words was much more comforting than writing something myself. The story was shared among my relatives, which accounts for some of its popularity.

How I Fought for my Mole
I suspect this 2015 story about a skin care treatment I underwent is so popular because people are actually searching for information on how to rid themselves of fuzzy moles – not on their faces, but in their back yards. (The animal kind of moles.) The story describes how I decided to keep my facial mole, despite the best efforts of the skin care technician to dissuade me. (I’m still glad I kept it, BTW.) But the story could also be popular because a lot of people are considering having the same facial treatment I had.

The World’s Largest Freshwater Sandbar
This is where I use science to explode the popular myth that Minnesota Point and Wisconsin Point in Duluth make up The World’s Largest Freshwater Sandbar. Close, but no cigar. And I guess a lot of other people need the facts about this one because it pops up in searches a lot.

How I got a Job at Mayo Clinic
The venerable Mayo Clinic is one of the largest employers in Minnesota. I worked for them for a year a few years ago, and this story describes how I got the job. The story was shared among my former Mayo colleagues, and many people find it through searches. I suppose they want a job at Mayo, too.

The Rachel Files: Week 7 and the Real Cost of Toilet Paper
This is a perennial favorite that’s been a top story since I began blogging in 2013. It’s popular mostly for its image: a sad-faced toilet into which someone is throwing toilet paper. The toilet paper has a big red X across it. But it’s also popular among people searching for information about excessive toilet paper use. I once lived with a roommate who had this problem, and the story is about how we addressed the issue and how much it cost to have my plumbing repaired. I have mixed feelings about the popularity of this tale, but will keep it up as a service to the world and for people who need an image to post in their bathrooms.

I plan to continue blogging in 2017 as long as the ideas keep coming. Thank you for meandering with  me!