The Animals In My Life

If I were given a  chance to be an animal, other than human, that is, I'd like to be something graceful, peaceful, winsome, fleet of foot. Hmmmm. The grace of a gazelle, speed of a cheetah, peaceful as a swan, winsome as a kitten would make me one very odd duck! Which is what I am so why fight the way God made me?

I had very little contact with animals in my childhood. I led a sheltered life, never went camping (I was 55 years old before I spent my first night in a tent), we didn't own lake property, and the puppy I received when I was about twelve was more attached to my dad than she was to me. There was the disgusting Chihuahua that tried to bite me every time Mom and I visited the neighbor. Otherwise our neighborhood was pretty animal free. I have more than a healthy respect for animals, I try not to get too near them at all. Like Marlin Perkins on Animal Kingdom, I prefer to sit in the hidden safety of a blind sipping a cool soda while my buddy Jim tangles with the animals. I'm going to leave pets out of this discussion and save them for another time.

Columbia Heights, Minnesota, in the 1950's was still pretty much rural even though it had aspirations of becoming a city and even though it was attached to Minneapolis by boundaries. Occasionally when friends and I were playing ring games in our yards, a rat would run through the circle of kids scattering us in all directions with screams of terror. This resulted in bringing parents from every opening in every house. Once, a rat came up through our sewer and Dad had to kill it and remove it. Mom said the rats were there because one of our neighbors kept an enormous lumber pile and many of us still had sceptic tanks instead of city sewer. Pretty much we took it in stride.

Bats. Occasionally on a warm summer night, bats would fly and we would watch them with mingled awe and fear. They are fast and really graceful in their whirling and swooping. They were fun to watch, unless one got into your house. Then fun turned to panic as women and children screamed and dived under tables and chairs while the hero of the house, Dad, used broom and unerring aim to knock the bat out of flight and get rid of it. I always wondered why everyone assumed Dad wasn't afraid to do battle with the bat. When I led tours through two historic Minnesota houses once built and owned by Henry Hastings Sibley, a one-time governor of our state, and Faribault, a trapper and trader, bats would always get into the Faribault house. One of the other tour guides would get rid of them. She once asked me if I would hold a paper bag while she swept them off the fireplace into the bag. I thanked her for the rare offer of a good time but refused. She did it alone. While I expected she would take the closed bag outside and beat the bag until the bat was peanut butter, she was merciful. She would let the bat leave the bag to unerringly fly right back down the chimney.

At our friends' cabin one summer a bat decided to join in the fun and frolic of our church-up-north weekend. Jack looked disgusted as all the women and children (me and mine included) ran for the main part of the cabin and shut and locked the sliding glass doors between the porch and the cabin proper. Armed with a badminton racket, Jack swung, pivoted, aimed, swooped, stooped, jumped and pirouetted until . . . until the bat lay stunned and broken on the porch floor. If Jack looked disgusted before, he was thoroughly disgusted now as his wife, Gail, and all female guests now stood with noses to the glass doors looking pitiful and exclaiming "Awwwwwww." I think I know what he would have liked to use the racket on next. I wrote a version of the weekend as a gift to Jack and Gail where I referred to the incident as "Boy with Battledore and Shuttlecock".

The years our family spent a week or two on Lake Vermilion in Northern Minnesota at an island resort, I came to know animals differently than from the pages of the books I read. In my 30's with children to model behavior for and a husband to impress, I could not cope with animals in the wild. Everything in the woods frightened me. The first morning there, I was awakened by a Pterodactyl screech that stopped my heart, caught the breath in my chest, made me grab Dave with an exclamation of, "What on earth was that?" I received a sleepy "What?"   and was left alone to quake in my pajamas. Turned out to be an Eagle but that remains for my dissertation on birds.

On the island, we stayed in one of the nine or ten cabins available, walked through well groomed woods to the beach area, and spent the day chatting with others sharing the resort with us for that period of time. The same families usually reserved cabins for the same time the following year so got to know each other quite well. I would not leave the cabin and go to the beach or return from the beach to the cabin without escort. Dave was tolerant of this for the first year, but it began to wear thin by the start of the second week the following year. He reached his limit and put his foot down. If I was not ready to leave when he and the kids were ready to leave, I could get myself to the beach (or back to the cabin). The first day, I missed the departure time and spent the morning at the cabin but I was ready for the after lunch jaunt to the beach. The lodge had a bathroom we could use so no problem until it was time to make dinner.

The island was too over-run with people to attract much wildlife but the occasional raccoon, lots of birds, and millions upon millions of ground squirrels and squirrels. There was always something of fearful imagining rustling in the underbrush. My first venture to leave the cabin on my own resulted in a ground squirrel blocking my path and challenging my right to pass. I gave in and returned to the safety of the cabin. Those cheeky little critters blocked my every attempt for the better part of two days. A snake nearly had me apoplectic! Desperate to be more like other visitors who roamed the island freely, I lost my temper and barked at a squirrel. Yes, I did say I barked! It worked. I continued to the beach.

Dave was so proud of me! Our children thought I had mastered fear. No, mastering fear is like the day I sat with a butterfly perched on my eyelashes for what felt like an eternity. I was trying to prove to Helen who was deathly afraid of butterflies that there was nothing to fear. Barking my way to and from the cabin for the rest of that stay and the the beginning of the next year's stay was not mastering my fears. When I could no longer bear Dave's pride in my accomplishment, I confessed my strategy. He doesn't belly laugh often; his humor is shown more with a chuckle or smile. I have to say being married to me has given him some real belly laughs!

I am fascinated with huge animals but I have never asked to be introduced to one. Whales live in the ocean, which is water, which is not something I feel a real affinity for. While I loved the Beluga that lived at the Minnesota Zoo for a time, and am impressed by reading about Orca, I stop at wanting to rub the tongue of one or having one rise out of the water to frighten me witless (don't you dare say it wouldn't take much of a fright!) Helen gave me a gift for my birthday one year. She adopted a Hump Back Whale named Othello. For a whole year I received records of sightings, informational material on Hump Back Whales, and a picture of him breaching.

On one trip to Virginia, Dave and Helen actually convinced me to get on one of the whale excursion boats, go away from dry land, and look for whales. We saw one Fin Whale that day, experienced some rough water, and saw a Russian vessel that made our boat seem like a kayak. I'm glad I did it (or rather that they made me do it).

Bears. Some of the visitors at the Island would go to the mainland at dusk to watch the bears at the local dump. I am sorry if you have found this sport but I have had no interest. I know bears live in the woods. I have still never desired to see one up close and personal. That's why my berry story shows what can induce real courage in me.

I love raspberries. I would take on Goliath if he was carrying a pail of raspberries! Raspberries could be picked on the mainland across from the resort. Armed with buckets, dressed for a prolonged stay in the woods, I actually ventured into the mainland woods to pick berries. Dave was stoic as he observed my berry picking costume: boots for sure walking and protection against sharp objects; long pants tucked into boots for protection from bugs and thorny things; a long sleeved shirt tucked into long pants for protection from bugs, thorny things, and creepy crawlies; gloves to guard against scratches; a hat for protection from the sun and flying things that might get in my hair. At the boat, I donned the last necessary item, my PFD (personal floatation device for the edification of those non-nautical).

At the dock site on the mainland, I refused to leave the PFD in the boat. Should we encounter a bear (said creatures also like raspberries), I didn't want to have to take time to put on my PFD before flinging myself into the boat to escape. The temperature that day was probably close to 80 degrees. I didn't care. We found the berries. Not at all like going to a berry farm where the terrain is level and the bushes grow in neat rows. My boots for sure footing were faulty. I fell over every root, hole, gully, tangled grass, and ravine that was out there. Sometimes I would be talking to Dave and disappear from sight with a loud ooomph and then reappear again just to repeat the process. No matter how many times I fell, I didn't lose a single berry from my bucket. I was hot, itchy, and getting very tired, but we filled both buckets before I would leave. We spotted not a single bear. We had berries for many meals after that. Eventually my scratches and bruises healed.

Several nights later, the owner of the resort was away for dinner with friends, all the men and older boys were out fishing, so women and younger children were at the lodge visiting and there was a stillness to the water that was breathtaking. Twilight was not far off and some of the kids were enjoying splashes in shallow water even though moms had said swimming was done for the day. Our kids were probably eight and twelve at this time. A boat roared in to the dock and a man told us to let our host know a bear was headed to our island on the back side indicating she was coming from my berry patch. We told him no one was around. He yelled to round up the kids and go inside and then he sped away.

Here's where no sense is made for the way I think. Two of the women Dorothy and Rosalie had gone to their cabin to get sweaters. They were on the back side of the island. While others said something should be done to warn them Judy the Mouse became Judy the Bear Stalker and said she would go alert the sisters to stay in the cabin. I gave our children into the care of the good doctor's wife and told them to listen to her and go inside the lodge or her cabin when she decided it was time. The teens that were there were excited to see the bear and their mothers told them it would be okay to watch for it as long as they stayed on the paths close to the lodge and did not run.

I headed down the path to Dorothy's cabin. I could hear the teens chattering excitedly and then I heard them running through the underbrush (where the dread ground squirrels run). I spun and shook my finger and said sternly, "You were told to . . . stay . . . on . . . the . . ." Oh! Goodness and Mercy, oh my! About 20 feet away, the bear was looking at me with head tipped to the side wondering why she had to stay on the path. I was looking at her with head tipped to the side wondering what I was supposed to do now. I turned, and slowly headed toward Dorothy's cabin just now coming into sight. Playing in my mind was how pretty the wet coat of the bear had been glinting in the sunlight. I knocked at the door. All of this was in slow motion. Dorothy answered the door.

"I came to tell you to stay in your cabin because there's a bear on the island and it is right back there and I would like to come in, please." Dorothy could see the bear and before I could finish my sentence she grabbed my wrist and pulled me in and shut the door. She asked why I knocked and didn't just come in. The only explanation I could give was that my mother always told me to knock before entering the home of someone else. There was the strong reluctance to go against the teaching of my mother; it won out over fear of the bear. For years, others had told stories of the bears on the island rummaging through garbage cans at night, tossing around soiled diapers from those cans, or scratching their backs against the corners of cabins. They said it would be many more years before people would  tire of hearing about me talking to the bear.

Another visit to Jack and Gail's cabin, Dave and I had been given the keys and told to go there and relax after a particularly hard period in our lives. We went up early in the week and they were to join us for the following weekend. They were wonderful people who cared about us and gifted us not only with their mentoring but real friendship and caring for many years. Upon arrival, we opened the cabin, turned on water, etc. and settled in. Dave napped. I insisted there was a bear nearby. Dave argued. The next day, I mentioned again I was sure I heard a bear. You see, when you have stopped to chat with a bear in the woods, there are certain things that stay with you. There is the heavy sound of a very large foot pad striking grass covered earth. There is also an odd breathing pattern that is a sort of huffing-snorting-snuffling sound. Dave told me I was letting my imagination run away with me.

The following afternoon during another nap for Dave, I was sitting on the porch. From the lake I watched a mother bear and two cubs stroll up the hill toward the cabin, shuffle past the porch door and aim for the driveway toward the road. I woke Dave. Imagination my size eight foot! Had he spent time teaching a bear the etiquette of staying on the path? Not he! Had he shaken a finger in the face of a creature the size of a hundred-gallon drum? Not he! For the rest of the week, trips to the outhouse were taken with a gun at the ready. A sow and her cubs are not to be played with.

Wolves. In Ely Helen and I heard wolves. Talk about a sound that does not start by vibrating your ear drums. You feel it first. The low tones cause the hairs on the back of your neck to move and tickle, then it crescendos and you  hear it rise and fall and it comes from far and near to thrill and delight. At the International Wolf Center, you can handle a wolf pelt, hold a leg bone, look at the size of the foot, and watch them feed the partially tame wolves kept there. I have not gone with any of the excursions to howl with the wolves at night, but I can imagine that would be wonderful. Once you have heard one, you won't forget.

We spotted a wolf carcass on the side of the road once. We saw another one that was so fleetingly in sight we were never quite sure what we saw. It was standing on the side of the highway, then it wasn't there. We've gone up the Gunflint Trail and watched carefully for wolves (and moose) but never caught one in the wild. The only moose we've ever seen was in Wisconsin. Dave is convinced they have all left Minnesota and headed to cheese country. One shouldn't really expect to see a wolf in the wild, they are wary, shy creatures. You have to live in their territory and know what you are looking for to see them.

I woke Dave one night insisting I had been awakened several nights in a row by wolves howling. I know we have fox and coyotes in the near Metro area, but this was the deeper, larger howl of a wolf. The Hugo Nature Center has Red Wolves so if the wind was just right that would perhaps explain it. However, even closer to us is the old arsenal now part nature preserve, and protected bog area. It seems a pair of wolves had gotten in there. We later learned the pups were captured and taken to Ely to grow but the parents had to be euthanized. I knew I had heard wolves! In that same general area, Marc was driving to work one morning and spotted a bear in a tree (that would be about 2 miles from our home). I personally think she was coming to visit in my territory since I had been so friendly in hers years before. My family ignore me on this point.

In 2011 in February, we were spending a weekend at Naniboujou Lodge just above Grand Marais, Minnesota. It was the last morning of our stay. We had breakfasted and were all packed to leave, but decided that we would rest in the solarium for a bit before loading the car and leaving. I was knitting and Dave was reading. I heard him say, "I think I just saw a wolf!" I looked up and he said, "I do see a wolf!" I went to the window because I couldn't see anything. There, coming from Lake Superior toward the road were three wolves walking in single file. The leader was walking with purpose, head up, nostrils catching scents on the wind. The middle one was more nervous, keeping a wary watch toward the lodge. The third came along, paused for a moment and turned directly toward the window where we were standing. Magnificent! Beautifully made creatures, close to us, allowing us time to watch them. Dave was quick enough to take a picture which we hope to have framed soon.

We excitedly shared our picture and our story with the others who were still there. One of the people who works at the lodge told us there is a pack of about twenty wolves in the area and some had been seen them herd a deer toward the lake then close in on it. She said it was unusual for them to be in the open at that late time in the morning. I know God was giving us a gift as He has so many times with other views of nature.

We packed our car and then decided to brave the deep snow to go see the tracks where they had walked. We laughed at two people our age wading mid shin to knee high in snow to see wolf tracks. While Dave took pictures, I spread my hand as wide as I could and held it just above a track. The print was larger than my hand. We marveled at the size. Then we noticed something else. They not only had walked in single file, each one had stepped in the print of the one before it. How does one express the sensation of a discovery like that? I'm wordy (in case you haven't noticed) and I haven't found the words yet. We walked down to the lake and looked around but found no kill nor more tracks. It was quite a way down the road before we considered we had seen three wolves, and while we were examining the trail, we had no clue where the other seventeen wolves might have been. God watches over little children and fools!

I would never make a good hunter. Marc hunts deer. While I have no desire to kill something when I have plenty to eat, I am not offended that hunting is a sport. Marc has his doe from opening day this year. I will enjoy the venison he shares and Dave and I have paid for another permit so that if he gets another deer, he has the fun and we have the venison. Stew perhaps? We will share with Helen and Kevin as Kevin enjoys a good meal of venison. Where does Marc hunt? Up north at the cabin owned by Jack and Gail with their sons and grandsons. I would never make a good naturalist either. I don't like being chewed by bugs, scratched by odd assortments of sharp twigs and thorns, nor intimidated by ground squirrels. However, when God gives me opportunity to see nature up close in startling ways, I am smart enough to be grateful for the gift! These are not random coincidences of fate. They are a gift to me, to those who might be with me at the time, and to you because I like to write about them.