We're Back!

It's always good to come home but we had a wonderful three weeks visiting our son and his family in Arizona. They had moved from Colorado to new jobs (in education) in the Phoenix area. Specifically Scottsdale and Queen's Creek. On the way down we stopped at The Petrified Forest National Park. Going home it was a detour through the southern Ozarks in Arkansas. Once I get the tons of pictures sorted out......

The desert family from left to right: Kari, Ethan, Tensae, Gramma, Vanessa, Tony & Leonard.

Tony

Photo by Troutbirder

Hot Bikin Mama

I think, perhaps, tomorrow will be our last biking outing for the year. It's been wonderful. I went often this year. By myself, with friends, and most important with Barb (Mrs. T.) Back in the saddle after recent bouts with cancer, gall bladder, and knee replacement surgery. She's one tough cookie. :)

Gophers R.I.P.

It was a couple of years ago now that I drove down to LaCrescent, Minnesota to attend a fall birding expedition along the Mississippi. It was free, led by a famous birder, and on a Sunday morning. Seemed perfect. Arriving to the meeting place in a Kwik Trip parking lot, I saw about a dozen people standing around. "Morning folks" was my opening remark. "Morning. Beautiful day for birding" was the friendly reply.
A little chit chat soon revealed they were ALL from LaCrosse, Wisconsin, across the river from where we stood. I was already feeling a little outnumbered when one gentlemen wearing Wisconsin Badger outfitting and looking at my Gopher hat and jacket asked "so how did the Gophers do yesterday." Surely they all knew that the Badgers had crushed the Gophers once again in the final game of the Big Ten season. This question, of course, was a set up so I just sadly shook my head. Another "birder" then asked "when was the last time your team was in the Rose Bowl". Taking my hat off to reveal a seriously graying head, placing it over my heart, I owned up to the fact that I had been a freshmen at the University when it last happened. They began to shake their heads in faux amazement until I boldly added it was time to go birding.
Thus it was, last Sunday, after the Michigan Wolverines had handed my Gophers a 58 to 0 shellacking (their worst Big Ten loss ever), that I found myself shovel in hand, calling for Mrs. T to join me in the garden. "Will you sing a Church Song," I asked her while handing over my Gopher hat and jacket. This line harkens back to the time, when during a burial ceremony for our first pet dog, our four year old had made a similar request of his mother. Smirking broadly, she headed off in another direction my hat and jacket still in hand.
Patience is a virtue they say. I’m not feeling very virtuous these days, although my empathy for the long suffering Chicago Cubs fans has grown immeasurably over the years.
The "Little Brown Jug" symbolic of one of college football oldest rivalries going back to the late 1800's. The Gophers have lost 27 of the last 30 games against Michigan. Ouch!

Biking For Bugs

A few weeks back our friends Gary and Rosie visited for a biking weekend. One of the highlights was doing the beautiful Harmony to Preston section of the Root River Trail. Come on along and take a look! Initially, the paved trail follows a section of rolling hills, with patches of prairie, corn fields and wood lots. As we headed off down the trail there were still some native wildflowers to be seen. Sunflowers of several types were blooming. About half way down the 12 mile trail, we stopped to rest at the top of a steep grade, before plunging into the beautiful valley of Camp Creek. It's one of Bluff Countries best "spring creek" troutstreams. During the rest stop the intrepid bikers spotted a strange insect on the trail. Gary identified it but I've forgotten the name. It's apparent nowadays that many of your outdoor types have gone beyond hiking, biking and birding to new challenges. Identifying butterflies and other "bugs" seem to be among them. I haven't gone down that trail yet. In any case, the next day we headed over to the "Shooting Star" trail. This one cuts through the flat land of corn fields and remnant patches of native priarie along former railroad tracks. There we'll see prairie wildflowers in all their glory. I'll save that story for another post.

Dear God

Dear God:When we get to heaven, can we sit on your couch? Or is it still the same old story?More meatballs, less spaghetti, please. Dear God: Let me give you a list of just some of the things I must remember to be a good Dog.
1. I will not eat the cats' food before they eat it or after they throw it up
2. I will not roll on dead deer, fish, birds, etc., just because I like the way they smell.
3. The Litter Box is not a cookie jar.
4. The sofa is not a 'face towel'.
5. The garbage collector is not stealing our stuff.
6. I will not play tug-of-war with Dad's underwear when he's on the toilet.
7. Sticking my nose into someone's crotch is an unacceptable way of saying 'hello'.
8. I don't need to suddenly stand straight up when I'm under the coffee table .
9. I must shake the rainwater out of my fur before entering the house - not after.
10. I will not come in from outside and immediately drag my butt.
11. I will not sit in the middle of the living room and lick my crotch.
12. The cat is not a 'squeaky toy' so when I play with him and he makes that noise, it's usually not a good thingP.S. When I get to Heaven may I have my testicles back?
Signed,

Baron

Early Morning Hike

We had headed over to Minneopa State Park for a couple of days camping in early summer. It was a great spot but the results left a little to be desired as it rained for two days steady. On the final day, I didn't hear any rain so Baron and I were up at the crack of dawn for a hike. The roads and trails were deserted so we had it all to ourselves. Take a look.....While the landscape was mostly restored prairie, there were occasional clumps of trees and even a few woods. We followed a trail into one looking for eary morning owls. Instead Baron scurried a family of racoons up a dead tree. If it moves he will chase it.... and no he is not a "coon" dog.

Unlike the "North Shore" along Lake Superior, southern Minnesota isn't noted for waterfalls. Minneopa has one though and with all the rain it was quite impressive.
Not quite sure what this structure was all about. By the time we got back to the campground the sun had come out. It was time for breakfast and then the long ride home .

Biking With Bill

A beautiful weekend and brother-in-law Bill is visiting for our annual bike ride. He does forty mile jaunts per day on weekends and during the week puts in an equal amount on his exercycle. I, on the other hand, go biking at most once a week for never more than ten miles. A perfect mismatch you might say!We opted for the trail that follows Camp Creek from Harmony to Preston. It's hilly farm country at first, then mostly woods and pastures. Bill is a point A to point B cover the miles person.

I, on the other hand, like to smell the roses, see the sights, check out the birds, and incidently catch my breath at every opportunity. There he goes speeding along! Unfortunately, for me, the first couple of miles are a long grade uphill. Thank god for my camera. Stopping to check out good camera angles is essential when your huffing and puffing.. I also catch a woodchuck crossing the trail between us. Bill waits patiently for me every half mile or so. The pastoral setting, the fleeting clouds.... what a glorious day. The people that we pass have a big smile and a friendly hello. Everybody knows that it doesn't get any better than this. As we approached the more wooded areas near the creek, wildflowers began to make their appearance. I noticed a plant about two to three feet tall with long spikes of white flowers. I had never seen it before. Checking my Moyle and Moyle, when I got home, it appears to be Praririe Larkspur, a perennial of dry prairies and open hillsides. There were a number of bluebird houses along the trail and soon I noticed their occupants darting about everywhere. Tree swallows and a rose-breasted grosbeak also made their appearance. I wonder if Bill notices any of this?The next interesting plant to catch my eye turned out to be Tall Meadow Rue. Clumps of the white flowers could be seen all along the trail, often reaching more than three feet tall. If there are "lifers" for a native plant list, I had already gained two in less that four miles. I did decide though that next spring this particular trail might be great for picking up migrating song birds, especially warblers
Things were going well. That is till we came to the top of a long steep downgrade. "You go first," says Bill. Off I go cautiiously heading downhill. The view is breathtaking. The valley, through which Camp Creek flows, is one of my favorite places to fish trout. Then I goofed. I'm so out of practice biking I don't dare turn around to see if someone is behind for fear of losing my balance... but I do keep to the right. Some young guy in a speedo outfit, still pedaling downhill and going probably 40 miles per hour, zips by me yelling "ON YOUR LEFT." Okay that's cool. Several more racers continue the process. I figure these young speeders probably come in packs, so a little bit later as several more come by yelling the same warning, I hardly pay them any attention. I'm watching for bluebirds.
Later, at the bottom of the long grade, I pull over to wait for Bill and have a sip of water. And wait. And wait. And wait, maybe ten minutes. Finally, thinking if he had to go behind a bush or something, it shouldn't be taking that long, I start flagging down bikers coming down the hill and asking. "No," they all say they didn't see anybody waiting along the trail. I figure maybe he got sick and went back to the car.... or maybe a heart attack and fell out of sight in the bushes or.... you get the picture. Then, I start pedaling slowly back up the mountain, in the lowest possible "Granny" gear, straining every inch of the way. Reaching the top, I look around....he’s nowhere to be seen . Then finally I see him coming up the hill. "I waited 15 minutes for you," he is yelling. I'm looking totally dumbfounded (emphasizing the dumb part). He says, "you didn't see me pass you by???? Jeez, I even yelled "on your left" when I passed." God. I think maybe I should stick with birdwatching, it's less stressful. Ok..........this sign is the one they should've had for me

Progress

I grew up on the Eastside in St. Paul. The neighborhood was called Daytons Bluff or The Bluff. Perched, northeast of downtown St. Paul, on the cliffs overlooking the Mississippi, the downtown airport and the busy railroad tracks heading east to Chicago.

We played on those dangerous cliffs, unbeknownst to the mothers, and also in Indian Mounds Park.

I attended Mounds Park elementary school. The same place my father, uncles and aunts had gone to school.

That's me back row 3rd from the left in second grade.

Looking back now it was all rather idylic. How idylic? Well, my mom could safely put me, alone, on the streetcar, to go downtown to meet my Aunt Pearl at the First National Bank, where she worked. Then it was a walk over to The Childrens Room of the St. Paul Public Library. Then a stop a Bridgemans for a malt. It's not too likely a mom would send an 8 year old into the city alone today.
Year round, Indian Mounds Park was the neighborhood playground. In winter, we climbed up to the top of a hill upon which stood, The Beacon Light. Then sledded down two blocks to the bottom. It is the last of its kind still flashing its light every 5 seconds. No longer guiding planes and visitors into the city, it serves as a remember of a bygone era. In memory, I can still see it lighting up my darkened bedroom.

There was a special structure called the Pavilion in the park. When there weren't enough kids for a ball game, we climbed all over it. I don't recall ever seeing people picnic in it but then perhaps I wasn't there during rainstorms. In any case, a neaby fountain provided the water for the waterfights that usually ensued in the pavilion.

Today, respectful signs and fences remind people not to climb the burial mounds as we did. Progress in the realm of cultural sensitivity for sure. But then we were kids in a different age and "Cowboys and Indians" ranked with "Robin Hood" in our list of games.

I ran across the following picture recently of my beloved pavillion. Time marches on........