This past Sunday Margie and I wandered through five acres of
woods with our good friend, Joe Schwen, organic farmer extraordinaire. The woods belong to a neighbor of his, a place
where he has harvested wood for their furnace to warm their home through the
long Minnesota winter. It was a delightful day, fluffy clouds scattered across
a blue sky, with bright sunshine and about 65 degrees. The reason spring is so
delightful this far north.
Spring is a bit late here this year. We had a big snow (over
a foot) in May, and plenty of cloudy, chilly, rainy days since then, keeping
farmers, including Joe, out of their fields since they’ve been too wet for
planting. The weather has also meant that everything is rather lush with lawns
growing well and lots of underbrush in woods.
We were looking for morels. If you have never tried them,
you are missing one of the great delights of life. Though they look
weird—actually they look appalling, but let’s not go there—they are tender,
light, with a delicate flavor that is hard to describe. They are precious, so
we have them rarely, though we often stop and look longingly at them at
Farmer’s Market where they are usually priced at $28-$35/pound.
Because of their delicate flavor Margie usually makes them
simply, dipping them in a light batter and frying them gently in butter. I have
not been fond of mushrooms, finding them a bit slimy and earthy-tasting, though
I’ve grown to appreciate them. But I’ve loved morels from the first taste.
Margie often when hunting for morels as a child with her
mother, as she tells in The Exact Place,
and Joe often finds enough to sell at the Market, so I was in good company.
I’ve only found morels in the wild once, while fishing for trout along a stream
near Preston, MN. I wasn’t hunting for them, and the trout were not biting, so
I told Joe that if my record held we simply be enjoying a lovely walk on a
Sunday afternoon.
My main task was to try to not get too lost, which I failed
to accomplish. I expected to get lost, since I am so directionally challenged
that I use my car GPS to get around to some places here in Rochester, where I
have lived since 1981. After wandering for a while I texted Margie and told her
I was lost. She texted back that I should look at the sun and go towards 2
o’clock which was the direction of the road at the edge of the woods. The sun
was directly overhead.
Soon after entering the woods I watched Margie and Joe
disappear confidently into the greenery. At that moment I realized that hunting for morels was not what I was
doing. I was wandering aimlessly
around, and any morels I happened upon would be entirely providential. As
providence had it, I happened upon none.
As you can see, I found lots of mushrooms, however, and found each variety
lovely. They seemed to be lurking quietly in the underbrush, surprising in
their uniqueness, always living amidst decay. As if to say that somehow the
process of death ending life would not be allowed to be the final word.
There were also little flowers, often spreading out into
lush carpets and I hesitated to walk through them because I would step on the
some of the plants.
Some flowers seemed to float along the top of leaves, as if
in a subtle, quiet ballet that was in tune with its own music.
And there were Jack-in-the Pulpits, appearing in little
glades between stands of trees and growths wild raspberries whose thorns pulled
at my pants as I pushed past them.
The afternoon was a complete success. I got found,
eventually, or more precisely, found myself out of the woods to the road. I
loved the quiet, listening to birdcalls, the lush green growth, and the
numerous mushrooms peeking up out of the leaf and wood litter. A lovely Sabbath
rest.
Oh, yes: morels. Margie found a few, and Joe discovered a
thick stand of them as he walked back to the car. That too, was a success.
1. It’s where my beloved Margie was born and raised.
2. Jesse Ventura.
3. Prairie Home Companion, where Garrison Keillor, one of America’s best storytellers, brings the grace of humor, faith, and hope each week on NPR.
4. The University of Minnesota, where I met my beloved.
5. Each spring, enjoying a piece of homemade fresh strawberry rhubarb pie, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
6. The thistle feeder hanging in the pine tree outside my office window in Toad Hall where gold finches gather each day to squabble and feed.
7. Firebrick Ale brewed at Schell Brewery, New Ulm, MN.
8. Brilliant fall colors on the trees—maple, birch, oak, mountain ash, poplar—reflected in the water of the Mississippi River.
9. Winter snowstorms after which people cross-country ski down the middle of city streets.
10. Northern lights.
11. Each autumn, enjoying a dish of homemade apple crisp, with a dollop of freshly whipped sweet cream.
12. Seeing “The Christmas Carol” performed at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis.
13. Bitterly cold evenings in winter when we light candles, brew Jasmine tea, turn on music, and read in the living room.
14. Being ordained a ruling elder in the Presbyterian Church in America.
15. Having the Minnesota Twins win the World Series without having fans riot. One sign was broken, true, when a fan head-butted it, but that’s about it. When a journalist asked the police chief why things were different than other large cities after winning the Series, he said simply, “Well, this is Minnesota.”
16. Winter nights so cold that the hot water circulating through the radiators in Toad Hall occasionally makes snapping sounds in the pipes.
17. Kirby Puckett.
18. The succession of Rochester L’Abri Fellowship Workers—Lloyd & Libby Davies, Ann Brown Ingraham, Greg & MaryJane Grooms, and Larry & Nancy Snyder—who have been dear friends, kindred spirits, and partners in the gospel.
19. Fishing with Greg Grooms in the lovely trout stream just outside Chatfield, MN.
20. Hearing Greg Brown perform live at Oak Center.
21. Toad Hall.
22. Family farms where we’re able to get to know the people who raise the organic, free range chickens, turkeys, beef, and pork which grace our table and fill our freezer.
23. Resting, hiking, and reading at a cabin on the north shore of Lake Superior.
24. Watching the lights of ore boats creep across the horizon at night from the cabin on Lake Superior.
25. The Boundary Waters Canoe Area.
26. Every Christmas is white.
27. It’s where I proposed to my beloved—and wonder of wonders, she said yes.
28. The rich black soil of southern MN farmland.
29. Three months spent studying with Francis Schaeffer in 1981 in Rochester.
30. Taking Community Ed classes with Margie to learn to waltz in preparation of my oldest daughter’s wedding reception.
31. Hearing wolves howl in the woods around our tents while camping as a family on a remote island in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.
32. The gently rolling farmland—pasture land and fields of corn, soybeans, wheat, alfalfa, oats, barley—which stretches out as far as the eye can see.
33. Deer hunting on the Canadian border with my son.
34. Smoked Lake Superior whitefish from Russ Kendall’s Smokehouse on Scenic Highway 61 in Knife River, MN eaten with a dab of cream cheese on a cracker.
35. The wedding of my youngest daughter held in the home of a friend, the room transformed by flowers, candles, and friends.
36. The screened-in Toad Hall back porch.
37. Our Toad Hall back yard, enclosed by hedges, complete with flowers, bird feeders, and birdbath.
38. Bob Dylan’s birthplace.
39. Fireflies punctuating the dark with flashes on summer evenings.
40. The purple house finches who nest each year in the hanging plants on Toad Hall’s front porch.
41. Award winning maple syrup purchased from Wild Country Maple Syrup deep in the Superior National Forest outside Lutsen, MN.
42. Stopping to watch a huge bull moose look at us, and then slowly move through the brush as we drive out of Wild Country Maple Syrup.
43. Driving through the countryside so we can watch the changing seasons in the annual cycle of farming (plowed soil, growing crops, harvest, and the winter rest under frost and snow).
44. Football fans (Minnesota Vikings) are guaranteed to learn humility.
45. Freshly fallen snow glistening like a myriad diamonds in bright sunlight.
46. Pipestone National Monument with all its rich cultural, historical, and spiritual importance for Native American peoples.
47. Living in Toad Hall for long enough (since 1981) that I finally know what it meant to have roots.
48. Being from a part of the country where the Scandinavian heritage means that “Could have been worse,” or “Not too bad” are considered compliments.
49. Ransom Fellowship.
50. Having enough snow some winters years ago that our children could build a snow ramp from the tip of the garage roof down into the back yard.
51. Each spring civil defense sirens warn of possible tornados so we can dash out onto the front porch with a camera.
52. It’s the place where my beloved and I have grown older, hopefully wiser, becoming closer, dearer friends.