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.