Good morning, dear readers. Would you like to join me on a visit to a good friend’s house last Thursday?
Catherine and I planned to travel to Houghton for lunch, recycling, shopping at the co-op. But the wind blew sideways in the Keweenaw, so I offered instead to stop at the Nite Owl cafe and pick up two grilled chicken salads and deliver them to her farmhouse up in the hills of Herman.
She liked the idea.
I paused first next to the Keweenaw Bay and watched Lake Superior freezing.
Snow and sand swirled.
It was 3 degrees (-16 Celsius) and icy-cold.
Up, up, up you drive to Herman, another old Finnish farming settlement.
You drive slowly around curves, creeping, careful. A few years ago I did the Artist’s Way with Catherine and two other friends. One of them rounded a curve too fast and ended up deep in a snow bank.
Lesson learned. Creep around those curves.
I always pause and admire Catherine’s old barn. Old barns in Michigan are falling down as the earth reclaims them. Her barn still looks noble with its rounded roof and remnants of red stain.
Herman always has more snow than L’Anse, because it sits atop a large hill overlooking the surrounding countryside. Telephone towers jut ominously across its peak.
I love Catherine’s house and land. Once, years ago, I did a two or three-day Vision Quest here, sitting on the land, fasting, praying.
It is a sacred place.
Treasures abound within her house. Shall I show you some?
Her back windows overlook an old apple orchard. Some years we’ve baked apple crisp and simmered applesauce with apples from these trees.
We ate our chicken salads, talking, talking. We needed to catch up. It’s been far too long since we got together. Last autumn? Was it last summer? Far too long, anyway.
My eyes kept noticing beauty.
“I have to get my camera,” I said. (It waited patiently in the freezing car.)
When I started snapping photos, I couldn’t quit.
Catherine knows how to tango, can you imagine?
I cannot tango, but I could take photos of dancers.
“Can I take your picture, Catherine?” I asked.
She shook her head.
She was not prepared.
There are photos of her elsewhere in my blog. If you want to click on almost 550 blog entries (oh and go back and look at the 365 entries on Opening the door, Walking Outside) you’ll find her, I am sure.
We finished our lunch. We vowed to get together more often. Honest, we will. We won’t wait six months next time.
Maybe next time we’ll traipse outside in the fields or woods, or maybe hike to the beaver pond.
Remember Friday’s blog? Here is another view of that plant from inside the window. OK, it wasn’t really an impossibility. **grin**
But it was fun to imagine, wasn’t it?