Library Books

I'm sure just about everyone has been to the library and taken out books.  Me too.  But I seem to have a little problem; not with taking out the books, but with bringing them back.  Yes, I know, all I have to do is call the library and renew the books.  Sounds easy, doesn't it?  And it is, unless you don't.  And I don't. Then there are fines to be paid, and of course the guilt.  

Luckily, the library also sells books.  And they sell them at a price that even I think is too low.  That's a shocker, huh?  How would you feel about buying 4 wonderful books for $1.  Yes, that's the going rate at the Davie/Cooper City Branch.  So, I buy as many books as I can find and when I'm done I simply bring them back and buy more.  It's much cheaper than the fines and I can take as much time as I wish with each one.  Plus, I'm supporting the library instead of being charged for my crime.

The other good thing about buying them is that I can choose only the size I want.  I don't care for hardcovers, too difficult to hold.  You certainly can't hold a large one with one hand while you sip coffee with the other.  Plus, people who bring in these books tend to fall into several categories, one of which is perfect for me; good books.  Good - as opposed to romance novels, which have their own cart, there are so many of them.  Then there are the self-help and spiritual books, also not my cup of tea.  But right on the top, within easiest reach are the Pulitzer Prize and other award winners.  Then there are English translations of Latin American authors.  I always find those worthwhile.

So, two days ago I brought back 10 books and bought 7 at the astounding price of $1.75.  I'm reading and enjoying "Drinking the Rain" now.  School begins again on January 4th and some of the above will have found their way to the lower shelf, indicating they can be returned.  Here's a secret.  I write my first name and my last initial in each book.  In one respect it's a way of reaching out to the future reader.  In another way, it's a reminder that I've already read the book.

One additional perc to this library, which was a surprise to me, is that it's right next to a horse pasture.  I never noticed them before but here are couple of pictures I took, having brought my camera just by chance.

I love the library!

Flipping Out

Yes, the best fisherperson on Cadotte Lake is at it again. Nice, fat leeches are helpful, of course.


After having studied the fishing report online (oh yes, I now 'study' fishing reports), I learned that the best fishing is 9 AM and 8:30 PM, so last night at 8:00 I'm out there ready to go.


Toodle out to 'my' spot - pretty much between me and my neighbor Don Niles - the really little cabin by the water - throw out both anchors so I don't twist around, check the water depth, put a pretty leech on the line and out she goes. Now I fill up my bucket with water, expecting to take somebody home and just sit down for a moment when I realize I can no longer see my bobber. Sure enough, a nice little keeper. A few more throws to areas where I'm not happy, replacement and - bingo - there's the next one. However, when I put this baby in the bucket, the first one gets very annoyed and flips itself out and starts flopping around on the pontoon deck.


OK, I take the one in the bucket off the hook and start chasing the other one who is truly "flipping out". I get him back in, they both calm down, I rebait and settle down again. After awhile, sure enough, here comes another one. Put him in the bucket and that same guy who flipped out before, flips out again - back on the deck. I give him some Prozac and put him back in with his two friends.


Now I'm figuring that it's going to be difficult to get another guy in there, but - too late - he's on the hook and I'm pulling him in. Get him right up to the boat but the line breaks and he, my hook, and the leech is gone.


So I bring the whole kit and kaboodle into the kitchen which is fine until I turn on the light, then they decide that with enough effort they can probably get themselves out of there. So the kitchen and me turn into a watery mess. I dump them into the sink, wrap them in newspaper, and into the fridge they go.


Now it's the next morning and I've just finished filleting them so they're ready for dinner Friday night - Don and Sarah are coming up to go fishing - with the best fisherperson on Cadotte Lake.

Swinging

How does he manage it? ESP? The Donald has some type of magical powers - must be - otherwise there's just no explanation for the present he got me for my birthday.

It all started last year when Nancy and I went to Hannah's cabin in Wisconsin. Perched on a steep hill overlooking a little lake, it's a quintessential 1920's style log cabin - really perfection. Outside, facing the lake is a lovely, log swing. Sitting there quietly, listening to the wind and the birds, I knew that this is exactly what I must have down by my dock.

So this year, I started researching log swings. The one made by a family firm in Michigan was very good, but the price tag of $288 was a bit steep. I even happened to mention it to a woman in the cafe at the Brimson Market who turns out to be an adviser at the Univ. of Minnesota. She said her husband is getting into working with wood and might be interested in making this. The next day I sent her an email so she'd have my information and could see the type of swing I'd like.

Peggy, who owns the cabin on the north side with her brother Peter, also heard about my desire. Pete is pretty well-to-d0, and was supposed to be coming up shortly. I said now that their cabin is all redone in his beautiful white pine, the only thing that was missing was a log swing. Yes, that's just what Pete should buy for the place, a nice log swing - $288 - including shipping. I'd be happy to send him the web site and will also use it when no one's there to make sure it stays in good operating condition. We had quite a few good laughs at this joke.

Then came my birthday, Friday. Don and Sarah were supposed to come up when he got off work and I'd serve the three fish I'd caught. Everything was ready. Table was set and I was just waiting for his call to make sure when I should start cooking. Well, I got the phone call alright. But instead of coming, they had to cancel because he had to work late. Hey, wait a minute! This will never do. OK, if you're not coming now, then there's a penalty involved. You have to come tomorrow for lunch. Not only that, but you have to come earlier and (finally) visit the Brimson Market and "Cookies from Cadotte". I didn't know if they'd be able to make it or not, but I was thrilled when, from under my blue canopy at the market, I saw them walk up.

I didn't think my day could get any better and I was really excited to get home and serve the nice lunch. Driving up I stopped to talk to Sarah who was picking flowers for a bouquet for the table. Then, turning into the drive I got just up to the cabin when right on the lawn, in front of Don's truck . . . there is was - the swing - the very one! I was in shock. I had never mentioned this to him, had I? No, I'm sure I hadn't. How had he known? How could this be?

So, my wish for a log swing has been fulfilled and it's everything I could have imagined and more. Nestled under a cedar tree, it is an oasis, and an excuse for a big comfy pillow to lean on and a book. Today, Sunday, is sunny and warm with just the most perfect breeze. Sitting on the swing, reading my book, looking up at the sky and clouds through the branches and waving at the woman in the boat pulling a water skier, I think I must be back in the 1950's or early 60's. No strife or bad news of any sort. Just comfort and happiness.

By the way, I blew out all the candles with my strawberry-rhubarb birthday pie (Sarah's of course). It should be a good year for everyone!

Listening

One of the joys of the cabin is being aware of noises. At home in Ft. Lauderdale, it's more useful to block out noises than enjoy them. Traffic, lawn mowers, or neighbors parties are not generally sounds to be treasured. But here in the woods, the sounds are enticing. Of course, my windows are always open here and the TV or radio isn't always on.

My second day here this year was really special. Having awoken really early at 5:30, I was sitting on the loo, when I heard this amazing animal sound. I heard it three times in about one minute. The first time I thought it was a moose. The second time I didn't know what I was hearing. The third time I thought it must be a bald eagle. It started off low and weird, then it just kept getting higher and higher until it was the worst bugler you've ever heard.

Convinced that it must be an eagle, I went online searching for eagle noises which I easily found. Listening intently to all fourteen of them, there was no doubt that this was no eagle. Then I tried the moose. The first few were nothing like I heard, but then under the heading Bull Moose, there is was - the identical sound. Pretty special, huh? Special to me, that's for sure.

Along with early morning sounds, the other really special times are the dusk to darkness sounds. Some of them are the quiet little chirpings of the birds as they bed down. It's such a charming lullaby. Then there are the loons, which are wonderful to hear any old time, but especially at dark when their hooting echoes across the lake. And finally are those sounds that can't quite be identified, but are so interesting and arresting. Animals are living right outside my door. That's such a neat feeling.

North vs South - Compare & Contrast

In January, at almost the depths of winter in Northern Minnesota, I look outside at the sunny skies and green grass. Yes, I long ago deserted the northern clime.

Much to my good fortune, my parents were ready to retire to Florida when I graduated from high school. So, off to the University of Miami for me. No more moving the bed until it almost touched the radiator. No more electric shocks when touching any metal object at any time and any place. No more bloody nose from the dryness. No more red where my knee highs left my knees exposed below my wool jumper (wearing slacks to school wasn't allowed). But also, no more snowy lawn at night when the moonlight would turn the whole yard to fairyland. No more walks to school with the light sparkling off the ice on the lake as the sun just peeped up from Wisconsin. No more still walks home, clutching my books, snow on the bare, brown branches covering the street, and the song "Hello darkness my old friend" playing in my head.

It's easy to make that long-ago past romantic, but I remember having to chop ice on the front steps too. And the cold that would hurt my lungs every morning when I had to step outside in sub-zero. There's no need to mention shoveling, is there?

The last time I saw snow was three years ago. And before that? Thirty years. Imagine! I had to return to Duluth to help my aging Aunt who had broken a hip three years ago. As the plane headed down and I could see the white everywhere, I began to calculate how long it had been since snow. Thirty years! Had I missed it? Honestly? No. Perhaps I had been born in the wrong place. Cold weather was always suffering to me. It was no different during that trip in December. The pain in the lungs, the sparks pricking my fingers, the ice on the windshield of the borrowed car, it all was a misery.

So, to my friend who asked me to write this and who loves the cold (mostly), is welcome to Duluth in December, January, February, and March. Possibly even April and May. It is easy, too easy, to wax rhapsodic about the warmth of southern Florida. Especially now in January. No coats, not even a sweater until a few days or weeks next month. The flowers, the sunny skies, puffy clouds, and lovely breezes make life easy, lazy, happy.

Yes, my blood has turned thin (weak as water, weak as water) and 50 degrees will set my teeth chattering. I'm not as strong as you hardy lot. But oh the luxury of the warmth. The luxury.

The Brimson Market

Brimson is not a town, or a gas station, or a street, or anything like that. It must be a geographically defined area - that's all I can figure. It's where I live in the summer. Actually, I live in Fairbanks, but that doesn't exist at all anymore. Someone even came along and sawed off the road signs. That made me both sad and mad. I used to be able to give people directions by saying, I'm the first driveway after the Fairbanks sign. No more. Now I have to get all involved with the Bundle Lake Road and Pauline's Bait Shop. It's much more complicated.
Brimson has a market, a farmer's market and the farmer is Diane. I think the market is about four years old now but I discovered it two years ago. I knew about it the previous summer, but never got up on Saturday mornings to get over there. There is this area off highway 44 where there are two garages. One is for the fire truck and ambulance and where the post office is located. The other garage is a mystery to me - although it's where I purchased "My Beauty" - see story below (Going Green In White). The land just in front of the garages is where we have the market.
Yes, I am now a participant in the Brimson Market. See, last year on my way to Minneapolis, I happened to go right past the market and stopped. I bought some cranberry scones for Susie and Gary and something about the set-up made me want to be a part of the whole thing. I asked if there was anything I needed to do and the answer was, "No, just come on over." The scones were a huge hit. "Best I ever ate," said Gary.
You probably have an idea in your mind of what this Brimson Market must be like. First of all, whatever your idea is, make it smaller. Now smaller. And finally, think tiny. The Market is Diane, Sherry, Jan, Pam, me, Joy this year, and sometimes Lisat (I think that's her name). Other people will come, but they don't come back. Not that I've noticed anyway.
Diane, as I said, is the actual farmer. Lettuce, garlic, squash, greens of all kinds, cucumbers (OK, those are Mike's), and tomatoes sell out in a flash. She also makes pesto - boy was that yummy.
Sherry sells the scones and home made bread. I've never actually seen the bread, because the first two or three people who show up buy it all. She also makes and sells note cards with photographs of local flowers. They're so pretty. Her latest venture is caps made of hand made felt.
Jan is seventy-eight, I believe. Short, but a real fire cracker. Every week, the same purple, fur lined, galoshes. She sells plants mostly, but also odds and ends and "antiques". She has large gardens on her property which I think are filled with plants and flowers. Her peonies this year were spectacular.
Pam knows all about herbs and uses for local plants which she makes into salves and ointments which she sells. I think she also conducts classes. There were some young people who I think were staying with her this summer and learning.
Joy is new this year. She's a summer resident (Diane, Sherry, and Pam are year-rounders), from Washington D.C. and she makes jewelry. I don't even wear jewelry, but I couldn't resist one of her necklaces. She also remembers playing cards at the cabin because her parents were friends of my parents.
Lisat makes quick breads (green tomato and zucchini) and Italian wedding cookies that are to die for. She also makes baby quilts and sells fabrics and the cookbook from Pequan Lake where she lives. It's over twenty miles away so we don't see her every Saturday.
Then there's me. What could I make that would sell at this market? The only thing that is originally mine is a variation of an oatmeal cookie recipe from The Joy of Cooking. I add a bunch of spices, so mine are oatmeal spice cookies. This year I also thought I invented chocolate brownie cookies, until Don told me he saw them on sale at Cub's. I was mad. The big seller this year though? Biscotti.
The wonderful thing about the market is just being there. Spending time during the week making the cookies, but then getting up early Saturday morning, loading everything in the car, including Mom's old bridge table, and seeing these people who have become so special to me. It's also fun to think about the people who have bought my cookies. Did they like them? This year one lady came back and said she had an order from her husband for more cookies. That made me so happy. The whole experience makes me happy.

When you go inside, don't be mad

Those were his last words to me before I left Duluth for my long-anticipated trip to the cabin. "What? Why will I be mad? Is it a mess? Did you and your buddies destroy the place this winter?"
"No, never mind, just don't be mad."

This is typical Don. Without him, there would be no cabin in the summer. With him, however, there is dirty carpet, dog hairs on the bedding, and the one I'll never let him live down, the ruined Martha Stewart cookie sheet.
What could it be this year? Visions of complete filth filled my head. Instead of just relaxing, I'll have to spend I don't know how much time cleaning.

Up the stairs to the deck - everything's the same - into the screen enclosure and unlock the door to the front porch - no changes here. Finally, I unlock the main cabin door and enter. Well, the furniture's been rearranged, but it looks very nice. Is that the surprise? No big deal. Hey, wait a minute! What is that huge thing in the corner? With dark metal edges and glass plates on two sides, it looks like the snake cage from the zoo and it's big enough to keep pythons; anacondas even. And it has what appears to be a fake snake habitat in it. What is this thing? As I walk slowly toward it, and notice the faceted, aluminum pipe rising from it and curving into and through the outside wall, I realize that I am now the proud "owner" of a gas fireplace, complete with fake logs. This fireplace idea of his has been run past me for a long, long time. "A fireplace would be great in here." "Exactly why do I need a fireplace in the summer?" "It will increase the value of the cabin." "First of all, I don't ever plan to sell it, and secondly my taxes are already going up yearly."

This is not the first time "The Donald" has surprised me with new additions. Much of the furniture in the cabin has nothing to do with me, nor was I asked if I wanted or needed it. Yet, now that it's there I love it all; the wing chairs, the sofa, a coffee table, the table and chairs, all of it. Well, not quite all of it. There is Don's favorite chair which I would happily leave on the side of the road with a FREE sign. It's a giant, blue recliner with families of spiders who live inside.
For many months after the new shed was built he asked over and over what I would be doing with the dilapidated, little green shed. "I don't know" was my only answer. The following year the shed had disappeared from it's aboriginal spot and had transported itself closer to the lake. It also had a new floor, a split wood interior, benches, and was sporting a wood stove. The shed had become a sauna. "Thank you for the sauna, Don. I never take saunas." "You will." I never have.
This creativity in managing me is part is part of the charm of "The Donald." He wants a fireplace. He runs it past me. I turn it down. He keeps bringing up the subject. Finally, knowing by that time just exactly how mad I'll be, he finds a bargain and figures he can put up with my harassment. So "I" now have a gas fireplace that everyone but me thinks is lovely. Every time I notice it I wonder how the snake is doing.