Lake Shore

Crashing waves. Spraying mists. Lapping water. Floating driftwood. Sparkling droplets. Memories of time spent by Lake Superior. A decade or two ago, my husband and I took yearly vacations "up north." We stayed in cabins along the large lake and enjoyed the cool breezes of water as far as the eye could see. The large lake provided the perfect climate for this tundra girl. I am never ready for the onslaught of summer's heat and humidity so a respite from such oppression is always appreciated.

We usually begin our lake time with a stop in the harbor town of Duluth. The view from Enger Park, situated above the city, is worth the journey through winding, sometimes confusing, streets. The park is filled with manicured gardens and leisurely walking trails. It is a great way to observe the sights and sounds of the city and the lake from afar.

The best way to experience the lake, of course, is walking along its shoreline. Canal Park is a well developed area nestled against the lake, perfect for observing the comings and goings of the big ships taking care of business. The old aerial lift bridge slowly raises it hulking deck for ships as they glide through the harbor. The ships hail from around the world, thanks to the lock systems of the Great Lakes. It is mind boggling to watch a vessel from Italy or Hong Kong chug along in upper Minnesota. Everything from grain to beet pulp to iron ore pellets are loaded for delivery to far flung places.

One particular ship viewing session found my husband and I in a torrential downpour. We were determined to weather the storm and watch the ships but the rain got the best of us. A coffee shop nearby provided the shelter we needed. This was before there was a coffee shop or java kiosk every 50 feet so the experience was purely delightful. We queued up with other dripping wet beings and ordered a hot cup of black, brew-of-the-day, coffee. The windows in the shop gave us peek-a-boo views of the harbor through the pouring rain.

Coffee always tastes good to me but that Caribou cup transcended all other cups for a moment in time. The rich brew permeated our senses with warmth and well being. The disappointment of not being able to fully view the ships was completely negated by two cups of coffee, one cozy corner and unobstructed conversation. Many years later, I still smile when I remember that day.

We hope to return to the big lake some time soon. Hopefully, we can even make the circle tour around the lake, venturing into the foreign land of Canada. Until then, I can enjoy a cup of Caribou coffee on occasion so I am able to experience a lake picture in my head and almost hear the bugle call of the gulls overhead.

Coffee. More than just caffeine.

Signs

The signs of spring present themselves a little differently in the upper plains than locales to our south. Temperature is not an indicator for us. One day we are bathed in sunshine and balminess and the following day our senses are shocked by a frosty nippiness. April showers can be a precursor to sleety, snowy slush. Trees hold back their buds a bit longer as they await a hopeful all-clear in May. And garden planting is risky at best.

There are a few sure fire signs for us and one is road construction. Our season for infrastructure enhancement is short so the orange cones are called into action as soon as possible. My commute has changed considerably as a massive restructuring of a popular roadway has begun. We queue up, bumper to bumper, and funnel our way through the latest passageway. I find myself gripping the steering wheel as I chug-a-chug-a-thunk my vehicle over rutted road shoulders. I feel tense when I am waiting on the bridge over a very swollen river or the bridge over a busy interstate. My game of "Which Bridge Would I Rather Have Plunge Downward" is probably not a good way to pass the time as I wait for a green light.

Our birds are also sending signals that springtime is arriving. The forceful call of a cardinal in the early morning hours is joined by the dee-dee-dee of the chickadees and the nasally yank-yank of nuthatches enjoying a suet snack. Fat-bellied robins are back in town, sharing space with the juncos who are ready to pack their bags for their northern breeding grounds. Bulky mourning doves are slowly arriving from their winter homes down south and red-winged blackbirds are establishing territory along the marshy sloughs. The chorus of morning symphonies is in full swing.

Despite the presence of ground frost, the lure of outdoor living is present. Greenhouses are being assembled in parking lots, nibbling away at precious parking spaces. Seed packets beckon our attention, forcing us to dream of fresh radishes, tomatoes and green beans. Lawnmowers remind us that our dormant turf will soon be demanding our attention. Bright, shiny grills and bags of charcoal are arranged in such a way that we can almost smell the burgers cooking away. Adirondack chairs in all colors conjure up thoughts of quiet evenings bathed in conversation and the glow of a sunset's waning light.

The number one sign of spring for us is rhubarb. Burly little sprouts are beginning their upward journey through the topsoil with little regard to the weather. Their hardy nature gives them bragging rights for being one of the earliest plants of the edible kind. It is a plant that elicits strong opinions from most folks. They either love rhubarb or hate it. Those of us in the love camp are salivating over the pies, cakes and desserts that will be coming our way. I'm not always sure if it is the rhubarb or the heavy doses of sugar added to the rhubarb that snaps us out of our winter coma. Rest assured, it is a pleasant way to greet spring.