northern Minnesota

Northern Lights and Lightning Bugs

/ mariezhuikov / 35 Comments

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/.

World on Fire

/ mariezhuikov / 21 Comments
Results of the fire near our cabin.

What is it about possessing things? Why do we feel the need to own what we love? And why do we become such jerks when we do? We’ve all been there. You want something, you possess it  –  and by possessing it, you lose it. – Chris Stevens (Chris-in-the-Morning), “Northern Exposure” TV series

When we returned home from Grand Cayman, northern Minnesota was on fire. Three wildfires from natural causes were burning, adding to the smoke from Canadian fires. During our vacation, the smoke blanketed Duluth, causing air quality warnings. Thankfully, we missed that, but once we were home evacuation warnings sounded for areas near our cabin.

What could we do against a wildfire if it chose to overrun our cabin? We live an hour away and weren’t sure how worried we should be. One of my relatives called me and suggested we stand outside our cabin with garden hoses. Luckily, a cabin neighbor was fighting the fire and was able to give us a clue about the conditions. He thought we’d be okay. But out of an abundance of caution, a few days later when the fire had crept within two miles of our cabin, we decided to evacuate some belongings “just in case.”

Deciding what to evacuate was an interesting exercise. It wasn’t easy, but we were thankful that we weren’t like many people who only had minutes to evacuate. Eventually, we decided on bringing our Scamp trailer camper home, which was stored in our cabin garage. We needed it in the next few weeks for a trip to Colorado, and it would have been very inconvenient to have it burned to a crisp!

My photos were the other things we saved. We decorated the cabin with many canvases and metallic prints of images that you’ve probably seen in past blog posts. I have a photo show coming up in July, and it would have been a bummer to have those all burned up. Not to mention, expensive to replace. (To see my online photo collection, visit my website.) We decided to leave the furniture until a more imminent threat arose. Some of our good friends volunteered the use of their truck if we needed it and we felt lucky to have such support.

I think this used to be a mobile home, located near where the fire began.

Thankfully, we didn’t need their help. Due to the efforts of state and local fire folks, the blaze was stopped soon after we evacuated our belongings. I’m glad our cabin survived and I’m glad no lives were lost in the blaze. Our firefighter friend told us the fire began due to a spontaneous combustion of a hay bale on a farm.

Once it was over, we drove down the road that flanked the fire. Several trailer homes were lost and possibly one “regular” home, plus many trees. The damage was sobering, and I was glad that we took the measures that we did. However, we would have been much more nervous if the fire had threatened our primary home.

Besides people and pets, what would you save if a fire came for your home? It’s something to consider.

End of Season Paddle

/ mariezhuikov / 15 Comments

Russ and I took our kayak and paddleboard to a river near our cabin in northern Minnesota. We’d been on this stretch once before in a canoe. It was so calm, I vowed to return with my paddleboard some day. This was that day.

The fall colors were turning but not quite at their peak. We’ve had an usually warm fall and this day was no exception.

We paddled past beaver homes, some derelict, some not so derelict. Three Canada geese, disturbed by our approach, flew downriver to escape us several times. Fluffy white down feathers littered the backwaters where they must have spent the night.

Rain threatened, but never fell. After an hour paddling, we turned around to head back to the landing. We were going with the current this time, so the return trip was faster. My legs were quaking with fatigue when we reached the end of this long, end of season paddle. But my heart sang.

Cold as a Cage

/ mariezhuikov / 7 Comments


I’m a northern Minnesotan. I was born here and have chosen to live here. On purpose. Despite weather like we’ve been having of late, with 30-below windchills.

I have a large dog who needs frequent walks or he will find creative ways to get into trouble. So I get out more than most and like to think of myself as fairly well acclimatized. We often walk in the forest by my house or along the shores of Lake Superior.

Today was a shore day. As soon as we stepped outside, the cold enveloped us; its fingers reaching between the threads of clothing, touching thighs, invading noses and ears, causing eyes to tear not from sadness but as a simple physical reaction to sub-zero temperatures.

With his wooly coat, my dog is not as affected by cold as am I, except for his feet, which get super-cooled by salt crystals spread on the road to melt snow for cars. The cold doesn’t strike until he is off the road and back into the snow. He gingerly picks up his feet, begging me to wipe off the snow and salt layer so he can continue our walk in comfort.

I oblige and he trots off along the shore, sticking his nose into snowdrifts and romping with abandon. I wish I felt so free in the cold. For a human, to disrobe at these temperatures would mean inviting death. Not right away, but surely in an hour, maybe two if one sports a seal-like layer of fat.

The cold defines our movements. Northern Minnesotans walk with shoulders hunched and hands in pockets, limiting our time outside to the bare minimum for the task at hand. Cars hibernate in driveways, with oil congealed like coagulated blood. For those whose cars survive, travels are confined to the necessary: groceries to get through the next few days, gas for the car, meetings that can’t be avoided. Even crimes decrease.

Living in this cold is like living in a giant cage. We have no one to blame but ourselves. If we hated it enough, we would move. We have free will. Maybe not always enough money, but if a person dislikes something enough they will find a way to change it. We’ve all heard of people who couldn’t take it and moved elsewhere after only one winter or part of a winter. We may complain, but not too much, because we expect the cold. Maybe, we’re even a bit proud of it.

The cold is our cage and we learn to live within it, or we escape. Some take trips to warmer climes. February is my favorite time. It’s usually the coldest month, and the change seems supremely decadent. Others wait for spring.

Spring brings with it a gradual yet overwhelming sense of freedom. With the warmer temperatures and budding greenery, we can go outside without worrying about frostbite or death. We can disrobe as much as modesty and civilization permit. Our senses are overloaded with smells of plants long dormant. Spring fever is altogether real here for good reason.

But for now, we live in the cage. Besides dressing in layers, one trick to survival is not to let your mind be confined. It’s all right to slow down during this season, but keeping creativity alive can prevent emotions from congealing like car oil and sending you in a downward spiral. Starting this blog is my answer to that.

Read a book. Heck, write a book. Help others. Watch a dog run in the snow. Whatever you do, keep moving and keep creating. Spring will come soon enough. But until then, we need to make our own seasons of the mind.