A Field Trip to Frontenac State Park: Tuesday's Reflection

How good it felt to follow a different path.

For most days during the previous two months I drove the same route, a lightly trafficked roadway along Minnehaha Creek, taking me from our home to Dad's apartment. Granted, it was a lovely drive, leading from the end of winter bareness to spring's frilly green, fuchsia, and purple. Some days I detoured down a different side street imagining living in this house or that one, but mainly I was eager to arrive at my destination. 

I no longer make that drive. At least not daily.

It was time for a new view.

A week after my Father died, my husband and I decided we needed a field trip. We packed a picnic lunch and grabbed our masks, our books and some cushions and drove along the Mississippi River to Frontenac State Park. Along the way, we saw eagles in a nest and also soaring above, lifting our spirits. We spotted the white dots of trillium in a wooded area and of course, green, green, green everywhere. Green textured like lace, and green becoming more sure of itself. Flowering trees were showing off as well, just as they have always done in their toddler time, the beginnings of this new season. 

Following posted detour signs we oohed at an old four square brick farmhouse, wondering who had once lived there and who lives there now. The road took us through a valley previously unknown to us, giving us glimpses of everyday life--wash hanging to dry, calves and lambs nestling by their mothers, children playing catch, and everywhere green greening. 

We were hungry by the time we arrived and easily found a picnic table where we could eat and read at a safe distance from other visitors and where we could see the water. The park overlooks Lake Pepin, which is a natural widening of the Mississippi and across the lake is Wisconsin. On top of the bluff there is a natural limestone arch called In-Yan-Teopa, a Dakota name meaning "Rock With Opening."




That's what we were looking for--an opening into the hard places. An opening through our sadness. An opening through the forced isolation caused by the pandemic. An opening into a new way of living, truly living and not just going through the motions. An opening into this next stage of life. 

The sun warmed us. The birds serenaded us. The ground supported us. The trees reminded us of our own creative natures. The water view broadened our limited perspectives. 

And God was everywhere. A rock with opening.

An Invitation
Where do you go now (safely, of course) when you need a lift? An opening? I would love to know. 

Taking Care of Myself: Tuesday's Reflection

When we lived on Sweetwater Farm in Ohio, one of my favorite activities was to get in the car and explore country roads. I drove past Amish farms and waved to children playing softball or to mother's hanging wash on clotheslines. I headed towards the Amish farmstead where a young boy sold me yet another jar of honey, along with vegetables and flowers. 



When we lived in Madison, WI, I followed back roads to  neighboring small towns. One town, Spring Green, is home to one of my favorite bookstores, Arcadia Books, and another, Mt Horeb, has a small cafe with the best quiche ever. Made with real cream, for sure. In the fall I made sharp right or left hand turns when I saw signs saying "Pumpkins For Sale." 


In Ohio we lived in the country ourselves and even though we lived in an urban area in Madison, it didn't take long to be out in the country. As much as I love our life in St Paul, I miss getting in the Jeep and going who knows where. 

One day this summer Bruce and I, along with grandson Peter, went to the Belwin Conservancy near Afton, MN, a surprisingly quick and easy 30 minute drive. We went there to see a herd of buffalo moved to the restored prairie there for a summer residency. I was stunned by the beauty of the area and how quickly we got there. 





I tucked away the thought, "I could come here and walk the trails." 

And that's what I did last week. 


I googled directions, put on my walking shoes, emptied a few essentials from my purse into a backpack, grabbed a bottle of water, and my "Girls on Safari" hat, and off I went. In thirty minutes I was there and on a trail, where I walked for 40 minutes or so and then in another 30 minutes home, congratulating myself for my spontaneity.





And for discovering a way I could meet a need, something I long for--not everyday, but sometimes. 











Bruce and I love to wander together. In fact, the next day we drove down along the Mississippi on the Wisconsin side and then home on the Minnesota side, stopping at Frontenac State Park with its glorious views of the river. But I know I need to give myself those roaming times on my own, too. Not often, but now and then. Now I know where to go. In the winter I will take my snowshoes. 




I felt renewed, restored. Awake. Uncluttered and unmuddled. Grateful and blessed. 

I felt more like myself. 

An Invitation
What landscape calls to your inner self, and how can you give yourself that gift? I would love to know.