Where is the world are the Walters this week?

Greetings to all…“From the shores of Gitchigumi, to the shining Big Sea waters”…That’s where we have been for the past week or so. We left Ely in the rear view mirror after a wonderful visit, and headed for “Up North”as they call it here…the Minnesota north shore of Lake Superior…or as Longfellow called it, Gitchigume. We went all the way from Thunder Bay, Ontario to Duluth and then headed east to Wisconsin…as the roving reporter tells you below. As a matter of fact, he was so prolific this week, I think I will just turn it over to him…

It’s morning and today breakfast is special. Sally is fixing birdseed, a new favorite of mine. Not everyone can have birdseed to start the day and some even might say they would not be the least bit interested. That’s OK; you cannot acquire any in the states to my knowledge, so there. Friends on the caravan introduced me. I immediately rushed out and purchased a box of Red River Hot Cereal made by Smucker Foods of Canada. It is cracked wheat, cracked rye, and flax [cracked and whole] and it looks like inexpensive bird seed. Thus my name for the product. It’s a bit like cream of wheat. One bowl and even at my age you can run out and jump a fence on a single bound (well one lying on the ground anyway.) So there is your culinary hint for today.. BIRDSEED. Keep an eye out on your grocery shelf for a new treat.
Ever heard of ON STAR? It’s my new champion. It came with my suburban when I purchased the vehicle and I kept the service as it has a phone that works anywhere, really. Cell phone advertising is junk – more towers in big cities and no American cell phone works in Canada. But On Star works in the middle of nowhere Alaska. That is not all… I was down town Winnnipeg with friends and the car went to reduced power and as I pulled to the curb, the “bus” quit! My dash was lit like a circus midway. Not good. Enter On Star. Push the blue button and the nice woman cheerfully answered and asked if she could help. I explained my predicament and she jumped to action. By satellite she located my location. Next she ran a diagnostic analysis of my car, and then she contacted their staff expert. Next she contacted a nearby GM dealer [there were 13 in the city], on a Saturday afternoon no less, and explained the problem. Finally she told me what to do to attempt to start my car – would you believe wait 20 minutes and try again -- and the directions to the dealer. We had lunch at McDs that happened to be around the corner, and 22 minutes later we started our 6.5 mile trip through downtown traffic to the dealer. It quit 4.5 miles later. Wait awhile. Start again…2.5 miles and I coasted into the bay as it quit. I stepped out and handed the keys to Darrell. He said, “ I wondered if I would see you? Sorry I cannot get you a loaner car—they are closed on weekends, so get your stuff – friends and dog – and I will give you a lift to your Airstream, fix the car and pick you up on Monday.” He did and after paying an amount just short of the price paid to Washington’s baseball new first round draft choice, we were on our way. For those of you who listen to Car Talk, the problem was the accelerator linkage, the stuff that transmits a message from the driver to the engine. When it “breaks” the vehicle quits so you will not go 90 miles an hour down the road and kill someone. ON STAR, my hero!
Ms Daisy always gets an input on travel when we travel. This adventure she requested we visit the headwaters on the Mississippi. She remembers our Lewis and Clark travels and she took me to the head waters on the Missouri. Good friends, the Homichs commemorated that event with a picture of Ms D and I sleeping [a power nap as I recall] adjacent to the spring as it bubbled from the ground, made the pix into a luggage tag which now resides on our suit case. But a trip to the start of third longest river in the world –that would be special. So we did, and it was. Frankly, though, Ms D and I were disappointed. The event is very civilized! It’s now part of Itasca State Park that first started in 1909. The CCC really finished the environs and as always did a great job. The campgrounds and lodges are excellent. The actual headwaters, however, is very busy – seemingly hundreds of people. Kids running around in the water… Trash born of visitor pressure…Information everywhere…and of course the usual gift shop. One cannot even get a decent picture to commemorate the event. Ms D says, give me the Missouri with its grass, sun and tranquility. She did, however, rate the campground as one of the best we have visited.
When you are married to a kindergarten teacher, you learn to sort and classify. Give me a pile of shapes and I can find all similar items. I am really good at colors – red it this pile, blue here and so on. These years of practice have finally paid off. I can now sort my “recreation” socks at a local Laundromat. I never worried about the task before. When they were washed, I put them in a drawer and when needed retrieved two and placed one on each foot. Then daughter Sarah once caught me wearing what she said were two different socks while volunteering in her classroom. Enter sorting and classifying. Thank goodness for all that former training. . First you get Ms D to ID what is a proper boot sock. They are her favorite and no matter where you leave then, she will locate a proper boot sock. After washing and drying, you must place them flat one at a time on a large table, left side up. Count – you must have an even number. Next you must rearrange them into color areas – blue black to the right, gray black in the middle, and brown black to the left. Count again to make sure there are even numbers in each area. And finally you put match pairs by folding the cuffs together. Too much trouble? You did not attend kindergarten? Right. Just do what I do; purchase all the same style and color socks. Problem solved. When you get an odd number, just wait and they will even themselves out.

Canola oil. It’s in your kitchen. Well its in mine. Great stuff. You even wonder where it comes from. Me either. We were driving down a two lane road in nowhere Manitoba and suddenly there was a yellow square. The primary color was intense even wearing sun glasses. It almost hurt you eyes. What’s that I inquired on my CB to fellow caravaners. Canola the voice said. Hummmm. Sally and I saw miles and miles of canola fields…can’t miss them. And if you are lucky they are bordered by a field of flax’s sea blue flowers. Breathtaking! Anyway, I simply could not get from the yellow field to my bottle on the shelf. Later, we stopped to visit a buffalo rancher who said he also grew canola. So I inquired. The yellow flower becomes seed and he showed me some. Each seed is about half the size of a small peppercorn. Squeeze the seed and oil is produced. My fast math said trillions to yield my 32 oz bottle of oil at the house.

Beaver. The kind that ate my cork screw willows. The type with flat tails and big teeth. Homely looking engineers. Turns out his skin makes the best hat imaginable and no man before 1900 would be caught dead outdoor without a hat – a beaver felt hat if he could afford one. Military, shopkeeper, professional or judge. Beaver felt hats. The economics of that fashion statement lead directly to the development of Canada and the American great lakes area. No beaver; no development. Sally and I visited the two hubs that ruled the north woods for over 100 years – almost until they trapped them out. Big business and quite different from our story books. The story I remember was of the movie featuring Jeramah Johnson. Purchase supplies and a Hawkin rifle in Missouri. Canoe to the western mountains. Trap beaver. Return and sell your pelts. Yes, a few did but that is not the real story. Two big companies hired men, voyagers to travel into the interior and trade goods for pelts trapped by native Americans and first nations people. Pots and pans, blankets, muskets, alcohol, beads, flower, needles each had a value in beaver skins. Nine beaver skins for one trade musket. The demand drove thousands of voyagers into the northwoods, northwest to Alaska, west to the pacific, south to the dekotas and north to Hudson Bay. I heard about gold and silver developing the west. And land. And rail roads. But the truth be told, beaver were real beginning. The next time I see a beaver I will pay him the special historical homage he deserves- well all but the one that ate Sally’s cork screw willows.

Nostalgia? I’ve decided it is not wise to tinker with the past. I spend significant time building an idea of what I perceived on a visit. Time shapes it—the visit—until it looks bigger than life, good or bad. It takes some work to hide it from Sally as she is the keeper of truth and measurement. All fish grow with time. The growth is accelerated at first and slows as we do with time. I can clearly remember the 6 pound largemouth bass I caught as a young lad when our family was camping on Lake Owen, Wisconsin. Big fish. Really BIG fish. We went camping on that lake for 10 years starting when I was about 8. Two weeks every August. So as we were traveling through Wisconsin, I saw the sign pointing south to Drummond, and Sally asked it that was where we vacationed? The car just turned and the pages of time flipped back, faster as we drove. I could remember it all, the town, the lake, the forest, the general store, the tent, and the BIG fish. I could see the water tower; we were almost there. Wait, water tower? There wasn’t any water tower in my memory. There was a water pump! Where is the general store? A library. No one would replace a real, old fashion general store that sold penny candy and ice by the cubic foot with a funky new library. When I told the locals I was here 55 years ago and wanted to know where the logging horse barns were, the responding look says, who are you and who cares? Well I am here and it is the right spot on the lake where I camped. I figured it was still extra special as a bald eagle flew over the trailer when we pulled in. I could make out land marks that Mother Nature and man simply cannot remove with the advance of time…a bay, two lakes, and a youth camp. It is Lake Owen…I think. The drive down to Hayward was little better. The giant lumberjack statue was gone. So was the pancake house where you could get 18 inch flap jacks… all you could eat. And that world record muskie long as a row boat? Gone too. Killed by time. All those wonderful memories now in conflict with the reality of today’s visit. I liked what I had here at Lake Owen 60 years ago. Yes, Lake Owen 2009 is special and we really have enjoyed our visit but even the future will not allow it to reach the magnitude of boy hood memories. You cannot turn back time. It is a good idea, I’ve decided, at my age, to pick and chose those bits of nostalgia I want to keep separate from the wonders of the present.

God Bless America!

Oh, it is good to be back in the good old USA! We spent our last four days in Canada outside Winnipeg…a very big city and completely different than anything else we had seen in Manitoba. The enclosed article was written for the caravan journal and tells the story of one of those days…

Friday, August 7, 2009
As the song says, “The days dwindle down to a precious few.” The caravan clock was ticking –faster and faster -- on this next to the last day. So quickly, here are some highlights:
-Gray and rainy…two Airstream groups – Caravan & Rally - in the parking lot trying to get organized. Go to channel 20!
-Wow, that Canadian mint building; spectacular. The tour was interesting and informative. We will add that to our other Caravan College Credit hours. The gift shop wasn’t bad either! Who knew a bar of gold was so heavy?
-Our memories of big city traffic come back quickly as we found our way to COSTCO through construction zones. Workers leaning on shovels just like at home.
-Still raining, but the Ohio gang came through with their special Cleveland Coney Dog lunch… with ice cream…to go. Yummy . Thanks guys.
-Free afternoon…still raining…nap, dog walking, trailer maintenance, and trip planning
-Alert! John Turner announces that our evening destination takes a 45 minute drive! Hurry…collect Pat and Bob Collins into the back. Race with Winnipeg rush hour traffic. Again we are reminded why we retired to a small rural community. CBs blaze directions. We make it to the Canad Inn bus stop with three other caravan cars just in time. Result: headaches and frazzled nerves. Once aboard the VIP World Tour bus #16 we count 13 fellow caravaners and we leave the driving to Albert, the bus driver, and the worrying to Mike, the Tour Guide. Folklorama here we come!
-First stop…Russia Pavilion…reserved seats…small plate of delicious appetizers…“wodka” or beer. The first sip of vodka reminds me of the alcohol we tasted at the ethanol plant! Several caravaners bought chocolate. Chocolate and vodka? Not too bad. On with the show…pretty costumes…lots of color…cute little girls…grand finale parade around the room. Back on the bus…
-Second stop…Korean Pavilion…greeted on the bus by costumed ambassadors…seated and served by eager young people…the meal included barbecued beef and chicken, Korean dumplings and kimshee, and of course rice…wine or saki …and the show was on. This production was much more polished and ethnically interesting…an intricate dance with fans (we should invite them to the final banquet!), an amazing drum dance which required great dexterity and flexibility, cute youngsters in a puppet dance, and a wonderful display of Taekwondo…skilled young people demonstrating all aspects of the ancient art. We were all impressed with the variety and quality of the entire show. Back on the bus…
-Third stop…Mexican Pavilion…again greeted by an young ambassador and ushered into a hockey rink where we were given stage side seats…much larger venue…colorfully decorated…yummy flan for desert…interesting displays and market with Mexican art and craft items for sale…on with the show. A troop of young dancers from Ontario provided a colorful and enthusiastic selection of Mexican dances…a songstress serenaded us with a love song, and, of course, enchanting little senoritas did their dance too. The finale was a rhythmic and lively rendition of a carnival celebration. Back on the bus… Is it possible our friends who went on tour #17 enjoyed the evening as much?
-Travel back to the campground much easier…midnight…not much traffic. Walk Ms Daisy. Campground dark. Good night friends. One more day!

The next day, Saturday, was a whole different story. We were headed downtown Winnipeg for some sightseeing when the Suburban suddenly lost power. The computer shut us down. Thanks to OnStar and a customer friendly local GM dealer we got it fixed by Monday noon. Our friends, Bob and Pat Collins offered their motor home as transportation on Sunday. So we all loaded up, went to a very friendly Presbyterian Church, picnicked for lunch, and visited a nearby reconstructed Hudson Bay Company community in the afternoon. The Lower Fort Garry community was very interesting with costumed interpreters and lots of hands on activities.
Monday we were relieved to get back our repaired vehicle and be on the road back home. We again had a problem free border crossing (Hooray!)and then drove south down the border of North Dakota and Minnesota. Phones are working again! We first camped in central Minnesota at Itasca State Park…the headwaters of the Mississippi River. After visiting Bemidji, the home of Paul Bunyan and Babe, his blue ox, we headed to Ely for a few days of camping on the lake and visiting with Steve and Steph Albers and Jolene and Don McGrogan who just happened to be at the Albers island cabin for the week-end.. We were delighted to be able to visit one of our favorite areas and some of favorite people at the same time. It is a beautiful place full of memories of past visits. In a couple of days we will continue our adventure at a nice leisurely pace as we wander across the northern Midwest eventually toward Virginia.

Daisy had an upset stomach (all over the back of the suburban) last night. We took her to the vet this morning where we got medication. She seems to be doing better this evening. Chuck and I, on the other hand are both fine and still having a great time. We would love to hear what you are doing this summer. Please let us hear from you.

Sorry…no roving report this week…he’s too busy preparing to fish tomorrow.

The Most Northern Post

As Dr. Seuss would say…”Oh, the places you can go!” And this week we definitely went to one of those! Last week we left you in Flin Flon. We then drove, (yes, you guessed it) north yet again. The drive was longer than our usual trip and visually quite boring. We were happy to arrive in Thompson, “The Hub of the North.” We haven’t seen much of Thompson yet because we were immediately involved with packing and preparing for the trip to our ultimate goal, Churchill. Daisy was delivered that evening to a pet hotel with all the other caravan pets (7 dogs and 2 cats). We locked up our Airstreams and took a one hour charter flight the next morning, landing in a true arctic community. You must get out a map to see where we spent the last five days. Churchill is located on the 59th parallel on the south east coast of Hudson Bay at the mouth of the Churchill River. There are NO roads to Churchill which, by the way, is pronounced “Church-il” by the citizens. We stayed in the “Tundra Inn,” similar to an average US hotel and, of course, had to eat all our meals at the few restaurants available. We were scheduled and toured by two different tourist services and did just about everything one could possibly do there. We toured the town and area in two buses driven by two local characters including a lecture in the oldest prefab church in North America on the 350 year history of the area. We also explored the surrounding tundra in huge wheeled vehicles built on a fire truck chassis called Tundra Buggies…observing the polar bears, caribou, and Tundra Swans. We rode a jet boat and a Zodiac craft to view the Beluga whales and visit a 17th century French fort. In between we enjoyed the hospitality of the community in their museum, shops, and restaurants. We returned 4 days later by train (our first southern trip)…an overnight “experience” through the isolated tundra and forests from which we are still recovering.
Now the caravan trip is drawing down. We are spending a few days recovering in Thompson and then will head SOUTH to Winnipeg for the last few nights…a different kind of adventure. Then it will be back to the USA.
I must warn that the Roving Reporter uses a bit of exaggeration in his report this week…
I was off to the visit a Canadian doctor. My view of the world had turned green and I could not shake it. I tried all the normal remedies, aspirin, ibuprofen and the like, but nothing seemed to help. One’s world should not appear green and for that matter a bit fuzzy all the time. Just in the nick of time, Ms Daisy pointed out my affliction: my bug net hat. Up North you MUST always wear such a device or suffer clouds of mosquitoes. Some are tiny, about fly fishing size 24, and move at the speed of heat. They are 95% tooth and 5% body. The injection produces a yelp from the victim. At the other extreme, there are the slow movers about the size of an eagle. One bite and you need a transfusion. Neither, however, is in the class of the Canadian Black Fly. One chomp and you receive a welt the size of a Canadian loonie {$1.00 coin}. They swell up and itch and hurt and itch and hurt. So one wears their green mesh hat…always. Yes, one even wears the bonnet as a night cap. Yes, in the shower. Don’t go without it…ever! The eating thing is a bit of a challenge, but in another day of so practice… After a while your world is simply green and you forget about the hat. You believe you are Kermit. Next is the buzzzzz.
Churchill. I spent 15 hours on a swaying train traveling up to 16 MPH thinking about how to explain Churchill, Manitoba. First let me explain there are no roads to Churchill. Thompson is the last civilized stop and only a gravel one lane extends another 100 miles north to a collection of “homes” for workers who are building a power dam. No trails, not even for trappers, go beyond. So one flies or goes by train to Churchill. We experienced both. The town is the only such community on earth. Really! The area is a polar bear refuge in which the humans are the guests. It’s a living zoo where the humans live as a guest; no formal iron cages but you realize quickly to pay attention. The town and the provincial government hire guards to encourage the bears to avoid town. We were briefed on the four point program instituted to those who live in the zoo. Wise folks do not ever wander the country side on foot. In town, we were told, there are no locked doors, and if you are worried about bears, you are free to enter at any time. The town siren sounds when a bear strays into Churchill and daily there is an evening curfew. A 10 pm sharp siren warns that you must get off the streets till 0600. There is even a bear prison for bears who are slow learners. In the winter, they catch those who approach the city, incarcerate them in a black box [no food only water] and then give them a free chopper ride to the hinterlands. I know this living as the exhibit in bear country is a bit stark, but the rewards are special. By good fortune we happened to arrive as the ice cap on Hudson Bay was breaking up, and so the bears were swimming ashore. [] Moms and cubs head inland. Papa bears migrate down the shore line. In short all are hanging around till the ice forms again. This unique timing allowed us to see perhaps a dozen of these magnificent creatures. Our special treat was a Zodiak ride to a fort. While there, the bear guard spotted a mom with her cub resting. So on the return trip, we motored by and she allowed us to approach within 10 yards! Never would happen on land. I did note one black beady eye follow us as we slowly moved past. Next time I am at the zoo I am going to talk with the polar bear in the cage and share our experiences. I wonder what he thinks of us humans as he looks out of his protected environment. Our look out of the cage at him was sure memorable.

I asked one of the locals about the weather. Does it get cold here – in Churchill? I wanted a description. I knew it was routinely 40 degrees below but no feeling is attached to that number. How cold is cold? That request solicited several comments. First, I was told after it gets 25 below, it does not make any difference, cold is cold. One dons your parka in October and removes it when the first mosquito is spotted. The top response to “How cold does it get?” occurred last Christmas: Temp dropped to 45 below with 145 winds gusting to 165. Nothing moved. They heat with propane because of the cold but you must have electricity to ignite the gas. The town’s only electrician received an SOS. Citizens got a D-9 cat to pick him up and drive him to town so he could keep the electricity working house by house. The province of Manitoba declared him THE HERO who saved the village. City fathers know cold and plan for the harsh winters. Their facilities – hospital, school, playground/park, ice and curling rinks, cafeteria, movie theater, library, and shops are all located inside one enclosed facility. We visited it and it was quiet and empty, but we could imagine how it would buzz with activity during the winter. What a smart idea.

Sign of the week. Parking for sled dog’s only. Violators will be peed on.