Pond hockey. It was a way of life during the winter for my family when I was young. We lived on a pond that froze somewhere between November and December. I also had a brother that played hockey through high school, so naturally we had hockey sticks, pucks, and skates that my brother had grown out of laying around the house. My parents purchased the heavy, metal rink shovels, and my dad crafted regulation-size hockey nets using 2×4’s – we were set. Yesterday The scritch, scratch of skate blades on the ice, along with the long pshhhhh of the shovels pushing snow could be heard on most days throughout the winter as multiple people donned their skates while shoveling the rink. The street we lived on was home to quite a few kids that were close to the ages of my two brothers and me. All of the neighbors were boys – most were hockey players. My mom and I were the only girls , and we never played on official teams, but I have to say that we held our own quite nicely. Our hockey games would go on for hours. We’d play before school, on weekends, and any other time we could get a group together. I remember playing hockey on the pond when temperatures plummeted to -25F. It was so cold one day that one of the neighbor boys said, “Hey, watch this!” as he flicked the hockey puck about eight feet into the air. When the puck landed on the ice, it shattered into pieces that went sprawling across the rink. On those days, I went inside after playing in the frigid cold to find my fingers and toes white – partially frozen themselves. I didn’t care – all I wanted to do was play. My parents also held skating parties often. Neighbor families would congregate in our backyard, share snacks, drink hot cocoa, and chat by a hot, crackling fire, but the best was always the hockey games. Our winters were full of hockey, fun, and friends – wonderful memories. Today The kids and I invited my mom to come over yesterday to skate with us on the nearby lake. The lakes around us are unusually glassy due to the absent snow this year, and the roller coaster of temperatures we’ve been having. The daily highs almost hit 50F two weeks ago, so the ice was soft and very wet. Two days later, our temperatures plummeted to the single digits – this made for hard, smooth ice. As Mom walked in the door yesterday, she said “Guess what I brought today?” I knew it was something good as she had a big smile on her face. Sure enough, Mom brought the old stack of hockey sticks and pucks that we played with when I was growing up. I think the kids were almost as excited as we were to try them out. Mom put on her old Riedells, I helped the kids into their skates, and we all set out for a warm-up skate across the lake. When we returned, we grabbed the equipment, made two quick goals out of the two extra sticks we had, and played a heated 2 v. 2 game. While we played, warm memories kept flowing through my head of the old, frigid pond hockey days. I hope our new neighbors around join us for games soon. Did you grow up playing neighborhood games? I’d love for you to share your stories in the comments below. Thanks for reading!
Connections
New Year’s Eve Skating: A Little Magic on the Lake
New Year’s Eve, 2018 The kids and I went out early today to get chores done around the homestead because brutal winds were due to arrive this afternoon bringing in light snow and frigid temps. When we walked out of the house the wind was light, and the temperatures were hovering around 30 degrees Fahrenheit – nice winter weather. We cleaned the chicken coop, filled up food feeders, checked the water bucket, collected eggs, and cleaned up dog (well, you know). As we completed our chores in record time, the dogs roughhoused around the yard – running, jumping, tackling each other, and doing it all over again. I looked at the kids and said, “We should probably bring the dogs on a walk, because once the cold air moves in, we won’t be able to bring them out.” Our indoor dogs’ feet can’t handle sub-zero temperatures, and tomorrow night our temperature will dip to -10 degrees. After minutes of walking, they would start picking up one foot, and then the other – trying to lick away the sting of the cold on their foot pads. “Mom, can we go ice skating on the lake while the dogs run?” my daughter pleaded. “Can we?” my son added. “You two can go skating, and Dad and I will walk with the dogs by the cattails and look for lures and bobbers.” So, that settled it. The whole family (dogs included) piled into the car and drove down the street to the lake. Just as we stepped onto the lake, the wind picked up. The boys headed off on their walk with the dogs, and my daughter and I slipped into our hockey skates and began skating down the lake. The first thing that we noticed was that the ice was no longer black. Forty eight hours of snow and rain had made the ice opaque, so we could no longer see into the inky depths of the lake. The next thing we noticed was how strong the wind had become. Light snow started streaming across the glossy ice, and the wind started to push us across the lake. “Mom, the wind wants us to go somewhere, and we need to listen to it!” my daughter yelled in front of me. I saw her gliding down the ice, arms spread wide, not having to exert any effort to move. “Come on, Mom, skate faster, we need to follow the wind.” she continued. We both took off skating as fast as we could. With the wind pushing angrily at our back, we skated across the lake at what I’m sure was our record speed. My daughter and I started laughing with the thrill of it all. “It’s magical – it’s all magical” she yelled amidst our laughter. It felt that way. What a way to usher out the old year and bring in the new year. For those of you that are wondering about our return skate back up the lake, yes, it was brutal. But, my daughter gave me an imaginary magic disc that gave us the power to withstand the worst winter weather – polar bear power. So, our skate against the wind wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I love the magic that children bring to our lives. I hope that 2019 brings you peace, love, joy, and happiness, I hope that you get a chance to slow down and enjoy the simple things, I hope that you get outside and get into nature every chance you get, and I hope that you get to experience a little bit of your own magic here and there. Happy New Year to you, and thank YOU so very much for taking the time to sit and read this little story! I hope it brought a smile to your face. Warmly, Erin
Finding Joy in Unexpected Encounters
We had a final electrical inspection for our basement that we have been working on for the past year – almost done! But, the basement is a story for another day as this post is about finding joy in unexpected encounters. Encounters where complete strangers take time out of their day to teach, spread joy, or get to know someone new. The Electrical Inspector About a month ago we received a call from our county’s electrical inspector notifying us of his impending retirement at the end of the month. He wanted to complete the final inspection on our basement if at all possible. Within the week, the inspector was at our door for the third and final time. He walked downstairs and inspected the new bathroom, office, gas fireplace, and family room before asking to see the electrical box in the back room. As my husband opened the door to the back room, he bent down to pick up a container of rocks my kids had left in the walkway. The inspector’s eyes lit up. “Do you have a rock hound in the family?” he asked. “My kids love collecting rocks, particularly agates.” my husband replied. “Our family has been collecting agates for many years now. The kids collect ‘special’ rocks wherever they go.” The inspector excitedly told us that he and his wife are planning to spend their retirement traveling and collecting rocks. The inspector and our family spent nearly half an hour talking about rocks. My kids ran to get their largest agates to show the inspector, while the inspector brought out his cell phone to show us a large, 25 lb. rock that he retrieved out of a mine in Arkansas. The rock had one small crystal sticking out of the top. When the inspector gently removed the outer shell of the rock, he found that the entire core was made of crystals. Before leaving, the inspector invited us to attend meetings at the Minnesota Mineral Club. He said that they could use some young families in the club. As he stepped out the door he said: “Well, this has been fun! Keep up the rock hunting – it really is a great lifetime hobby. Plus, you get to learn about history, geology, mineralogy, paleontology, and lapidary arts while spending time in the great outdoors.” We agree! Mr. Mosquito Controller “Excuse me! Hi! Excuse me!” The kids and I turned around as we heard a man calling from behind us. We were on one of our daily walks last summer and heading back up the dirt road toward our house when we heard the shouts. We all walked back to where the man was standing by his pick-up truck. My son immediately noticed that the truck was from Illinois. “Hey, Mom! He’s from Illinois!” my son exclaimed. He loves to see license plates from other states. Anyway, the man (I’ll call Mr. Mosquito Controller) said “I hope I didn’t startle you. I saw you with the kids and I thought you all may be interested in seeing this. The man held out a few tiny clear glass containers. The containers had mosquitoes in different stages of their life cycle – egg, larva, pupa, and adult. Mr. Mosquito Controller was conducting research for mosquito control near our house. He was taking water samples from puddles, marshes, and other low lying areas to gauge where our county should treat for mosquitoes. When we asked what control they use, he said that they use Bti (Bacillus thuringiensis var. israelensis (Bti) – a natural soil bacteria that disrupts mosquito digestion. The bacteria are packaged in little pellets that are dropped by hand in small areas, or by helicopter in larger areas. We’ve seen the helicopters fly over our house for years now, so it was interesting to learn exactly what the helicopters were dropping. Mr. Mosquito Controller also said that we can control mosquito reproduction by putting one salt pellet (used in water softeners) in puddles around our home – so simple! The kids and I were impressed that Mr. Mosquito Controller flagged us down, and took the time to teach us all about the tiny pests that swarm and bite us throughout the summer. We felt lucky to have crossed paths with Mr. Mosquito Controller. The Hawaiian My family took a long road trip down south to get away from our brutal Minnesota winter two years ago. We took our time to stop and explore interesting places on our way down to the Gulf of Mexico and back. One of the places we stopped was Crater of Diamonds State Park – the only diamond mining park that is open to the public. We set out for our first day of digging for diamonds after sliding into our rain boots, renting our digging supplies, and paying for the entrance into the mining fields. The day was a little rainy, so there weren’t too many people on the plowed fields, but we did come a across a very friendly man from Hawaii and his much quieter friend from Nevada. The Hawaiian said that he flies in once per year to dig for diamonds with his friend. They dig for eight hours per day over a long weekend before flying back to Las Vegas. We ended up digging with our new friends in the slippery mud as we chatted about past trips to Crater of Diamonds, life in Hawaii, life in Minnesota, and about the history of the area we were in. I could tell that the Hawaiian had talked to many of the locals over the years, as he had many stories to share (making our trip to Crater of Diamonds all the richer). My son, who was 7-years old at the time, also joined the conversation by telling the Hawaiian that one of his favorite singers was from Hawaii. My son had been listening to the beautiful ukulele rendition of the song “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by Iz (Israel Kamakawiwoʻole)
Can Contrails Predict Fishing Success?
My family likes walks. We walk almost every day – sometimes multiple times per day. The fresh air, exercise, time we get to spend chatting with each other, and the exciting things we see make every walk enjoyable and interesting. It’s our go-to way to get outside and get into nature. Two days ago, I wanted to walk in a nearby prairie at sunset because the light across the fall landscape is especially beautiful this time of year. Dried flowers dot the fields, dainty grass plumes sparkle in front of the lowering rays, and the family seems to feel the magic just as I do. But, this is not what this post is about. This post is about contrails and fishing. At the very western edge of the prairie one can find a clear lake with a sandy bottom. The kids love to explore the shores of the lake when we visit the prairie and we did just that two days ago. While the kids ran up and down the shore, made clouds out of cattail fluff, and searched for lures that others had unfortunately lost while fishing, my husband offered an interesting bit of information: “Too bad we are not fishing right now.” he said (this after he and my son had been shut out three days in a row – well, except for a few mudpuppies). “Why is that?” I questioned (thinking there may be more to this statement than the obvious fact that he’d like to fish all day – every day if he could). “You see those vapor trails [contrails] that the airplanes are leaving in the sky, and how they are slowly spreading out?” he asked. “Yes?” I questioned. “They indicate good fishing.” “How is that?” I asked, “And, where did you learn that?” “I must have read about in one of my fishing books, but I don’t remember where or which one.” he replied. To be fair, my husband has read a plethora of fishing books – books about fishing technique, fishing memoirs, fiction books about fishing, and he even studies lake and river maps. He continued: “It has something to do with pressure changes.” Today I explored this theory further using my favorite learning tool – the World Wide Web. This is what I found: A contrail is: a condensation trail left behind jet aircrafts where hot humid air from jet exhaust mixes with environmental air of low vapor pressure and low temperature. The result is a cloud similar to those that you see when you exhale and see your breath outside. Okay, so how does this affect fishing? I found a simple explanation in a bass fishing forum on BassResource.com. BassChaser57, a self-proclaimed “airline pilot by profession, BassChaser by passion,” stated: There are lots of variables i[n] bass fishing such as temperature, cloud cover, barometric pressure, wind speed and direction, moon phase, fishing pressure, rising/falling water, muddy water, etc. There is one variable that I have used over the years… it is simple and it works. Few of us can spend as much time on the water as we would like so I try to maximize my quality fishing possibilities. I do this by watching jet contrails (the white trails left in the sky by jets.) When I see the sky crisscrossed by contrails I go fishing and expect to find active bass. The explanation is simply that there is high level moisture meaning there is an approaching weather system. Many of us realize bass get active with an approaching storm or lowering barometric pressure, the contrails will tell us the same thing without having to be able to see the weather channel. The next time you see the contrails in the sky, try to go fishing and expect the Bass to be active and prove to yourself that contrails=active bass. Dan Johnson from In-Fisherman magazine defines barometric pressure more thoroughly… In a nutshell, barometric pressure—also called atmospheric or air pressure—is the weight of the air pressing down upon everything on the planet, including fish and anglers. Lest you think such a load is light as a feather, consider that a square-inch column of air rising from sea level to the top of our atmosphere weighs about 14.7 pounds. Even slight changes in barometric pressure can cause big changes in fish behavior. According to Spud Woodward, Assistant Director for the Georgia Department of Natural Resources Coastal Resources Division, fish sense pressure changes through their air bladder. He goes on to explain: Fish that have small air bladders, such as kings, Spanish mackerel, wahoo and dolphin, aren’t as affected by barometric changes as those with large bladders, such as trout, redfish, tarpon, grouper and snapper… That’s because fish with small bladders have a body density that’s closer to that of the surrounding water. They don’t sense the pressure changes as dramatically, so their comfort levels aren’t drastically altered. However, many things they eat have air bladders, and that alone could have a big impact on where you might find them and how they’ll behave. For example, zooplankton and phytoplankton have air bladders and can be caught off-guard by pressure changes causing a feeding frenzy among minnows and other small fish, which in turn brings out larger fish to eat. Woodward continues: Fish with large bladders quickly sense when the air pressure is dropping, because there’s less pressure on their bladder. And when there’s less pressure squeezing their bladders, the bladders expand a bit. When their bladders expand, fish become uncomfortable. They relieve their discomfort by moving lower in the water column or by absorbing extra gas in their bladders. These stresses cause fish to forget about eating, and instead focus on finding a depth where they can find comfort. Finally, Woodward explains the pressure changes where contrails are most evident – the period just before a low-pressure system sets in. Just what I was looking for. Let’s say we’re experiencing a prolonged period of high pressure and the fishing has been good.
The Earth Day Lesson: Inspiration Through Kindness
My son has enjoyed picking things up outside since the day he began to walk. He’d fill his arms full of sticks at the family cabin – clearing the grass of debris. My son’s hands, pockets, and stroller cups would be full of pine cones, stones – anything he’d find in his path when we would take our walks. I had to stop him from picking up garbage on a daily basis, as you can imagine. My son grew, and his awareness of litter and trash in the environment grew right along with him. I’d get questions like: “Mom, why is there trash on the street?” or “Mom, why can’t people throw that away in a garbage can?” Combining his love of picking things up with his concern for the environment was only natural. My son is 9-years old now, and he and his 7-year old sister have been celebrating Earth Day by picking up trash along our favorite walking road for four years now. Both of the kids have the day marked on their calendars. This year they had a count-down to Earth Day for two weeks before the day – you’d think it was Christmas. This story isn’t about my children picking up trash on Earth Day, it’s about a lesson they learned this year – I wish you could have seen their faces. Our family headed out on our yearly Earth Day walk at about 5pm. Both kids donned vinyl gloves and carried a tall kitchen garbage bag while my husband and I walked the dogs on their leashes. A race ensued for the first 1/2 mile of our walk – a race to bag the garbage first. Throughout the walk, several people stopped to thank the kids for cleaning up the roadside. “You’re welcome!” my kids would respond. It wasn’t until we were almost back home that a woman and her husband caught up to us as the kids’ garbage bags were slowing them down by then. The lady hurried over to the kids, walked alongside them and said “I just wanted to tell you both that what you are doing is so wonderful – it’s inspirational!” “Thank you!” my son replied. “Thanks!” my daughter chirped in. A big smile spread across the ladies face as she said “Keep doing what you’re doing” and she hurried off to catch up with her husband. Five minutes later, we saw the lady turn around to meet up with us again. “I just wanted to tell you that you both were so inspirational that I’ve decided to pick up trash on my way home.” she said as she stooped down to pick up a crushed cardboard box. “You’ve inspired me!” she said again. My daughter looked up at me with her mouth open in awe, which quickly turned into a smile. My son hobbled up to where I was walking with his extra-heavy, packed garbage bag and exclaimed “Mom, did you hear that? We inspired her to pick up garbage too!” I smiled, and we all yelled out “Thank you for helping!” The kind lady turned back, smiled, and waved with a garbage-filled hand. For the last block-and-a-half of our walk my family discussed how an act of kindness can inspire others to pay-it-forward. My son quickly realized that more trash was picked up that day than he could have picked up himself because he and his sister had inspired someone else. An important lesson was learned on Earth Day, a lesson that my kids will never forget thanks to the kind lady – an act of kindness can inspire others to pay-it-forward. Have you been inspired by an act of kindness? What do you do to make our world a more beautiful place? I’d love to read all about it. Unbound Roots has been nominated for the Hidden Gem award through the annual Bloggers Bash Awards. If you’ve enjoyed this story or others that I have written, would you mind taking a moment to vote? No personal information is collected – all you have to do is click and you’re done. You can vote HERE. Thank you so very much for your support!
“Jessie Diggins Coming Through!”: The Best Cross-Country Ski Trip Ever
“Jessie Diggins coming through!” my daughter exclaimed. “Go Jessie go!” I played along as I heard the rhythmic swish, swish, swish of my 7-year old daughter’s cross-country skis passing me on my left. “Do you think I could be in the Olympics one day, Mom?” she yelled over her shoulder as she continued to pull away from me. “OF COURSE YOU COULD!” I replied – hoping she could hear me up ahead. “Here she goes again!” my 9-year old son said as he took off to race his sister. My daughter has been practicing her cross-country ski sprints ever since that historic cross-country ski finish by USA’s Jessie Diggins – I’m sure my daughter is not the only one. Who wouldn’t be pumped up, motivated, excited, or ready to try cross-country skiing after watching Jessie Diggins and teammate Kikkan Randall take the gold in the Ladies’ Team Sprint Free Final in Pyeongchang (the first gold medal for USA women in cross-country skiing). The jostling for first place between the USA, Sweden, and Norway, the final push for the last 100 meters, the NBC announcer’s extraordinarily excited commentary, the win by a half a ski length, the yell by Jessie as she crossed the line, and the tackle by teammate Kikkan Randall as Jessie collapsed in exhaustion led to the most exciting finish of all Olympic activities – well, it was for my family and me. This finish had everyone in our house up off the couch yelling, cheering, and celebrating the epic win. Check out the excitement in the video below. As my son and daughter skied back to me, I asked them “So, how far do you want to ski today?” “Let’s ski all the way across the lake!” my son suggested. “Yes, can we, Mom?” my daughter asked. “Hey, I’m game if you two are up for it.” I answered. “YES!” yelled my son. “I’m so excited!” said my daughter. This winter my kids have had fun making distance goals each time we ski the lake. The furthest we had skied was to the spot my kids named “The Peninsula” – a total of less than two miles round-trip. Skiing across the lake means doubling our previous distance. On this day, the sun was out, the temperature was perfect (about 35F) and we had the lake to ourselves – not a car, fish house, or person in sight. We had just a few inches of powdery snow on top of the foot of crusty snow that lay heavy atop the thick bed of ice (we’ve had a cold winter), so the skiing was fast. As we set out on our trek across the frozen lake, my kids had energy – they were excited to attempt their longest ski yet. I can’t tell you how many times they both talked about how excited they were, how happy they were to be skiing, and how they couldn’t wait to tell Dad how far they skied. But, with kids, the journey is much more than how far they ski. On our way across the lake, the kids noticed a wild rabbit mostly buried and dead in the snow, so we had to stop and discuss why this may have happened. “Do you think it was run over by a snowmobile?” my daughter asked. “I doubt it, but you never know.” I answered. My son then noticed dog tracks next to the rabbit. “Look!” He yelled. “Look at those tracks. Do you think those are dog tracks. Maybe they’re coyote tracks. Do you think some type of dog killed the rabbit?” “Again, it could be. But, I think that if a dog or coyote killed the rabbit they’d probably run off with it and eat it.” I replied. “Perhaps the rabbit got lost in one of our recent snowstorms and passed away in the middle of the lake.” I offered. “Poor rabbit.” my kids said. About 20 minutes later, we spotted a tiny spider darting around on the snow. “Now, how do you suppose this little spider made it out onto the middle of the lake?” I asked. “Mom, there is land all around the lake – it could have come from anywhere!” my son said almost exasperated. I laughed and said, “Well, yes, but that is a long way for a little critter to walk.” We came up with the possibilities that the spider may have: blown to the middle of the lake from a tree bordering the lake hitched a ride on a bird and dropped to the lake dropped off of someone’s vehicle or ice house We were left wondering what the little spider would eat while he was out there. After about an hour and a half of skiing, exploring, and lots of conversing, we hit our destination. The kids rejoiced and fell onto the snow to cool down as soon as they reached the far side of the lake. Both of them took a small piece of bark that had fallen off of a nearby tree and put it in their pockets to commemorate their achievement, and asked for a picture so that we could prove that we had made it across the lake. The journey back was a little bit slower, as we took a couple of breaks, and skied through an obstacle course (the car wheel tracks and skid marks from pulling ice houses across the lake had made for some fun hills and valleys in the snow). But our conversation was just as entertaining as it was on the first part of our journey. “This is just the perfect day” “I’m so hungry and thirsty” “I hope Dad is going to go grocery shopping soon because we’re going to eat everything in the entire house” “The sun feels so warm” “What do you think sugar ants think when they see us” “If you think that would be bad, what do you think sugar ants think when they see an actual giant” “What if
Fly Fishing For Trout in Minnesota: A Summer Paradise
Time To Head Out My husband and I roll down the car windows and turn up the radio as the heat of the day creeps up. We turn onto the back country roads that run parallel to the river, and listen to the crunch of the wheels on the gravel roads. Once we reach the easement to the river, we park on the side of the road and prepare for fly-fishing. Chest waders go on first, followed by our fly-vests. The leather harnesses of our split-willow creels are draped across our chests – though we never seem to keep the trout we hook. Two-way radios are hooked onto our vests to communicate on the stream, and waterproof cameras stuffed into pockets to capture the moment we catch a lunker. We grab our fly-rods and head out. Waiting Waters Tall grass and wildflowers greet my husband and me as we step off of the road. Five-foot tall stinging nettle threatens us as we near the trout stream. We lift our arms and rods high in the air to avoid its sting, while dodging the outstretched arms of nearby trees grasping at the tips of our rods. A light morning fog appears before us – a sure sign that the icy water of the stream is imminent. We crouch beside the bank of the trout stream as we approach the water. The water is clear, but alive. An ever-observant brown trout darts from under the bank beneath our feet – spooking several other fish in the process. My husband whispers that he is heading upstream. I will stay here as there are fish to catch. I enter the waiting waters cautiously as my husband tiptoes away. Swift currents and smooth rocks underfoot threaten my balance. I take my time – feeling out each step before fully committing. Cold water presses my waders against my legs as I move toward the center of the river – cooling me from the heat of the day. I have my eye on an undercut bank on the opposite side of the river a few yards upstream. I stop in the middle of the river – it needs to rest. The water continues to rush past me, carrying away the evidence of my arrival, and the trout calm – a sense of peace restored. The Rhythm Of The Cast Bringing the fly-rod straight up, I grip the fly-line with my rod hand as I release the fly from the hook holder with my other. I peel line off of my reel, letting the hook and line drop beside me. The floating line moves with the tumultuous water – curling and twisting around me before straightening as the water carries it downstream. I grip the line by the reel with my free hand and raise the tip of the fly-rod into the air – keeping the rod in line with my forearm. In a straight and fluid movement, I bring the rod tip down in front of me – pausing to let the fly-line follow. I repeat the pattern, but this time I allow the line to unroll on the surface of the water after the last forward movement. The fly lands in the quiet water near the undercut bank. Patience Moving water carries the line back toward me as I watch carefully for any movements indicative of a strike. I slowly pull the slack line through the guides on my rod. As the fly approaches, I begin the rhythmic casting again. The process repeats until I see the slightest pause in the movement of the fly-line as it floats toward me. Everything surrounding me disappears as I focus solely on the line. I hold the fly-line and raise my rod tip straight into the air as I feel the erratic pull on the line – fish on. Keeping the rod tip up, I strip the line steadily while keeping the line taut. The fish attempts to dart back under the bank, and I lose my footing for a moment as I try to maneuver the fish, but remain standing. Up stream, down stream, through fallen trees, and around large boulders – the fish tries to escape, but I am patient. Soon I land the 10″ brook trout. Keeping the fish underwater, I gently dislodge the hook. The scales are so small that the trout feels smooth – almost scaleless. The gold color of the fish is highlighted by red spots rimmed with an electric blue. I observe the most obvious sign that I have caught a brook trout – the contrasting white accents on the bright orange, lower fins. Gently, I lower the fish deeper into the water allowing it to swim away. It swims slowly to the river bottom – pausing to recuperate before moving on. I radio my husband to notify him of my catch. Time to move. I move upstream; looking for a new place to land my fly. Downstream of fallen logs or large boulders, deep holes – often appearing turquoise in color, or another undercut bank will do. My husband and I fish a couple more hours as the fog disappears under the heat of the mid-day sun. Submersed in Beauty We pause for a lunch break, a quick dip in the water – yes, it takes our breath away, and an hour of reading by the trout stream. My husband goes back to fishing late in the afternoon, but I choose to sit on the bank near where he fishes. I enjoy watching him fly-fish as the cast of a fly-rod is one of the most breathtaking displays – an art. The rhythm of the cast and the silent movement of the fly-line in the air is captivating. The way the line rolls out on the surface of the water is awe-inspiring. I sit for an hour before the fog begins to return as the sun lowers in the sky. Twilight arrives and sparks of light begin flickering throughout the
Grounding: A Lesson From My Daughter
A few days ago I walked out on my back deck to find this: A little human footprint among the puppy prints in the snow. That would be my daughter. She is the only one in the house who would venture out into the new fallen snow in her bare feet. I couldn’t help smiling after seeing her prints in the snow, which also started a chain of thoughts on my end. First of all, my daughter is the queen of barefoot walking. I’m sure we have all gone through periods of walking barefoot, with most happening during childhood. I remember the thrill of walking, running, climbing, and jumping barefoot when I was young. Climbing trees was easiest when my little piggies were free. Jumping in cool puddles after a rain was bliss. And, racing through the soft green grass while we played neighborhood games was so much fun. But, these times are gone. My feet have lived in shoes while outside for many years. Now it’s my daughter’s turn to go barefoot while climbing trees, jumping in puddles, and playing neighborhood games. She also goes barefoot while hiking and taking the dogs for long walks. Only wearing shoes while going into public buildings, or boots when temperatures dip too low here in the great state of Minnesota. My daughter is determined to go barefoot, and she’s determined to get others to try it too. The Birthday Party One month ago, at my daughter’s birthday party, I overheard her talking to her cousin about going barefoot outside. Her cousin hardly steps foot outside without his shoes on, but my daughter convinced him by saying “Just try it. If you practice a little each day, your feet will get stronger and tougher, and you will feel attached to the Earth.” My nephew got a big smile on his face as he headed out the front door sans shoes with my daughter. As she bounded onto our gravel driveway without missing a beat, I had to laugh a little when my nephew looked, well, he looked how I probably look when I try to walk on that dang driveway. Limping, stepping as light as he could (not that this really helps), and heading straight for the grass. “See?” my daughter said, “It’s not that bad.” Ha! That’s what she thinks. My nephew remained shoe-less for the remainder of the afternoon. He’s stronger than I am. When my daughter said that my nephew’s feet would feel stronger and tougher after going barefoot, I understood what she was talking about. She convinced me to try going barefoot a few times this past summer on our gravel driveway just for the sake of making my feet tougher. I imagine I looked like an injured fool as I navigated the driveway. Tiptoeing as fast as I could to reach the reprieve of the soft, green grass, but limping each time I stepped on one of those evil, larger, gravel stones. My daughter laughed as she took off running down the driveway. Her feet are tough. This I observed, but her statement “…you will feel attached to the Earth” is what I had questions about.” After seeing her footprint in the snow, I asked my daughter “Do you remember when you talked your cousin into going barefoot at your birthday party?” “Yes.” she responded. “What did you mean when you told him that soon he would feel attached to the Earth?” I asked. She replied “I don’t know, I just feel connected to the Earth when I go barefoot, and it makes me feel good.” This response reminded me of a comment one of my readers had written on my Get Outside and Get Into Nature: Your Mind and Body Will Thank You post. Grounding Dr. Allison Brown wrote: “Have you heard of Grounding? Just putting our feet on the earth causes measurable, physiological changes that impact the health issues you’ve mentioned and more! Humans are wired to require a connection to the Earth!” Grounding is a concept I have never heard or read about. Could grounding be the “connection” my daughter experiences when she walks barefoot outside? What is Grounding? Grounding (also known as Earthing) happens when the Earth’s surface electrons are transferred into the human body through direct contact with the ground, such as walking barefoot. In our body, free radicals are unpaired electrons that scavenge the body to seek our other electrons so they can become a pair. This action causes damage to cells, proteins and DNA. Free radicals are associated with many human diseases including cancer, Alzheimer’s disease, Parkinson’s disease, and many others (Lobo et al., 2010). When the skin comes in contact with the earth, free electrons are taken up into the body. These electrons are natural antioxidants and help neutralize damaging free radicals. Antioxidants are molecules which can safely interact with free radicals and terminate any harmful reaction before vital molecules are damaged. Okay, so how does this help our bodies? Benefits of Grounding Oschman et al., 2015, wrote: Electrons from the Earth may in fact be the best antioxidants, with zero negative secondary effects, because our body evolved to use them over eons of physical contact with the ground… The disconnection from the Earth may be an important, insidious, and overlooked contribution to physiological dysfunction and to the alarming global rise in non-communicable, inflammatory-related chronic diseases. According to Chevalier et al., 2012, emerging scientific research supports the concept that the Earth’s electrons induce several physiological changes in the human body such as reduced pain, better sleep, a shift from sympathetic (fight or flight) to parasympathetic (rest and digest) tone in the autonomic nervous system (ANS), and a blood-thinning effect. Further exploring the effects of grounding, Oschman et al., 2015, conducted a study where they repeatedly observed that grounding increases the speed of healing and decreases or completely eliminates inflammation. They discuss that grounding is a simple, natural, free, and accessible health strategy that can be used against chronic inflammation. Pain and
The Lure of Fishing
“Mom, will you write a story about fishing this week?” asked my son as we were sitting at the dinner table earlier in the week. “What made you ask that? I asked him. “Well, you like to write about nature, and fishing is a ‘naturey’ thing.” he replied. I smiled and said “You’ve got that right. I really like your idea! Fishing it is.” After all, we were planning on heading to the cabin in a few days – the place where I learned to fish when I was a little girl. The perfect spot to get me in the fishing frame-of-mind. Cabin As soon as we arrived at the cabin this evening, my family piled onto the old pontoon. My husband pushed the pontoon away from the dock, my daughter scooted onto my lap, settling in to drive the pontoon to our favorite fishing spot, and my son was busy setting up his line already. While my daughter steered the boat out of Cabin Bay (an endearing name given by my children), she commented on the shoreline just four doors down from our cabin “Look at their perfect shoreline! They have a tree hanging over the water which is perfect for bass.” That’s my little fishergirl. Tonight I’ve decided that I’m not going to fish. Instead, I’m going to start this fishing story that my son has requested – a story that I’m excited to write as fishing has been an important part of my family for many generations. In fact, my great-great-grandparents depended on fish to help sustain them, as they were farmers that were the second generation removed from Sweden, and had very little money. In the words of my great-grandfather: In the early spring before the ice was off the lake, we put our long gill nets in. We had two, I think. They were 30 feet long which gave us 60 feet of gill nets. My father and I would walk down to the lake about four in the afternoon, row out to the edge of the ice, and row slowly along the edge as the net was laid out. Sometimes we had fish to bring home with us at once. The next morning we picked off all the fish in the nets, sometimes as much as half a gunnysack full. It was always a cold job, but rewarding. These fish, mostly northern and sunfish, were all delicious coming from the ice cold water. I loved to walk along the shore wearing knee boots and shoot fish. If I shot above the water the concussion would stun the fish and they would turn up and be picked up. We shot two one day, one weighed 19 ½ pounds – another 14 pounds. This was illegal, but the game warden never bothered anyone till after World War I, when they tightened up on us. After that, we never put out the nets, but I continued to shoot fish. This was only possible when the fish were spawning and swimming in the meadows at high water. They would lay their eggs in the low meadows then go back to the deep lake, but I shot lots of big fish in season. Fishing wasn’t isolated to early spring. My great-grandfather continued: Victor Erickson and I would also spear fish in the night late in the fall. Using a gasoline torch, we could see the bottom of the lake and easily spear any fish that showed; one man rowing the boat backwards, the other standing at the stern where the light was with the spear ready to stab. Back In The Day Gone are the days of using nets and spears for fishing in my family. Our typical outing requires a rod with hook and bobber, and a tin of wax worms, a container of leeches, or a bucket of night crawlers that the kids collect after the sun goes down. Growing up, my parents or grandparents would take the children out in the old Lund or Alumacraft boats, and we would drop a line somewhere along the shore of the cabin lake. Sunfish, crappies, perch, northern, walleye, and largemouth bass were the typical species that were pulled out of the water, but dogfish, sheephead, bullhead, and carp would surprise us on occasion. I remember the excitement of seeing the bobber go down, the competitions my family used to have to see who could get the biggest or most fish, and watching wildlife as the sun went down in the evening (although, back then I didn’t realize the importance of this). As we sit on the pontoon, I ask the kids what makes fishing fun for them. My daughter simply says “I like to catch the fish.” My son replies “I like to watch the bobber start to go under, and I love not knowing if the fish is big or small, or what type of fish it is.” Neither of them commented on the wildlife around them, but my daughter admired the beautiful sunset, and my son was watching birds fly about. Immersed in their surroundings. The Fishing Experience As I look around me I see the sugar maples starting to turn hues of yellow, orange, and red on this late-September day. Majestic white pines are sparse among the maple trees, but they tower over all others – dark green with soft, long needles. Wild rice along the shoreline has started to turn autumn brown, but the arrowhead plants are still a bright green. The day has been unusually warm, gracing us with temperatures in the mid-80’s. A light breeze blows from the south – warm for the most part, but cool when the gusts lift off the cold water. The dog is lying in her favorite spot on the front deck of the pontoon. My husband and children are quiet – entranced by casting, waiting, reeling, and casting again. Wood ducks startle and fly out of nearby cattails, a sharp-shinned hawk flies overhead, and the rough squawking
Minnesota’s North Shore: From Fire and Ice to a World-Class Lake
The beginning was a dramatic fire and ice event – the end resulted in a world-class lake.