Trails
Over the years, quite a system of trails have been developed around the farm. The original trails mostly followed the fence lines so I could ride the horse around and repair fences as needed. We eventually got a John Deere Gator so my wife could ride along with me. We extended the trail system to include areas for sight-seeing and making places for a leisurely Sunday afternoon ride. When we retired the Gator and got a Ranger, we further extended the trail system as the Ranger could easily go more places. When our grandson, Zane, started riding dirt bikes, he dramatically increased the trail system. We have found several advantages to having these pathways through the timber. What used to be a major undertaking packing a horse with assorted tools and supplies to check fences, now is a pleasant ride around the farm. I can throw the tools in the back of the Ranger with some extra
wire and the chainsaw. My wife and I can load a dog or two and have a pleasant ride around. Having trails cut through the timber has allowed grass to grow where is had previously been too shaded. On a hot day, cattle can stay in the timber in the shade and still continue to graze. Deer appreciate the safety of being able to move from one area to the other without having to plow through rose bushes and other brush while still having protective cover. The best place to place cameras for wildlife pictures is where two of our trails meet in the timber. These junctions have become part of the natural habitat where I can get pictures of any and all wildlife that lives on the farm.
From the front porch, we can see a couple of the groomed trails where they come out of the woods into the open pasture. These provide hours of wildlife viewing entertainment. This morning, we watched as two hen turkeys came out and down the hill with their fourteen poults. The young turkeys, about the size of an adult chicken, spread out across the trail eating and scratching as their mothers followed behind keeping a watchful eye for danger. The short grass made an ideal place for the young birds to find bugs and tender shoots of white clover.
Most mornings, we can watch as a doe with her twin fawns follow the lower lake trail, stopping to get a drink and venturing on to their bedding area. Predators have also learned to use the trail system to easily find the game they are seeking. At least once each month, a coyote will come hunting along the upper lake trail. It is usually early in the morning when they come out of the timber onto the open trail. A long stretch of this trail is exactly threehundred yards from the porch. Coincidentally, I have a rifle sighted in to three-hundred yards. Though we never seem to run out of coyotes, I feel I am doing my part to protect the fawns and poults in the area. My wife has learned to be a good sport about being woken from a sound sleep by gunfire. Fortunately, she also understands the importance of predator control. All the work that has gone into building and maintaining the trail system has been well worth the effort. We can now get just about anywhere on the farm whether hunting or riding for pleasure. One just needs to be careful if a person is going very fast. When a person rounds a corner, you never know what else will be sharing the trail.
Rocks and Shells
I like big bodies of water. So far, I’ve only visited two of Earth’s four oceans. I’ve also walked many large ocean inlets: the Gulf of Mexico, Puget Sound, and the Bay of Fundy. I enjoy the salt water; watching dolphins swim or breaching whales is a thrill. I also like the beaches, mainly for the sea shells.
Although some say people shouldn’t take shells, beach-goers are combing the shores, looking for them from sun up to sundown; myself included. While most want to find the big shells, I prefer the small ones. I carry them in my van to give to people and brighten
their day. Imagine handing a small seashell to someone feeling gloomy or down in the dumps on a cold, snowy day across our country’s northern part.
“I picked this on a beach along the Pacific Ocean,” I would tell them. “If you keep it in your pocket, you can pull it out anytime you feel down. Run your fingers over the shell. You can feel the sunshine of a warm day, hear the ocean, and enjoy the tropical breeze.” I cheered up a lot of people that way.
Once in a while, the person will hand the shell back to me, not understanding I was giving it to them. “No, it’s yours. Keep it in your pocket,” I tell them. ‘Are you sure,’ they’ll ask. “I picked that shell up, especially for you.” When I tell them
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the shell is there to keep, I always get extra smiles, sometimes, a hug too! Making them smile makes me feel good.
Seashells have been great conversation starters for me. Most people I give shells to have never been to an ocean. They are thrilled to have a natural shell from an actual ocean – not a gift shop. But the seashell doesn’t have the same magical effect every place. If I give a shell to someone in Florida, California, or any coastal state, they will look at me like I’m a fool. They have or can get, all the shells they want. For these people, I have rocks. Freshwater rocks.
Of all the saltwater beaches I’ve visited, I prefer the freshwater of the Great Lakes. Although the water is often unbearably cold, fresh water doesn’t leave me feeling sticky, and there are no sharks to worry about like in the salt water. I have been blessed to visit all five great lakes. Once, I drove to all five lakes in one twenty-fourhour period. My favorite is Lake Superior.
The beaches along the north shore of Lake Superior are mostly rock and stone. Although some say people shouldn’t take rocks, tourists and locals hunt for rocks from sun up to sundown; myself included. While most want to find the perfect agate or a nice piece of beach glass, I prefer the small granite rocks or a smooth black basalt stone. I carry them in my van to give to people and brighten their day.
Most people have not been to Lake Superior, especially people from the south. Honestly, many people living in Minnesota have not visited the big lake. To them, a stone from Lake Superior is every bit as magi-
cal as a Pacific Ocean seashell is the folks in the northern regions.
Last week I sat quietly in a booth at a fast-food burger joint; I was doing some writing on my laptop. Two ladies came in, sitting at a table across the way. Although I am a people watcher, on this day, I was trying to focus on my writing. I was not intentionally eavesdropping, but the ladies were talking rather loudly, at least not in a volume of discretion.
The one lady was pouring her heart out to the other; financial troubles, what a tough time she was having at work, difficulties with her divorce, and disputes with her children. She finally said to her friend, “Something has got to change. I can’t keep going like this.” I felt I should not be hearing this conversation, but she spoke loudly. She was very troubled.
I could not focus on my work, so I packed up my computer and carried it to the van. I was going to leave, but I kept thinking about that lady. I was sympathetic as we’ve all been there before at one time or another, myself included. “Maybe I could cheer her up,” I said. “I’ll give her a seashell.” I searched the door pockets and glovebox but found no shells. “Son of a beach,” I complained. “Just when I really need a seashell, I’m completely out.” I was still deter-
mined.
I found a stone I’d been carrying in the van for two or three years, then returned to the dining room. I sat on the bench at the table with the two ladies.
“Excuse me, I’ll only take a moment,” I said, handing the lady a round flat rock about two inches in diameter. “Do you know what that is?” I asked her. She didn’t know. “Have you ever been to Lake Superior,” I asked her. She said she had not but wanted to go there one day.
I explained, “That’s a stone I picked up on the beach of Lake Superior. I’m no geologist, but I’m pretty sure it’s granite. Feel how smooth the edges are?” She held the stone, looking at it closely, running her fingers over and around the edges.
“You see, once there was a large piece of granite, and for whatever reason, that piece broke off. But granite doesn’t break easily; its edges are jagged and sharp when a bit breaks away. Somehow that piece ended up in Lake Superior, where the waves can be very turbulent.
“That rock has been washed onto shore and pulled back the water repeatedly for years, decades, centuries –maybe even thousands of years. The waves have
tossed and tumbled this little rock over the floor of Lake Superior, hitting other rocks – bigger and smaller, until the edges smoothed, and the stone is pleasing to hold.
“You see all the colors? Pink, red, beige, white? Each of those colors represents Something; they are minerals that became a part of this rock, adding to its beauty. Just like the rock, you have all those colors inside you, too.” The lady looked more closely at the rock. “Now dip the tips of your fingers in your water glass and get the rock wet. See how much more brilliant the colors become. Look, this rock is even green, although you couldn’t see it at first. Green is the color of spring, new life, new growth, and prosperity.” The lady finally smiled a bit. “There is even some green in you; although you may not see it right now, it is there.
“My friend, sometimes life can be as turbulent as Lake Superior. When you feel like you’re being tossed around, and everything feels beyond your control, try to remember God, or nature, or whomever you believe in; they’re not done with you yet; they’re just smoothing your edges.”
A tear welled in her eye. The lady spoke softly, “Do you need your rock back?”
“No, I picked that rock up, especially for you; hold it in your hand. When you’re frustrated or angry, squeeze it as tightly as you need to –it’s granite, and you won’t break it.” I said, then reached into my pocket, “I have two special rocks of my own,” I said while
showing her the rocks. “You see, I’ve been tossed around plenty myself; we all have. You’ll get through this,” I said with a warm smile.
My new friend clutched the rock in her hand. The welled tears rolled down her cheek. “Thank you,” she said, then paused as if she was going to say more. She placed her hand over mine, “Just thank you.” Her friend winked at me, making a motion with her mouth, ‘Thank you.’
“You’re going to be okay, kid. I hope you get to Lake Superior soon. When you do, pick up a stone and take it with you; you never know when you’ll meet someone who needs that rock.” I gave the ladies the peace sign and hurried out to my van.
Once inside the van, I let my own tears fall. I thanked God for making the rock and giving me the wisdom to hold on to it until the right person who needed it came along.
My dog Nova Mae sat in the passenger’s seat. I gave her a rub on the head. “We need to go back to the ocean; we’re out of seashells.”
Some say you shouldn’t take shells from the beach or rocks from the shore because it changes and disturbs the ecology. Who knows? Maybe they’re right, but in this case, I’m sure glad I had that essential little treasure with me. Besides, I’m sure Lake Superior has already tossed a replacement rock up onto the shore. And the sea creature had outgrown that shell anyway.