Looking up toward flowering branches and the bold blue sky of spring. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
SPRING IN SOUTHERN MINNESOTA looks a lot like colors in a new box of crayons. Sharp. Bold. Vibrant. Vivid green grass. Bold blue sky. Hot pink tree blossoms. Spring flowers bursting bright reds and yellows. These are the hues of spring.
Color everywhere… (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
The landscape is a page upon which nature colors over gray. The world explodes in color, a welcome visual delight to winter weary eyes.
Growing goslings explore the river bank. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
I can’t get enough of this, even after more than sixty years of observing the seasonal transformation during April into May. It never gets old—this morphing of the seasons. How beautiful this world around us, teeming with new growth, new life.
Goose and goslings aside ducks along river’s edge. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Every spring I await the goslings and ducklings. They are pure fluffy cuteness. I admire from afar, keenly aware of their protective parents. I dodge goose poop, not always successfully, to get within viewing range. But I respect their space.
Beautiful scene: a mallard drake swimming on the river. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
I find myself mesmerized by waterfowl as they forage for food along the shoreline or glide through the river, water rippling a trail. Reflections trace tranquility upon the water’s surface. All is quiet and good in that peaceful scene.
A squirrel, nearly camouflaged by a tree. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
But not all is still. On land, squirrels scamper up trees, root in the ground. I never tire of their antics, amazed by their acrobatic skills, their Olympian abilities to leap with precision, climb with speed. They are really quite amazing even if sometimes a nuisance when digging up lawns and in flower pots.
A squirrel peeks over a limb on a leafing tree. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
There’s so much to appreciate in this season not only visually, but in sound, too. Chirping birds, especially raucous this time of year. Trill of peepers in ponds and wetlands. Rustle of a rabbit across dried leaves. Call of a rooster pheasant in flight. Whisper of the wind through leafing treetops.
And then the scent, oh, the distinct, earthy smell of spring. Soil. Rain. Flowers. I dip my nose into apple blossoms, their fragrance a reminder of apples to come, of apple crisp pulled from the oven, of pies baked in Grandma’s kitchen.
Lilacs are budding and flowering. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
But it is lilacs which, for me, hold the strongest scent of spring. Perhaps because of the memories connected to this flowering bush. I remember bouquets of lilacs filling my childhood farmhouse, their heavy perfume masking the odor of cow manure. The lilacs came from my bachelor uncle’s nearby farm. Mike would bring bouquets to his sister-in-law. Or my mom would drive the washboard gravel roads to pick her own. Today, my husband brings me bouquets of lilacs each May, understanding the memories and love these blossoms represent.
Bleeding hearts, one of the first flowers of spring. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
This is spring in Minnesota to me. All of it. Bold. Beautiful. Bright. Me, feeling like a kid giddy with joy over a box of new crayons.
Green is slowly tipping trees, coloring the ground as we bridge into spring. This hillside scene was photographed in Falls Creek County Park, rural Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
THIS TIME OF YEAR in Minnesota—this early spring—everything appears more vibrant. At least to my winter weary eyes. My eyes, which have viewed mostly muted shades of brown and gray for too many months, can’t get enough of this landscape edging with color.
Bold blue skies blanket River Bend’s prairie, which will soon be lush with new growth. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Intense green in buds and lush lawns, thriving with recent rains and then sunshine and warming day-time temps, layer the landscape. Sometimes the sky is such a bold blue that my eyes ache with the beauty of it all. Green against blue, the natural world a poem, a painting, a creative story.
Buds emerge against the backdrop of the creek at Falls Creek County Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Like most Minnesotans, I find myself emerging, getting outdoors more, immersing myself in nature. Not that I don’t spend time outside in winter. But now, in late April, I’m out more often.
The Straight River twists through River Bend Nature Center, winding through Faribault to connect with the Cannon River. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Parks and trails and the local nature center draw me into woods, along prairie, aside replenished wetlands and ponds, by rivers and creeks. Even a walk through a neighborhood to observe tulips flashing vivid red and yellow pleases me. There’s so much to take in, to delight in as this season unfolds.
Inspirational signs are scattered throughout River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
“One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,” reads a quote from William Shakespeare printed on a memorial plaque placed on a bench at River Bend Nature Center in Faribault. I’m no Shakespearean scholar, but I interpret that to mean nature connects us.
Turtles galore lined logs at River Bend’s Turtle Pond on a recent sunny afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
That happened recently at the Turtle Pond. I paused to photograph three turtles lining a log, still as statues in the afternoon sunshine. Then a passing friend noticed and asked what I saw. And then he pulled out his cellphone to photograph. And then the photographer who was shooting senior photos on the boardwalk bridge over the pond, noticed the turtles, too. We were, in that moment, kin in nature, touched by the countless turtles perched on logs in the water.
This bridge spans a creek in Falls Creek County Park, leading to hiking trails in the woods on one end and an open grassy area on the other. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Nature also connected me with others at Falls Creek County Park, rural Faribault. A family picnicking by the park shelter prompted memories of long ago picnics there with my growing family. I walked over to tell the young parents how happy I was to see them outdoors, grilling, enjoying the beautiful spring day with Ezra in his Spider-Man costume and Millie in her stroller. Nature makes us kin.
Wildflowers are blooming, including these at Falls Creek County Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
People simply seem nicer, kinder, more open to conversation when they’re outdoors. It’s as if the wind whispers only good words into our thoughts. It’s as if clouds disperse to reveal only sunny skies. It’s as if sounds are only those of silence or of birds, not of anger and hostility. Nature calms with her voice, her presence.
Water mesmerizes as it flows over stones in a clear-running creek at Falls Creek County Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
I love to stand aside a burbling creek, to hear water rushing over rocks. In that moment, I hear only the soothing, steady rhythm of music and none of the noise of life. Peace, sweet peace, consumes me.
Trails at Falls Creek County Park are packed dirt, narrow, rugged, uneven and sometimes blocked by fallen trees. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
The same goes for walking within nature. Trees embrace me. Wildflowers show me beauty. Dirt beneath my soles connects me to the earth, filling my soul.
On a recent afternoon at River Bend, geese searched the prairie for food. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
And then there are the creatures. The Canadian geese wandering the prairie, searching for food, their long necks bending, pilfering the dried grass while I dodge the droppings they’ve left along the pathway. They are fearless, a lesson for me in standing strong.
Deer at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Deer gather, then high-tail away when they grow weary of me watching them. They’ve had enough, even if I haven’t.
A nesting mallard hen and drake, nearly camouflaged on a wetland pond at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
And at the pond, mallards nest. Unmoving. Determined. Heads folded into feathers. Settled there among dried stalks, water bold blue, reflecting the sky. Spring peepers sing a symphony of spring. It is a scene, a performance that holds me.
Rustic signage, which I love, marks landmarks and trails inside River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)
Shakespeare was right. “One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.”
In April 2018, this robin huddled in the snow. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2018)
THIS TIME OF YEAR, birds sound louder, their voices amplified. Birds are marking territories, seeking mates. Or perhaps they are announcing their return to Minnesota or their survival of winter, even the mild one of 2023-2024.
A cardinal. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2019)
Cardinals trill. Red-winged blackbirds and robins sing in their distinguishable voices, which I can’t quite describe. But I know them when I hear them.
Red-winged blackbird among dried cattails in a pond. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2017)
When I step out my backdoor to hang laundry on the clothesline, I hear the morning birdsong, even above the drone of traffic along my busy street. When I walk at the local nature center, I hear birdsong rising from the woods, the marshes, the prairie. To hear birds singing is to hear the refrain of spring.
From the pages of a children’s picture book… Birds announce spring’s arrival in Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2019)
It’s lovely and uplifting and hopeful. And in many ways remarkable. Here are these small feathered creatures singing spring songs that captivate us with their boldness, their melody.
Soon the grass will be lush and long, like a carpet for robins and other birds. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Each spring, without fail, I find myself listening intently to birdsong as if the song is a new release. In a way, it is. A release from winter’s grip. A release to days that are warmer and greener and teeming with life. Those are the signs, the hopes, of spring in Minnesota.
Leaping across a path near the parking lot at River Bend Nature Center in 2013. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2013)
THEY LEAPT LIKE BALLERINAS across the dirt trail, white tutu tails flashing.
They were a herd of 11 deer sighted recently at Faribault’s River Bend Nature Center. I stood on Raccoon Trail aside Randy simply watching. One after the other they leapt with such grace, such practiced precision.
I photographed these deer at River Bend in April 2022, not far from where we sighted 16 deer on March 13. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)
Only moments earlier, as we hiked down Arbor Trail on the nature center’s northeast side, Randy touched my arm, motioning me to stop. There, ahead of us, across the intersecting dirt path, several deer lingered in lowland grasses. I didn’t initially see them, my distance vision not all that acute. But eventually I spotted the camouflaged deer.
Rustic signs mark trails at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2017)
And then we saw more in the distance, nearer the Prairie Loop. There, barely visible behind trees.
A sense of wonderment, of awe, of just wanting to take in the scene before me overtook my spirit. Such moments in nature deserve full attention. We watched while two men walked right past us, unaware of the nearby deer so engaged were they in conversation.
We waited, whisper-quiet. Watching. Then the deer moved, ambling along the edge of tall dried grasses, staying parallel to the trail. Soon more deer emerged from a stand of trees and trailed the first traveling troupe. It was a sight, the endless stream of deer moving east.
Our attention turned that direction, toward the deer, one by one, long-leaping over Raccoon Trail, into the woods, up the hill, toward the prairie. We started counting. One, two, three…all the way to eleven. Only when the last deer exited the stage did we dare move, so mesmerized were we by the performance.
Inspirational quotes like this are spread throughout River Bend. I especially love this one. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2019)
Randy and I resumed our hike, following Raccoon Trail until the biting wind of the March evening prompted us to turn back. By that time we were talking again or walking in comfortable silence. I wished aloud that I had my 35 mm camera with me. I’ve never been this near so many deer at River Bend. Eleven. But perhaps it was better I was without my camera so I could focus on the moment rather than on focusing and framing images.
Camouflaged deer among the prairie grasses of River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)
Then, back at the intersection of Raccoon and Arbor Trails, Randy alerted me to more deer. Five this time. Standing statute still, without stage fright. Watching us. Us watching them in a stare-down. I wondered which of us would move first. Wildlife or human.
This sign posted in a kiosk along Raccoon Trail reminds visitors that deer and other wildlife, are just that, wildlife. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
I ooohed over the cute babies, last year’s fawns. Even if deer are dreadful when darting onto roadways and unwanted when dining on garden flowers and vegetables, I appreciate them in their natural habitat. This is their home, their stage, this land of tall grasses and woods. Here they walk with elegance. Here they leap with the grace of seasoned ballet dancers. Here they give me pause to stop, to listen to the trill of red-winged blackbirds as we watch each other—deer and human—in the fading light of a March evening at River Bend.
Deer photographed at River Bend Nature Center, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2022)
MANY MINNESOTANS hold a love-hate relationship with deer. We love watching them in the wild. But when they devour our flowers and other plants, then deer are not quite so cute. Or, if they dash onto a roadway, slamming into our vehicles (or perhaps us into them), then the hate factor amps up considerably.
Leaping across a path near the nature center parking lot. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2013)
And then there are the deer hunters, including many in my extended family. While I’ve never asked why they hunt, for some it’s a food source, others tradition, a challenge, a sport, camaraderie and the joy of time spent in the woods, fields and prairie.
Spotted on a back country road near Mazeppa. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2022)
Right now is prime deer hunting season in Minnesota with the recent firearms deer hunting opener. It’s a big deal with even our governor donning his blaze orange attire. The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources regulates hunting with detailed rules for firearms, muzzleloader and archery hunts plus a whole lot of other specifics for ages and regions. Way too complicated for me. But then I don’t need to understand given I don’t hunt.
A hunter in bright orange roamed fields during the opening weekend of deer hunting in Minnesota in 2018. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2018)
But I do need to be aware. I prefer not to go on leisurely country drives during firearms hunting. Bullets can travel a long way. While I know most hunters are careful, not all are. Being sure of your target before firing is a basic rule of hunting. Even I, a non-hunter, understand that.
Spotted along a trail at River Bend while hiking on Sunday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
I also understand the need to heed warning signs like the one I spotted while hiking at River Bend Nature Center late Sunday morning. The nature center will be closed Thursday, November 9, through Sunday, November 12, for an archery management hunt. It’s a necessary event to manage the deer population. Coyotes do some of that, but clearly not enough.
The muted autumn landscape at River Bend, the path leading back to the woods or onto the prairie. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
I appreciate River Bend for its diverse landscape of woods, prairie, wetlands and river. To walk the trails within is to connect with nature, to feel peace, to experience a sense of awe and wonder at the intricacies and beauties of the natural world.
One of my favorites at River Bend, grass that stretches 10 feet and bends poetically in the wind. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo November 2023)
Here sky meets prairie. Here woods shelter. Here river twists. Here milkweeds flourish and grasses stretch and snakes slither. And here deer roam, too, in this land that is more theirs than ours. Yet, we claim it also.
Deer nearly camouflaged in the dried grasses at River Bend. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2022)
And even though I intellectually recognize the need for an archery management hunt, part of me wants to shout a warning: “Run, deer, run!”
Individual leaves, like this maple, are works of art. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
TEMPS DIPPING INTO THE LOW 20s definitely feel more like winter than autumn here in southern Minnesota. I pulled on my parka, stocking cap and mittens earlier this week for my morning walk.
A still colorful treeline behind Pollard Hall. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
But the weekend, oh, the weekend, even if only in the 30s, was a wonderful one for final fall walks. I wanted one last glimpse of the foliage. Leaves have dropped from many trees, but some remain, like stubborn, defiant kids refusing to leave the playground.
A solitary oak set against the backdrop of Noyes Hall is simply stunning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
Per our usual weekend walking route, Randy and I headed to the campus of the Minnesota State Academy for the Deaf on Faribault’s east side. I love walking here. It’s quiet, secluded and just plain achingly beautiful. From aged limestone buildings to green space to a wooded area behind the buildings, there’s much to appreciate. Nature and old architecture always appeal to me as does a safe, unimpeded place to walk.
The woods I was drawn to explore. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
Typically we stick to following sidewalks or crossing parking lots. But this time we diverged into the wooded area behind Pollard Hall, a boarded up building and the HVAC and maintenance headquarters. I’d previously seen people with their dogs tracking across the grass near woods’ edge. But we’d never detoured to explore, mostly because in the summer and early autumn the woods appear a dense forest. Now with most leaves fallen, the space opened up, drawing me in.
We followed a leaf-strewn, narrow dirt path for a ways into the woods. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
Since I’m directionally challenged in a town that is not prairie grid straight, I wondered what lay beyond the woods, below the bluff. After a bit of crunching over leaves, dodging branches and skirting trees, I saw the answer. Below lay the river and train tracks and Straight River Apartments next to Fleckenstein Bluffs Park. Finally, I understood my geographical placement.
Woods, hills, fallen leaves and creek bed meld behind MSAD. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
Mostly I took in the topography of hills bumping into each other, a dry creekbed twisting between. Yellow leaves covered the hillsides as thick as shag carpeting, but much lovelier.
Oak leaves blanket the lawn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
Once out of the woods, Randy alerted me to two deer near the HVAC building. A third had already run away upon spotting us. But the other two stood still as statues, fully aware of our presence. We mimicked them, opting to stand quietly and appreciate their unexpected appearance. As much as I dislike deer along roadways, I find them endearing in any other location. Finally the pair decided they’d had enough of this stare off. They white-tailed it across the grass, disappearing over a hill.
Sometimes you have to look up, directly up, to see the beauty, like this oak tree. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo October 2023)
And so we continued on, me pulling out my cellphone once again to snap photos of the remaining colorful trees. My mind understands that soon this landscape will be devoid of color, transformed to the black-and-white of winter. But on this weekend, I pushed those thoughts mostly aside, focusing instead on autumn’s lingering beauty.
The river bottom revealed, weeds and flowers growing where once water flowed in the Straight River at Faribault’s Teepee Tonka Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
CAUTIOUSLY I SIDLED down the silty river bank, hand clasping Randy’s to steady myself. “This isn’t one of the smartest things we’ve done recently,” I said. I held no desire to slip on the unstable ground, to tumble and break a bone. I’ve twice done that. The doctor who recently diagnosed me with osteopenia likely would remind me of my bone density scan results and of my age, which is much closer to 70 than sixty.
But risk outweighed fear. I wanted to reach the dry river bottom, to stand upon the rocky bed, soles touching a place where water once flowed strong and steady.
In this summer of abnormally high temps and little rainfall, the water level in the Straight River, like so many other waterways in Minnesota, is low. The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, which monitors river depths, terms the level of the Straight near Faribault as “scrapable.” Defined, that’s “so low that paddlers may have to get out of their watercraft to avoid rocks.” At the Straight River West Bridge Street location in Owatonna, the river level measures only slightly better at “low.” The Cannon River, into which the Straight flows, rates as “scrapable” in Morristown, near Faribault, in Northfield and in Welch.
The effects of the ongoing statewide drought are evident. My county of Rice, like 39 percent of Minnesota, is in a severe drought. And much of southeastern Minnesota, including more than half of Steele County to the south through which the Straight River twists and turns, is in an extreme drought.
Stagnant water ponds near the bridge leading into Teepee Tonka Park with the viaduct in the distance. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
It’s no wonder that on this afternoon in mid-September, I can walk upon a rocky river bottom where water once flowed, even flooded this spring into Teepee Tonka Park near Faribault’s historic viaduct. Earlier this summer, a Faribault teen discovered a cephalopod fossil in an area of a local river typically under water. He refused to identify the specific waterway, but I guessed, perhaps incorrectly, that it was the Straight.
A fossil along a trail near the Straight River overlook in Faribault’s River Bend Nature Center, which connects to Teepee Tonka Park. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
That fossil discovery was also part of my reason for descending the river bank near the east-side Faribault park entrance. I had great uncles who were rock hounds, inspiring in me a childhood fascination with agates and shells and interesting finds revealed only at ground level. That’s carried through into adulthood.
Wildflowers bend toward the narrowed river of exposed river bottom and rocks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
But on this day I found nothing of interest, only weeds and wildflowers sprouting between stones aside the drought-narrowed river. Correction: I spotted a bra atop a rock, just out of reach in the river, and wondered about the story behind that.
Outdoor enthusiasts intending to paddle the Straight or Cannon rivers now would assuredly have their own disappointing stories to tell about abandoned plans. I observed ankle deep water in parts of the Straight, making water recreation impossible, any recreational outings scrapable.
Around this bend in the river, to the right, the water deepens a bit and flows freely. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
Only a pair of hunting dogs let loose by their owner in Teepee Tonka Park enjoyed the low river level on the day I eased down the river bank. They scrambled down the bank, surefooted, racing along river’s edge, shallow water splashing. Then back up they dashed, sprinting along the grassy bank before returning to the river. I delighted in their antics while simultaneously concerned they might come near me. I never quite trust strange dogs not under the control of their owner. A large muddy-pawed dog once jumped on me while I walked at a city park.
Mud. We’ve seen little of that in most parts of Minnesota this summer. There are exceptions, of course, including flash floods in Duluth on Monday, not something any of us want. Light rain fell in Faribault early on this week, enough to dampen the pavement. But I yearn to hear the steady thrum of rain upon the earth. Rain that will ease this drought, replenish our rivers, revive our waterways, restore the land.
Monarch on milkweed flower at the Rice County Master Gardeners Teaching Gardens, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2023)
ADMITTEDLY, A TIME EXISTED when I considered milkweeds to be, well, weeds. A weed, by definition, is an unwanted plant. And my farmer dad didn’t want milkweeds growing in his Redwood County soybean fields. So we—meaning me and my siblings—were instructed to eradicate milkweeds, cockle burrs and thistles while walking beans.
If the term “walking beans” is unfamiliar, it simply means walking between soybean rows to remove weeds either via pulling or hoeing, preferably yanking so as to assure root removal. This was a necessary, albeit unpleasant, task assigned to farm kids who labored and sweated under a hot summer sun. The reward was a clean field. And a grateful farmer father.
Occasionally, this job paid…if done for anyone other than Dad. One summer my cousin John hired my sister Lanae and I and two of our cousins to walk his beans. As the oldest among the four, I was the designated crew leader, quickly thrust into settling arguments between my two cousins. I decided then and there that I wasn’t management material.
Milkweeds flourish at River Bend Nature Center, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
But back to those milkweeds. Now, some 50+ years later, my opinion about milkweeds has changed. I no longer pull them. I plant them and then allow them to go to seed. And this year I have a bumper crop growing in my flowerbeds, much to my delight.
Milkweed flowers are not only beautiful, but also smell lovely. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
Milkweeds are the host plant for monarch butterfly larvae, the reason I grow this food source. I want to do my part to protect the monarch, today considered to be endangered. I’ve been rewarded with monarchs flitting among my phlox and other plants in my tangled mess of flower gardens.
The other evening, while walking in a local park, I watched two monarchs swooping and dancing in a pre-mating ritual. Their aerial acrobatics impressed me like a line of well-written poetry. In many ways, their performance was poetry. Beautiful. Creative. Mesmerizing. Connective in a way that touched my spirit.
If my farmer dad (gone 20 years) heard me describe monarchs in this context, he may just shake his head and wonder about that poet daughter of his. And he would wonder even more whether I learned anything from pulling milkweeds all those summers ago in his southwestern Minnesota soybean fields.
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FYI: You can learn about monarch butterflies and how you can help them, see caterpillars, then hike to look for monarchs during a 10-11:30 a.m. Saturday, August 19, program at the Nerstrand Big Woods State Park amphitheater. Minnesota Master Naturalist Katy Gillispie is leading the Friends of Nerstrand Big Woods State Park free “Monarchs and Milkweeds” event. A state park parking pass is required for entry to the park near Nerstrand.
Horseshoe Lake, south of Crosslake in central Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
WE LOVE OUR LAKES in Minnesota, dubbed “The Land of 10,000 Lakes.” In reality, our state has more than 10K, but that’s a nice, round, marketable number.
Recreational boating. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
And because we love our lakes so much, we spend endless hours enjoying them year-round, especially during the summer. I was well into my sixties before I experienced cabin lake life.
A blue heron walks the dock. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
Recently, Randy and I headed to a family member’s lake property south of Crosslake in central Minnesota, to us Up North since we’re from southern Minnesota. Randy’s youngest sister and her husband have graciously invited extended family to stay in their guest lake cabin. And each summer for the past several, we’ve made the four-hour drive north to relax at the lake.
The lake experience is new for Randy also, relaxing on the patio on a cool day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
As someone who grew up on a dairy and crop farm with only two childhood vacations in her history, none of them at a lake, these cabin stays have proven tranquil, relaxing and lovely in every way. There among the tall pines with a clear view of Horseshoe Lake, I feel such peace. Isolated. Disconnected from the world unless I opt to connect via my smartphone.
Lounge chairs line the beach. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
Time has no clock here. No schedule.
A loon on Horseshoe Lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2022)
Awaken with the sun or sleep in. While away hours fishing from the dock, lounging on the beach or reading lakeside. Pull a kayak into the lake if you’re a water lover, which I am not. I like water, just not being on water. Watch the loons while listening to their haunting call.
Randy took a kayak out to retrieve a kite he lost in the lake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
Delight in the imaginative play of the grandchildren, this year forming the Shovel Team with their over-sized beach toys. For me, this is part of the joy of lake life, this time together with Izzy, 7, and Isaac, 4, who always anticipate their family vacation to the “brown house.” They look forward to helping Grandma assemble s’mores, to swimming and playing on the beach, to ice cream at Lake Country Crafts & Cones and to pizza from Rafferty’s. We are building life-long memories.
The lake can be busy with boaters at times, especially weekends. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
This is perhaps what I love most, this being with family. Mornings and afternoons and evenings spent together, then sleeping under the same roof. Meals mostly charcoal-grilled and shared. Walking hand in hand with the grandchildren down the long pine-lined driveway. Collecting shells. Washing sand from little feet. Cuddles and hugs and sitting on the bed playing a card game with made up rules.
And this year, solar system artwork created by artist-in-residence Isaac taped to the log walls in our bedrooms.
Water skiing behind a jet ski. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
This is the stuff of Up North at the cabin. Generational connections defined by love-filled, joyous moments at the lake.
An unopened dusky milkweed brings a soft color into the prairie landscape.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
MID-SUMMER, AND THE MINNESOTA landscape is awash in color, despite the drought.
Walk the prairie or the woods. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
This is the season to get outdoors and explore. Walk the land. Through woods or across prairie. Around a city block or park or public garden. Along a river, upon a beach. Delight in the essence of Nature in all her summer glory.
Black-eyed Susan. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
Flowers flush color.
A butterfly feeds on a milkweed flower. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
Patterned butterflies flit, then pause to unfurl proboscis and drink of sweet floral nectar.
Prairie grasses. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
Long-stemmed grasses stretch toward the July sky.
A solitary dewdrop on a milkweed leaf. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
Wild raspberries. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
Veins run through the leaves of wild grapes. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
I tend to notice details, especially with camera in hand. And therein, in the part of the whole, is the beauty we often pass by in our hurried lives. I encourage you to slow your pace so as not to miss a solitary dewdrop, the texture of leaves, the deep purple of a plump wild raspberry.
Bold berries jolt color into the greenery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
Moth upon thistle holds its own beauty. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
Notice the veins in bright red berries, the dusky moth among thistles, the way grass heads heavy with grain bend toward the earth.
Unidentified white flower. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
From the daintiest of white blossoms laddering a stalk to the bold gold of a prairie wildflower, there is much to see, to appreciate, to embrace in these summer days.
A nature-themed memorial at River Bend Nature Center, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2023)
Fill your eyes, your heart, your spirit, your mind with Nature’s beauty. Ride on the wings of the butterflies. Sway in the wind like blades of grass. Then settle, like a single dewdrop upon a leaf. Quiet. Filled with peace. Calmed in the presence of the land.
NOTE: All photos were taken recently at River Bend Nature Center, Faribault.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
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