There’s a bakery in town formally know as Crapola’s. Their main stay is Crapola Granola to promote their goal that everyone has morning movement. They have many other bakery treats but their humor is definitely rooted in the scatological.

At 6:16 AM, with no sign of the sun that rose ten minutes earlier, Terry drove me 14 miles up Echo Trail to the YMCA camp on the North Arm of Burntside Lake. This is the start of the Ely Marathon to be held on September 23 the Autumnal Equinox. I signed up for it a couple months age. And on this morning with the leaden skies, I convinced Terry is that authentic experiences are help for marathon training. But once there, I’m fretting about all the hills and running alone on a deserted road. to drive me to the start for an authentic training experience. He was impatient for me to leave the car. I whined about bears, about the predicted showers and thunder, the increasing wind and the fact that there were no other humans sans a few in cars adored with canoes. Terry gave me a quick goodbye wave as I continue my whinging outside the car as he was driving away. I did mention maybe be he gave a little push when he closed the door.

I continued whining and running while keeping close watch on my watch and my running pace. I have to maintain a ridiculously slow pace in order to finish the marathon and receive a metal and a time. Of course, the time seems too fast for my comfort. As I said the course is hilly. Some hills I think I can barely walk. But mostly young people, like under sixty, and non-runners, think the pace is slow. In fact. I can’t deny it’s slow.

It was totally cloudy, cool, windy, and spitting rain. The bears had no interest in me. With constant concentration, my pace was OK, but I was only doing the 1/2 marathon distance today. But in the real full-marathon distance, I fall apart at the end.

While running on the Ely roads, I have to jump off the road when cars and trucks approach because often there are no shoulders. Today, I gave lots of clearance for a large pickup pulling a huge trailer and a work truck with a huge boom. I don’t want to make this sound too unsafe because I usually scare the drivers who over react and swerve the stealing wheel to the left. They look peevish and repentant for being caught exceeding the speed limit with my life in the balance. But time and time again I reviewed in my mind throwing myself to roll down the ditch out of the way of the vehicle. Both of today’s dangerous drivers give me a smile.

When finally I limped into the our drive, both of the said trucks were there. One guy was by the two sheds. In short order I saw one shed smashed by an excavator. The other truck with his boom high in the air had the pump in place and was unveiling a steady stream of water from a pipe.

Progress.

It’s hard for me to remember this kind of August. I left Grand Rapids at age seven. We moved from our small house to the second story of a duplex in NE Minneapolis. I don’t know what month it was but I think it was August. My mom always called August the Dog Days. Hot, still, oppressive and all the lake covered with green vegetation that made them only safe for a dog. I recall a night so hot it was unsleepable. I don’t think air conditioning had been invented yet. But if so, we couldn’t have afforded it.

In Ely leaves are turning yellow. It’s drizzling. It’s down vest weather. I’m not thinking September yet even if the sun angle bespeaks it. This is the order of life here on a day I’ve found time to write.

We drove Dominic to the MPS airport last Tuesday and stayed at Brenda and Greg’s house. The four of us were waiting for Thursday’s Hot Air Balloon Ride in Stillwater. We had rescheduled it from last year’s cancellation owing to wind. On Thursday at noon, we learned again it was too windy. So we returned to Ely on Friday.

We were confident that on Monday everything was lined up to resume progress on the building of our cabin. I gave the guy who was going to remove the large sheds from our building site a deadline of having the removal finalized this week. He met the deadline of letting us know, he could not line-up a crane, a huge carrier and permits to haul these sheds away. But, what he could do, is demolish the sheds and haul them away.

This felt weird to us. He loved the shed because it was the bar that his grandmother owned. He was going to make sure it was in one piece. On the app, What’s up Ely, he had discussions about re-opening the bar. Yet now he wanted to demolish it and charge us money. Of course, why would he do work for nothing? We debated the situation and decided this could be our best option. With each day, we’re feeling more pressure to get things on the way. So on Saturday, we stood in the shed wondering how the two of us could do all this demolition? It’s massive. Plus everyone says that you can’t get help in Ely.

With reservation, we hired him to demolish and remove the sheds. He said he would be out here on Monday. It’s Monday. I’m sitting at the table writing. Terry is removing parts of the shed that he can use. I asked for an ETA from the guy and he did not reply. this doesn’t look promising. I guess I should YouTube demolition for women.

Terry was supposed to be digging a trench for the electric cable that needs to go to the pump to be installed on the well. But the trencher that he had rented was the wrong one. And so it goes. Here’s a bit of good news. The pump guy who’s coming out tomorrow will bring a generator. So we will have our water ready to be hooked up to wires that will go in the trench when it’s dug.

Meanwhile, we’re getting used to our hygiene-situation. I ran both Saturday and Sunday which produces a lot of sweat and discomfort. I’ve had no shower since Friday morning and there isn’t one in my future until maybe Wednesday. When my grandmother was my age, I don’t believe she had a shower or a tub. I’m getting used to it as I think about how much water we’ve saved.

Terry goes swimming in his clothes and he gets a bath and a clothes wash at the same time. I help out by paddling our canoe near him on his long swims. On Saturday, we went to the nearest lake, Little Long Lake. Terry pulled the canoe on the trailer he made from bicycle wheels.

Last evening we went to Minor’s Lake for the first time. We decided just to paddle, no swimming needed. The lake is the remnant of a mine. The water is very clear and you can see that you’re paddling over trees. At the far end, they were many eerie looking stumps. Actually it was beautiful as was the evening. Terry looked at all the fishers with envy. If we must do this demo ourselves, his fishing license will be for naught. Despite this, I see the look of satisfaction as he stacks up all the valuable pieces of wood he is harvesting from the shed.

This is our August. It’s an August to remember. A time when we realized that indoor plumbing is a comfort, not a necessity. This is an August with yellow leaves, lowering sun, the Perseid meteor shower, unbelievable clouds standing beautiful above the blue lakes and at the end of August the blue moon.

Dominic and I were reviewing pictures yesterday and couldn’t remember which day was which. And then we realized we hadn’t taken any pictures on Friday. That morning we had heavy rains. Terry and I were on our cots snug in our tents. Dominic was on the other side of the campground in our small backpacking tent. That punny tent certainly wasn’t as robust as ours. And it’s effectiveness was severely compromised when Dominic pounded one of the stakes so hard into a grommet, that should hold a tent pole not a stake, that it became impossible to remove. The tent staking was already handicapped by the solid rock ground. After gerry rigging this whole tent it was standing, but there was no way to pull the fly away from the tent. Not a recipe for a dry night.

I got up in the early morning as the rain was petering out. I walked to the beach it was cool, peaceful. Everything smelled fresh. In the black and white of the early morning sun two leaves one red and one yellow caught my eye. Fall was near. I tried not to acknowledge this urge to let go of summer too easily. It’s August. There are a few color changes. But it’s more. The angle of the sun steals some brightness as it lowers every so slightly. Imperceptible movement yet a perceptible feeling.

It seemed like a quick tear down of camp. Everything rolled up and sopping in Terry’s car. We drove straight to Piragis, the outfitters where we rented my solo canoe. At some point, before we got there, we realized we didn’t have the paddle they had lent us. Terry had neglected to retrieve it when carrying the canoe, so drive back, but it was a day later and long gone…..

I have never seen a well being drilled let alone having it so up close and personal. Monday two huge trucks arrived dwarfing our garage/ living abode and consuming the length of our long country driveway. One of the vehicles, a crane with the drilling apparatus, cost $1,000,000, something I never considered. They arrived about 9:30 and left at 5:00 after drilling to a depth of 205 feet and only getting a sprinkle of water, but were encouraged. All day long the driller hummed a deafening tone. The trucks shook the ground and our nerves. Again on Tuesday it was constant pounding. Actually most of the effort goes into smashing and grinding the rock into a silty mix that can be flushed out with water.

We left for two hours to run 10 miles of the Ely Marathon course. Terry stayed a couple of miles ahead of me in the car. He got enough phone reception to keep himself busy. His duty was to provide support and protect me from bears. It’s pretty desolate. This is a hard running course with lots of grueling uphills. My shin splints have really flared up and now it’s hard to pull my toes up. I feel pathetic .

Dominic is coming to visit tomorrow. We set up a tent for him and bought a couple of cots. We checked out some campsites. On Thursday I’m going to get a rental solo canoe in the version I have on order which should be here the end of August. We’ll take the solo and the tandem to paddle, swim and hike Thursday and Friday.

When we returned the drillers had found water at 305 feet, and they were packing up—peace and quiet.

At 5:00, even though it looked like rain, Terry took off on his bike. I was listening to the radio when the weather alert broke in announcing a storm heading toward Ely with lightning, hail, and wind gusts of 60 MPH. I drove off and found Terry coming home, but still a few miles out. Good thing because I wasn’t sure his bike would fit in my car.

At 6:00 we were eating supper in the dark and watching and listening to the loud, violent storm. It was short and fun, but knocked our power out.

We tell ourselves and others we are here to make progress on building an abode. But the two absolutes toward that goal are just as stalled as they were when we left here mid-June. Our guy, Grandson of the originator of the bar that we inherited, who is going to take it away, can’t find people to help. Everyone is slammed. Same for our well-digger.

Don’t get me wrong we want to be here, but it’s hard. Our electricity comes from one long extension cord. When you turn the hot plate on you need to turn the refrigerator off. Today we forgot to turn the fridge back on. It’s basically days of mistakes and irritation.

Today was hot. Almost 90. I can’t seem to adjust to this time. I get up at 6:00. I want to be ready to run at 6:00. The sun’s up early just to heat up the earth. It’s after 8:00 PM and we’re sitting in our car by the lake to get better service. It’s peaceful.

This is what I discovered running this morning.

All last night and today we’ve been unraveling. Both of us, even out of the car for hours, feel the road beneath us. Feeling cities, mountains, towns, forests and all the miles of flat deserts and prairies. Sun beating hot and bright though the windows for ten or more hours each day. The tedium, the repetitive highway sound and wrist motions and ever so slight body adjustments until I ask, “Do you want drive?” “You’ve only been driving for 12 minutes.”

Luckily, the trip was not without a day and a half stop in South Dakota. We arrived at Debbie and Brad’s house, Terry’s sister and brother-in-law, Saturday afternoon. Also, Terry’s youngest brother was visiting from Idaho. We just happened to arrive on class reunion day. All four of them graduated from high school in Presho SD. The three siblings and I attended dinners with classmates. Terry only had one classmate attending from his class of nineteen. But in a small town you know everyone anyway. Even those who graduated in 1948.

Sunday, I woke at 4:00 AM. I decided to sit in the dark so as not to wake the others. Soon lightening pulsed and faint spate of thunder panicked their little dog, Sammie. Just before we arrived yesterday she peed the carpet over a similar event.

“Please be brave, Sammie.” She had a pathetic look on her face. But she was brave with me by her side.

Only 650 miles remained. We rolled into town at 5:38. The trees, garage, loo-with-the-view looked so familiar. It felt like home. I’d been waiting for the full moon and the craziness that full moons brings to the loons. But the sky shone a blood red and a smoky haze.

The first thing I was going to do when I arrived was buy a solo canoe and take off by myself. It wasn’t the first thing, but Terry joined me at the end of the day to shop at Piragis Northwoods Company. Both of us had fun. It’s a big adventure, so I rented one for Friday. Above is a picture of the solo canoe and below the paddle, both of which I covet.

I went to a Pink Martini Concert with friends Wednesday night, got home too late for me (in bed at 1:00 AM), and I paid for it Thursday. I had to get up at 5:00 AM. For weeks we planned to leave on the 27th, so there was no grace for me.

Last night after arriving at our room in Wendover Utah’s Super 8 and catching a whiff of their toxic air- deodorizer, Evening in Paris, used liberally in lieu of cleaning, I sank into deep exhaustion and despair. Terry tried to assure me the smell would be gone if we opened the windows and went out to eat.

In Wendover, if you’re not going to a Casino your selection for restaurants is nil after 9:00 PM. It was 8:15 when Terry Googled for choices and found The Copper Kettle—a fine local establishment with excellent reviews. We pulled into the last parking space. The windows were filthy. I glanced at the kitchen— bad idea. We had to wait for table. We were seated at 8:45. I ordered a salad. I ate a few bites. It was the end of the evening. I shouldn’t have expected fresh vegetables. Terry was right, on return to the room it was just fine.

We have made this trek many times including last September. Nothing is new except the loss of businesses in the small towns as they fade away. And for us it’s the addition or expansion of our route—we pass by Fridley and continue up north. But that’s our later story, and our purpose.

Right now the hills in the near distance look like so many we’ve passed over the years. I remember best the ones I’ve passed on solo trips. I recall my drive from Skagway to Anchorage Alaska. These hills right now in Wyoming look like the hills in Yukon Territories Canada. On that trip I bought a holder for my harmonica to help keep me awake. The first song I mastered was “Oh Susanna.” That came to me before White Horse only 100 miles away. But that was it. I tried some Dylan, some Neil Young. Ha!

When I stopped at a drive-thru coffee place along the Richardson Highway, the barista asked if I were a musician. I couldn’t think of one female harmonic player. So I asked if she had heard of Peter, Paul and Mary. She said no. I said, “Well you’re young and it was a long ago.” She asked me to repeat the name of my band. “You mean Peter, Paul and Mary?” She said ya that’s it. I flipped my harp up and into position and played “Oh Susanna” as I drove off. I never said it was my band.

I’m replaying the audiobook “Paddling North” by Audrey Sutherland so Terry can enjoy it too. It keeps both of us entertained and alert. She suggests “Go light, Go solo and Go now.” Everything Terry does on his Zero motorcycle is solo. My plan is to do some solo multi-day paddling trips. I’m anxious to try out these beautiful paddles I saw in the Piragis catalog and the gorgeous solo canoe I saw in their shop in Ely. I’ll keep you posted on this venture.

Almost imperceptibly, the days shorten. Now, in bed, it’s still light with no sun insight. So again the Perseids will shoot past ome as I sleep. When we lived in Hayfork we pumped up an air mattress and lay out in front of our house. If we were the first to spot a meteorite and to yell out “ee auk ee, meteor.” We owned it. Here near the coast, our sightings are robbed by incident light and morning fog. I’m desperate. This shower will be dissolved by time. And then it’s August. The last full summer month.

On Thursday we head back to the Ely Garage home. It’s a quick 2200 miles. Hopefully we’ll spot some meteors from the road. We should be in Ely on or before August 1st which is the full moon. This should prompt the animals to sing and dance all around.

We have so many birds at our feeding stations here, it’s hard to leave. But building a house and paddling a canoe is our waiting adventure.

It’s been 12 days since the last day of work and my transition from a job and our life in California. Heading to meet Terry at MSP and leaving work behind for good, seemed bewildering. Six weeks ago, under enough snow to hide a good look at the six acres on PTT, Pine Tree Trail, just across the way from Shagawa Lake, we ignored our pragmatic tendencies, and put in an offer on this land.

On one corner of our six acres there is a clearing with electricity, a septic system -currently connected to nothing, an outhouse, and a large garage. Near the septic, over boulders and other miscellaneous obstructions are two large sheds. They perch atop concrete pillars that support cross bars and a huge I-beam making a platform for said sheds. It turns out one of these sheds is the former Chainsaw Sisters Saloon which holds fine memories because it was near entry 23, a put in spot to Lake Mundro and the BWCA (Boundary Water Canoe Area). Before or after a wilderness canoe trip, a drink is a fine thing, indeed.

Did I mention the BWCA was the reason we were here?

We weren’t quite starting from scratch. We had a garage. With nothing more than a long extension cord, we had electricity. And we had an outhouse. I pictured us living out of the long cavernous dark garage with some trepidation. I pictured an overhead garage light with the queen-sized pump-up mattress below and boxes of clothes and food and plenty of mice. We could play Alone and trap and skin the mice thanking each dead mouse for giving us sustenance. But realisticly, my vegetarianism would preclude my success in this game.

Still this corner of our new property ads value. It is our avenue for building our simple cabin in the woods. As Ken, a friend in California, replied when I told him my husband’s dream was to build his own cabin, “That’s every husband’s dream.” He said in a roll-your-eyes tone and continued, “Yup, I remember paging through the Whole Earth Catalog dreaming about having rich compost from the composing toilets, and using the super thick ice box instead of a refrigerator. And reading “A Cabin in the Woods.”

Oh my God, I had forgotten about those younger days and that whole movement. Young and foolish is the new old and foolish.

But in his few weeks Terry had spent in Ely without me, he built a cabin in the garage. It was a good-sized room. He then built a frame for the pump-up mattress, a fold up table, a closet, a frame for a counter top. We were ready to add a few things to be in business.

Early the next day, we headed to the town of Babbitt to hit some yard sales. The night before I discovered “What’s up Ely” on Facebook and all the yard sale ads. We got a never-been-used rug, a Hudson Bay Blanket and cupboard on wheels. We continued on to Walmart 53 miles in Virginia. We purchased two chairs, a microwave, and refrigerator. We picked up a counter top remnant and a sink from Mennard’s. What more do we need? Oh ya, we needed to stop at the ball field in Ely and fill up our 4 gallon water container from their spigot.

The outhouse had some charm. It was tucked into a forest of aspens, and reached via a path accented with roots and rocks that could catch your toe and bring you to your knees. It never did. Terry decided to add a picture window for a Loo with a View. And I lined the snaking path with solar lights. So we’re not playing Alone but rather we’re playing House. This phase is newlyweds.

Damn it was good to be with Terry. There is no loneliness like ours.

Around 1:00 am the tempest struck. Winds gusting to 45 mph tore at our rain fly, bending the aluminum tent poles until they touched our sleeping bagged bodies. For over two hours gust after gust tried every method of dislodging us from this 3700 ft saddle in the Tonto National Forest.

Then around 3:00 am the winds died and we drifted to sleep. It was a short respite. At 4:30 am the blow resumed and succeeded in pulling one vestibule stake. The rope was beginning to fray. Gina called out that she was frightened and was going to make a run for it. We jammed all of our wet gear and tent into our backpacks and at 7:17 set off in the howling wind. The storm varied in rain and wind intensity depending on slope direction, but continued for hours.

Soaked and tired, Deb struggled with unusable hands. Gina dug out a set of hand warmers and slowly through the pain, function returned. At a quick pace we moved down toward the valley floor on muddy trails. Pods of wide-eyed bovines witnessed our progress and marveled, calling to one another.

Clouds lightened, rain turned to mist, and there was a hint of sun when we reached Picket Post Trailhead at 1:17 after 11.5 miles of misery.