Hiking the Trail between Lower and Upper Tahquamenon Falls

Alison and I headed off down the trail between the Lower and Upper Falls after a dire warning regarding “muckiness” from a few “helpful” folks. (People at the Lower Falls were super talkative and quite bemused by seeing two people with packs on their backs–“Hey girls, lookin’ for your campsite?”)
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The trail started off dry and strewn with roots but very lovely. It quickly became both wet and root-strewn, but the roots were quite helpful as places to step to avoid the suction of the wet earth. We had such a snowy winter and a rainy spring and summer, that it makes me think that if you went in a drier year you wouldn’t have to deal with quite as much muck.

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Soon it got pretty sloppy indeed, with an occasional branch tossed on the trail to use as a “bridge.”

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Alison and I did a LOT of balancing during this entire trip, which is a little tricky with a pack throwing off your center of gravity.

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It was decided that we both could have benefited from a good walking stick, as saplings and tree branches were not always handy to aid our trek across these boggy spots. (Little did we know, we had much MUCH soggier challenges ahead of us.)

Along the way we saw several intrepid trees with roots stretching over rocks to reach the soil below.

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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWe found an enchanting miniature “falls” that I wish I had in my backyard.

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To our left, the “rushing Taquamenaw” rolled on over resistant rocks, creating many spots of pleasant-sounding rapids.

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But other areas were wide and deep and calm.

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In spots you could really see just how like a cup of tea the water really is.

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We did take the time to notice the little things: many different types of mosses, gray-green lichens, TONS of mushrooms of every shape and color…

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…a long-dead tree that had broken down to the point that it resembled the layers of rocks you can see in this area of the Upper Peninsula…

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…and exciting hints of color that pointed us to the coming autumn season.

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We did run into the occasional tree down on the trail (again, a warning sign of things to come) but managed to navigate them fairly easily on this portion of the trail.

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And despite the fact that while planning this trip I was under the mistaken impression that the distance between the Lower and Upper Falls was actually two miles rather than four miles (I can haz math?) we did reach the Upper Falls after a time.

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Photos of the beautiful Upper Falls will be in the next post, but here’s a little taste of what greeted us when we emerged from the trail in the late afternoon.

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The Lower Falls at Tahquamenon Falls State Park

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Alison and I began our hike this year at the Lower Falls at Tahquamenon Falls State Park near Paradise, Michigan. The last time I was at the falls was 2009 when I brought my then one-year-old son for a quick day trip when we were in the Soo.

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The last time Alison was there was back in the mid 1980s when our family “did the UP.” All she remembered about that trip was how embarrassed our parents were when she pointed at a group of Amish people and loudly asked, “Why are they dressed like that?”

Back in the 1980s, there were apparently no railings by the Lower Falls. I'm pretty sure they frown on you standing on this slippery rock nowadays.
Back in the 1980s, there were apparently no railings by the Lower Falls. I’m pretty sure they frown on you standing on this slippery rock nowadays. Alison is on the left. I’m on the right. That woman holding onto us for dear life is our mother.

This time around, nearly thirty years later (THIRTY YEARS!) she did not point at anyone or judge their attire.

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Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes. We began our hike at the Lower Falls.

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Note the “Danger; stay within fence” sign that now keeps people off the very rock upon which we were so blithely perched back in 1985.

People always say to visit the Lower Falls first, as they are less impressive than the nearly 50-foot drop of the Upper Falls. But for my money, the Lower Falls are the prettier of the two.

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We also ended our trip at the Lower Falls two days later, and even in those two days the trees showed more color. I imagine that within the next week or two it will be absolutely breathtaking up there.

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The Lower Falls are actually made up of four or five (or perhaps more) small drops in three separate areas that all empty out into a pleasant looking pool before moving on down the line to Lake Superior.

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The water of the Tahquamenon River is stained brown from the tannins leeched by the nearby cedar swamps (more–oh, so much more–on swamps in a later post). Even water filtered from nearby Clark Lake (again, more in a later post) is a bit on the brown side.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAAfter we had our fill of the Lower Falls on Friday, we headed for the Upper Falls via the trail. And that is where our adventure really begins…

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I believe you mean “primitive” trail, Department of Natural Resources.

On My Way to Parts North…

UpperFalls10 copyWe’ve hiked Pictured Rocks and Grand Sable Dunes. This year my sister Alison and I are headed up to Tahquamenon Falls, the land of Longfellow’s Hiawatha.

“Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree!
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper,
For the Summer-time is coming,
And the sun is warm in heaven,
And you need no white-skin wrapper!”
Thus aloud cried Hiawatha
In the solitary forest,
By the rushing Taquamenaw,
When the birds were singing gayly,
In the Moon of Leaves were singing,
And the sun, from sleep awaking,
Started up and said, “Behold me!
Gheezis, the great Sun, behold me!”
And the tree with all its branches
Rustled in the breeze of morning,
Saying, with a sigh of patience,
“Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!”

I was beyond thrilled to see many maple trees already turning red and orange on my drive to Grand Rapids this morning, and I am hoping for at least a touch of color way up near the fabled shores of Gitche Gumee (that’s Lake Superior, in case you were unaware).

I can’t wait to get there and I can’t wait to share pictures with all of you.

Wildflower Wednesday: White Sweet Clover

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Common Name: White Sweet Clover

Scientific Name: Melilotus alba

Habitat & Range: sunny fields, shorelines, and roadsides

Bloom Time: spring, summer, and fall

About: If you ever walk along the shore of a lake in Michigan, it’s likely you’ve smelled an evocative mixture of sand and water and plant life that creates a permanent memory. It’s also likely that part of this smell cocktail will be White Sweet Clover, a member of the pea family. It’s a non-native plant once grown as a hay crop but, of course, it has escaped and can now be found everywhere. Just like the White Clover, it’s an important nectar source and nearly impossible to eradicate as the seeds can lie dormant for years and can germinate as far as seven inches down into the ground. But hey, at least it smells nice. It also comes in yellow.

Reference: Wildflowers of Michigan by Stan Tekiela; Adventure Publications, 2000

Wildflower Wednesday: White Clover

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Common Name: White Clover

Scientific Name: Trifolium repens

Habitat & Range: sunny fields and lawns statewide

Bloom Time: spring, summer, and fall

About: Clovers are non-native plants brought over form Europe for pasturing livestock and now, of course, they are found absolutely everywhere. The White Clover is the one that will occasionally produce a four-leaf clover. Butterflies and bees love it for the nectar. Rabbits love to eat the leaves and the flowers. And as a child when I was stuck out in left field during my first year of Little League, I’d eat the flowers too. Just because I could. And I was bored. Good luck controlling these in your yard. It spreads by creeping and by seeds that can lay dormant for years before germinating.

Reference: Wildflowers of Michigan by Stan Tekiela; Adventure Publications, 2000

Wildflower Wednesday: New England Aster

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Common Name: New England Aster

Scientific Name: Aster novae-angliae

Habitat & Range: moist, sun, prairies, roadsides throughout the state

Bloom Time: autumn

About: Late fall really is a lovely time, even if our recent snow up in Michigan is telling us that it’s over. Along with the goldenrod and gentian we’ve seen previously on Wildflower Wednesday, the beautiful native New England Aster brings bursts of color to compliment the reds, oranges, yellows, and browns of fall. While it ranges from white to pink to lavender to deep purple, the New England Aster usually looks just about as it does in this photo taken on the grounds of Camp Lael in Lapeer, Michigan. Asters are often found in perennial gardens, but they can be quite leggy. Plant them in waves and prune the plant down in the late spring to keep them more compact, or put them near the back of the bed where other plants will hide their ugly stems.

Reference: Wildflowers of Michigan by Stan Tekiela; Adventure Publications, 2000

New Release: Drive

I pleased to announce the release of October’s short story, Drive. I got the initial idea for this story last year and this is one of the first covers I designed when I decided to write and self-publish a short story every month of 2013. However, it was not until last weekend when the last piece of the plot puzzle fell into place.

Writers, this is why you always want to capture those little ideas on paper. If I hadn’t written myself a note saying “guy goes to collect U-Haul-type trucks that aren’t returned” I might not have even remembered the premise when I came across a news story last weekend about a guy who was legally dead.

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So there you have it. Nearly a year in the making and here it finally is! Buy it here for Kindle. For those of you with other e-readers, I plan on releasing all of this year’s short stories on Smashwords in every conceivable format next spring. And for those of you who prefer traditional books, also coming in the spring will be a printed collection of all of this year’s stories. I’m so excited about it! So hang tight, stay tuned, and hold fast–your day is coming!

October Is Almost Half Over–Don’t Miss It

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Along the drive to my son’s school is a block of city land devoted to nature. Surrounded on four sides by homes, a highway, and a golf course, it is nevertheless a patch of peaceful ground. This little enclave of trees and cattails and wildflowers is the haunt of ducks, herons, songbirds, rabbits, muskrats, turtles, and frogs, as well as senior citizens out on walks and health nuts getting in a run. It is lovely much of the year, but like all wooded areas in temperate zones, never so lovely as in fall.

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During our frenetic and emotionally taxing week last week, I stopped for twenty minutes one morning after dropping the boy off at school to take some pictures and breathe the cool October air. I took the photos you see in this post of Great White and Blue Herons, colorful sumac leaves, mist dancing above the water, and reflections of trees in the ponds.

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When I picked my son up that afternoon, I convinced him that visiting the ducks at the park would be far preferable to playing a video game or watching a TV show. We had a grand time greeting the ducks we knew (like Tucky, who is any female Mallard we encounter anywhere in the city) and naming those we were meeting for the first time (Caramel, Buttercup, Oreo, Splashy, Ducky, Woody, Shaky, etc.). We saw two muskrats and chipmunks with cheeks stuffed full of seeds.

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These two stops at the park took up less than an hour of my day. But that hour did so much good to my spirit. I saw so many different species of plants and animals living in such a small space. A compact and yet complex ecosystem.

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So much is packed into our lives. So many people, activities, responsibilities, diversions–all vying for attention. But in this little park nothing vied for attention. Everything waited quietly to be noticed.

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The silent rabbit I saw retreating ahead of me on the path did not need to be checked off my to-do list. Berries of every hue waited patiently on the bushes for me to note their presence or to pass them by without a glance. And while it’s fun to know the species of the trees or the birds or the flowers, it’s not necessary in order to enjoy looking at them.

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Surely there were creatures attempting to escape my notice entirely, like the cautious wading birds or whatever creature ducked underwater at my approach and created ringlets of tiny ripples retreating out into the pond.

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I try to make it a practice to notice nature. But when life gets so terribly busy it is easy to forget that there is a world out there that is unconcerned with deadlines or what happens on the next episode of insert-show-you-obsessively-watch. A bird is only concerned with eating. A plant is not concerned about anything at all! And while I wouldn’t want to be a heron or a maple tree, no matter how carefree their existence might be, I don’t want to miss what they have to teach me about patience, silence, and stillness.

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I hope you take the time for a little stroll in the woods or along a shore or in a nature center this week. The leaves are falling and this season will not last. Your project will be there tomorrow. Go take a walk.

October Morning Mist

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OCTOBER by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

On Garrulous Chipmunks, Belligerent Yellow Jackets, and Other Glories of Fall

japmaple02Somehow, it is October. This has really taken me by surprise. Most years, in September, I start getting out to the nature center or on the River Trail to take photos of the early hints of fall color. I get out in my yard and start trimming back spent perennials and vegetable plants. I pull out my warm clothes and closed-toe shoes.

But this September, one of the nicest I can remember weather-wise, was so very, very busy. I don’t quite know why. Perhaps it has to do with our big schedule changes at home with our son in school every day, karate and church stuff three nights a week, Sunday school preparation on Saturdays, research into my next book most nights…the list just seems to go on. Whatever the reason, I didn’t “feel” September this year. I missed it, somehow.

And so it’s October. The chipmunks are constantly chirping, for what reason I cannot tell. We’ve started a quarterly relationship with Terminix to rid our home of the yellow jackets we thought we could trust (who then perniciously invaded the sunroom) and ants and other such things. The bergamont and peonies are coming down with a serious case of powdery mildew. And any remaining tomatoes out there have been thoroughly taste-tested by squirrels, raccoons, and tiny black worms. The honeymoon’s officially over with this year’s garden and it’s time to do some pretty ruthless chopping and bagging.

Our attention is lifted from ground level as we start to notice the trees flirting with colors that have always been there beneath the chlorophyllic green. We buy the first jugs of apple cider. We start contemplating a nice color drive Up North. We remember to bring our camera with us everywhere just in case the mist and the sun should kiss in the morning over drifts of red sumac leaves. (Yes, some of us still use an actual camera rather than a phone.)

And we hope that we won’t miss October. Because this, the most beautiful of months, only comes once a year.