Gayle Harper

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Roadtripping With a Raindrop: Moment #4 – The Storm

July 10, 2013 by Gayle Harper 10 Comments

NOTE:   If you’re just joining us, this is the 4th installment in a series of “Moments,” selected at random from the “journey of a raindrop,” the road trip of a lifetime. I’m a travel photographer and writer in love with the Mississippi River, so when I learned that it takes a single drop of water 90 days to travel the entire Mississippi River from its headwaters in Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico, I knew that I would make this journey. For 90 days, I kept pace with my imaginary raindrop, wandering back roads, meeting amazing people and having days filled with crazy, wonderful, serendipitous experiences. As the book of photographs and tales is being produced, I’m sharing these travel moments with you here. I hope you enjoy! 

The Storm

The Mississippi River is still young, agile  and pristine. On this 10th day of the journey, it has traveled 265 miles from its headwaters.

The Mississippi River near Palisade, Minnesota

The Mississippi River near Palisade, Minnesota

My home for a few days is a simple fishermen’s cabin on Lake Waukanabo, near Palisade, Minnesota. The small resort has no other guests and the lake no public access, so it seems to belong to Abby, the resident Golden Retriever, and me.

Last night at dusk we sat on the porch together, her head resting on my foot, and listened to the hauntingly beautiful call of loons echoing across the lake. When we walked this morning, the world was painted in baby pastels.

Lake Waukanabo, Minnesota, just after sunrise

Lake Waukanabo, Minnesota, just after sunrise

On our late afternoon walk, the lake had become a shimmering mirror for a brilliant September sky decorated with perfect, tiny clouds.

Lake Waukanabo in the late afternoon

Lake Waukanabo in the late afternoon

Now, I am on the porch, watching billowing, ominous clouds swallow up what is left of the blue. I’ve watched the lake transform from glassy azure to dull slate to nearly black and dotted with whitecaps. A fisherman is racing for home as fast as his small motor will propel him, the sound of its desperate puttering muffled by the dense clouds. Abby has gone home.

The surging mass of storm cloud has dark underbellies and churning white tops. It swells, then folds in on itself and then bulges out again, heavier and blacker. Goosebumps rise on my arms. I can smell the rain now and see it at the horizon, but the air around me is still and empty, the energy sucked out of it by the power amassing above. I wait – it’s like the moment when the symphony conductor raises the baton and the audience holds its collective breath.

I can hear the wind coming. The first deep rumblings of faraway thunder roll across the lake and the clouds congeal to seal off the last of the sunlight. The wind swoops in suddenly, swirling the trees like a blender. There is a sharp crack of blue lightning and the long, bass drum roll of its thunder. A wall of rain is sweeping across the lake.

The Storm

The Storm

The first huge drop hits the porch and in the next second, the great clouds are unzipped. There is no lake, no sky, no road, nothing but gray torrents of rain. I scoot back against the cabin, but the narrow eaves provide little shelter, so I open the door and set my chair just inside. A bolt of lightning cracks so close and loud that it makes me yelp like a puppy. Immediately, another follows that seems to rise up from the ground, making the cabin tremble and the porch light rattle in its base.  I am spellbound, a captive audience.

It’s cold now, so I wrap myself in a blanket, but I stay in the doorway, awed, entranced by the storm’s fierce majesty, thrilled by its dominion over everything until, finally, it begins to wane.

I am spent. The rain is soft and steady as I get into bed and the sleep that claims me instantly is silky, luxurious and dreamless.

Filed Under: MN - Palisade, Roadtripping With a Raindrop #4: The Storm Tagged With: Minnesota, Mississippi River, Palisade, thunderstorm, weather

Day 10 – Lake Waukanabo

September 3, 2010 by Gayle Harper 13 Comments

Yesterday I stood on the Laurentian Divide. If you paid more attention that I apparently did in Geography class, you know that a drop of rain falling on the north slope of that ridge will drain to the Hudson Bay and on the south, into the Mississippi and eventually the Gulf. I met the Laurentian once before on this trip, back by Itasca. It curves north from there and then northeast across the state of Minnesota.  Apologies to my geography teachers, but I didn’t even know there was a Continental Divide other than the one in the Rockies!

The land here flattens out considerably and farm fields appear for the first time since the headwaters. Enough tributaries have now joined the Mississippi that flooding can be an issue. The first dam on the River was at Grand Rapids – there will be many more. But, Aitkin, MN, has an interesting way of dealing with the threat of floods and it is the only thing like it on the Mississippi. After a horrendous flood in 1950, a solution was devised and a diversion channel was created. It’s a passive system that allows water to do what it naturally does, run downhill. When the river level is normal, all water stays in the main channel, but a “low head” dam diverts flood water into the 6 ¼ mile long channel. It’s been working without a hitch for more than 50 years now. 

The river is bisected in numerous places near here by islands, made by man, although not intentionally. During the logging era, vast numbers of logs were floated down the river and often some got hung up on boulders or low spots. That would catch more logs, then silt and eventually an island was born!

My current home is a simple cabin on Lake Waukanabo, not far from Palisade. It’s the only time during the entire journey I will be in one place more than two nights. It is exquisitely quiet. Although there are other cabins, I am the only guest. The owner has a job in town and a husband in the hospital, so she is seldom here. But her son kindly installed a router before my arrival so I have internet access and she rummaged around and did find a key so I can lock up when I leave. Abby, the resident Golden Retriever goes for walks with me, greets me when I come home and sleeps on my front porch. The lake, which has no public access, is my front yard. It’s a perfect little respite sandwiched between what has been and will be again, very full days. I stayed home yesterday to catch up on all the correspondence, details, logistics, backing up of images, etc., that are required to keep this journey going. I and my camera were called out to the lake once in the morning when the sky was an eye-popping deep blue and dotted with puffy little marshmallow clouds.

Then again toward evening, my attention was ripped from the computer by the call of a loon and I looked out to see this incredible sky.

This morning on my wanderings, I came across Lisa Aragon visiting her two horses, Tanner and Musta. “They aren’t  ‘rideable’, she says, “just big pets”. But, clearly, they adore her and her visit is a high point of every day.

Lisa is Ojibwe and Musta (pronounced moos-ta) is an Ojibwe word meaning “strong-willed one”. I joked that I should have named my daughter that – and yes, Mom – I also said that my Mom would say she should have named me that! 

One of my abiding guidelines for travel is that if you see a little espresso shop with a name like The Beanery and its 10:30 on a chilly morning – STOP! And – if they have made a batch of fresh caramel rolls this morning – GO FOR IT! You will walk the calories off later and even if you don’t OMG it is worth it! The young woman that made my cappuccino said she had grown up near the headwaters and got goosebumps and shivered when I gave her a postcard and told her about our raindrop.  

As I settled in with my cappuccino and my big, fat, warm, gooey caramel roll, I also settled in to another of the delights of travelling alone – tuning in (ok – technically it’s eavesdropping, but it can’t be helped!) to the variety of conversations going on around me. There was a very earnest one taking place where I couldn’t see the people and only one voice could be heard. I couldn’t catch the words but it clearly had something to do with music because it was occasionally punctuated with something like, “boom-cha-boom-boom” and then “thum-thum-boom” and “boom-thum-boom-thum”.  At another table, two women were talking about getting together after the first frost touched the apples to make applesauce.  An older gentleman stopped to say something I couldn’t hear to a cute young blond, who blushed rosy pink and laughed. After he left, she told her friend he wanted to fix her up with his grandson – “and he’s a pretty cute guy too!” Two old guys across the way were talking about the best way to deal with woodchucks in your yard. I just leaned back in my big overstuffed chair, sipped and smiled. 

As I headed home, some pretty big, awesome clouds appeared. By the time I arrived home, they were even “awesomer”!! 

Five minutes later the lake had vanished from sight and the thunder rolled. I held my digital audio recorder out the door to capture some of it for the slide show to come (yes, Dave – I promise there truly will be a slide show this time!) I’m snuggled in for the night – life is good!           Gayle

Filed Under: MN - Aitkin, MN - Grand Rapids, MN - Palisade Tagged With: Continental Divide, Lake Waukanabo, Laurentian Divide, Ojibwe, storm clouds

Encounters

September 1, 2010 by Gayle Harper 2 Comments

It was raining when my alarm went off at 5:00 this morning. I smiled in sweet surrender and snuggled back down. When I awoke again 45 minutes later, it was no longer raining, was still dark and was (of course) the perfect time for me to get up and out there.  The sky was painterly, with billows of grays and white, which made the greens pop. The Great River Road between Grand Rapids and Palisade stays close to the River with frequent access roads and very little traffic, perfect for a dawdler like me.

It makes my heart sing to see how people love this River and how they respond to hearing about the journey of the raindrop. Early this morning I was stopped for road construction. The flag woman came to the car to explain what was happening, saw the camera on the seat beside me and asked about it. I gave her a postcard with the blog address and told her about the raindrop. She was thrilled and said she would follow it and share it with her nephew who was also a writer – so I gave her a second one for him. It was a great interaction and when the truck came to lead me through the construction site, she told me her name was Joan and that she would pray for my safety the entire way. It was a bright moment in the morning for both of us.

Down the road a few miles I pulled off for a river access road, but mistakenly went up a private road instead. As I turned around, a very unfriendly voice yelled, “Can I help you?!” I couldn’t see anyone but I said – no thanks, just turning around – and left. I went across the road to the river access and walked down to the river. A truck pulled in behind me and the unfriendly voice said, “You were on my road – why?” I stood up to my full 5’10”, looked him in the eye and said simply, “I was looking for the river access and took the wrong road.” He looked back at me levelly for a moment, then all the hardness softened and he said, “Yeah, people do that all the time.” So, I explained what I was doing, and the softness became smiles, and for 10 minutes or so he told stories about the history of the area and some things I should not miss seeing. When I gave him a postcard, he said he would put it on his fridge, then asked me the date I would arrive at the Gulf. I told him November 21 and he asked me to write that on the card. When I did, he said he would include me in his prayers every day until I arrived there. It wasn’t yet 7:30 a.m. and two people had blessed the journey.  These sorts of things happen all day – at the ice cream shop, the gas station, the Tourist Information Center, the roadside stand where I bought tomatoes, on the hiking trail. The Great River Road is lined with people who love the River, want to share their love of it and be a part of this journey of the raindrop. I am filled with gratitude.

I wandered my way to the Forest History Center at Grand Rapids and followed the sound of some lively music to find this gentleman playing his “squeeze box”. He said it was often played at the logging camps of 100 years ago and the loggers all danced with each other. The camp cook, blacksmith and a logger were also at the restored site to interact with visitors. The “wanigan”, a floating cook house that was rafted downriver as needed, was moored at the river bank. Films and interactive exhibits told the history of logging in this area and several miles of interpretive trails taught current forest management and restoration.

Our raindrop has traveled about 265 river miles from the headwaters to where I am now, near Palisade, Minnesota  – only 2,083 miles left to the Gulf!  The River actually flows north for bit, makes a big question mark and is now heading south. No longer a tiny wilderness stream, it looks like a river now. There’s very little development or agriculture along its banks yet, so it still feels lush, wild and free. It reminds me of some of the Native kids of about 9 years old I saw at the powwow– strong, lithe, confident, athletic and yet still with an innocence, a freshness, bursting with potential, with hints of greatness to come.

                                                                                     Love,   Gayle

Filed Under: MN - Grand Rapids, MN - Palisade Tagged With: Forest History Center

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