Aaron Peterson-Writer and Photographer

Michigan Ice Fest article

2012-02-03T12:58:00.000-05:00

Here's a link to a feature article I wrote and shot last year on the Michigan Ice Fest ice climbing gathering at Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore near Munising Michigan in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

Michigan Ice Fest, ice climbing at Pictured Rocks in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

Download the Michigan Ice Fest article and photos here.

Aaron Peterson is a writer and photographer covering active travel in Michigan's Upper Peninsula and the Lake Superior region. Check out the website for more photography photos pictures of Michigan's Upper Peninsula and Lake Superior.

Michigan Ice Fest!

2012-02-01T12:14:00.000-05:00

It's Michigan Ice Fest week here in the Munising, Michigan area of the Central Upper Peninsula.

The secret is out, Munising boasts the Midwest's largest concentration of climbable ice and the good folks over at Michigan Ice Fest have been hosting one of the nation's oldest ice climbing festivals now for nearly 30 years. I've been shooting it for awhile too, here are some picks. Climb on.

Above a gap on The Curtains, ice climbing, Munising, Michigan.

Sydney's is where the free Michigan Ice Fest beer can be found

Yea, I like this one too; The Dryer Hose, ice climbing, Munising, Michigan, Pictured Rocks

Good things happen at Michigan Ice Fest.

Bad things can happen too, but nobody laughs out loud, and newbs still get free beer too.

Wednesday Waterfall: Miners Falls, Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

2012-01-20T00:30:00.001-05:00

Miners Falls, Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

Miners Falls is on the Miners River in Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore near Munising, Michigan in the Central Upper Peninsula.

The 40-foot falls spills over the sandstone lip of a canyon that was once the shoreline of Lake Superior, but today is a few miles inland.

To access the falls take H58 east from Munising to the Miners Castle access road then watch for the falls trailhead road on your right. The walk to the falls takes about 15 minutes and ends at a platform above the canyon, looking down on the falls.

Despite the snowy image above, winter access to the falls is very limited as the access roads are not plowed for several miles. Snowmobile access is permitted however.

Also don't bother fishing the Miners River. No fish here. Nope. None. Move along. Trout? Never heard of them.

Aaron Peterson is a photographer and writer based near Marquette and Lake Superior in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. For more of his work visit www.aaronpeterson.net

Recent Work-Marquette Michigan feature in Lakeland Boating

2012-01-13T21:32:00.012-05:00

Check out the February issue of Lakeland Boating magazine for my 12-page feature on Marquette Michigan, the place I'm lucky enough to call home.

Lakeland Boating is based in Chicago, has a circulation of about 40,000 subscribers and covers inland and Great Lakes sailing and power boating in the Great Lakes region. I had no idea how popular it was in Marquette until the article came out and every boat owner in the region sent me an email. That was very cool. Freelancing is a solitary lifestyle and it's good to hear from readers, so thanks to all of you.

You can download a PDF of the article off my site by clicking the image below, then choosing "download original file" off the site page, or follow the link at the bottom of the page for a Google doc link.

Most travel writers have it easy. I've always found that inspiration comes freely when the scenery is changing every day. New places, new stories and new people offer the lens and the page a constant creative fresh start. Blank pages and blank pixels are vessels easily filled when in a new place. Plus, you don't have to worry about who you piss off when the article comes out, because you'll be long gone!

My career has been a strange brew. I'm a travel writer--but I mostly write about where I live, Michigan's Upper Peninsula and the surrounding Lake Superior regions of Minnesota, Wisconsin and Ontario. The cool thing about that, other than that it's an amazing place to work and play (and stretch the relatively meager bucks that come with this career :-)) is that I get to write about something I know and love intimately, not just a place I'm passing through or people I'll only know superficially, if at all.

The danger is in knowing too much about a place, which makes it difficult to decide what to include and what to leave out. Also, it's a constant exercise to think like someone visiting the area for the first time--to stay fresh. Marquette is a super cool town with a great history, but when you live here, eventually the ore docks that blow the minds of tourists become as common as the gulls trying to kill your picnic. Also, I have to live with the people I write about, which can make it tough to be honest and well liked, but so it goes.

WARNING GRATUITOUS BUT MOSTLY HARMLESS SEXUAL HUMOR AHEAD: Someone once told me that writing about your hometown is like making love with your spouse: It's important that you know each other well enough to get it right, but equally important to pretend you've just met so it stays interesting.

Read full Marquette Michigan feature article in Lakeland Boating here

Aaron Peterson is a photographer and writer based near Marquette and Lake Superior in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. For more of his work visit www.aaronpeterson.net

Inside Outside: Making the List

2012-01-11T14:26:00.001-05:00

The Upper Peninsula gets its due in Outside magazine's February issue. Outside's admittedly arbitrary and unscientific but ridiculously funny and cool "63 Perfect Things" includes The U.P. at #46.

Just like this:

46. THE U.P.

Consider for a moment that this is an international magazine with a circulation around 700,000 (more than double the total pop. of the U.P.), how many people are going to look at that and understand how two little letters can spell freedom, community, wilderness and a lot of other cool words I could list if I did things like lists.

THIS JUST IN, #63 is the Stormy Kromer cap which everyone knows is as U.P. as a pasty pie. Even has a picture of a red plaid one.

So congrats to my beloved U.P. and the Kromer!

Stay tuned for some other news from me and Outside in an upcoming issue, hint, hint, wink, wink. Cha-ching.

Wednesday Waterfall: Cascade River State Park, Minnesota

2012-01-11T13:03:00.000-05:00

The Minnesota North Shore has long been one of my favorite places. I dig the Scandinavian efficiency with which the coast from Duluth to Grand Portage is laid out: cool little towns, then state parks, then gobs of national forest, then cool little town, a bad ass tunnel through a cliff, etc. It seems tailor made for active travel, sort of like an inland Pacific Coast Highway, but better because you can wear flannel and there's less coke. Whoa, did I say that? I did.

I found this gnarled old cedar clinging to the black volcanic rock of Cascade River State Park near Grand Marais, Minnesota. That's the Cascade River behind it, ripping through a tight gorge before throwing itself over a series of falls and dumping out into Lake Superior.

I love finding spots like this where Ma Nature mouths you by the scruff of your neck and shakes you a bit. "Pay attention," she says, "I'm trying to teach you something here."

The lesson I learned here is to endure. Persevere. Hang on even if nobody else is. And above all, grow.

That's all well and good, and quickly forgotten as I hopped back in the car and went about my picture making way, trying to acquire as many salable images as I could during that short trip a few years ago. But here's the beauty of still photography: that image, that moment, is still here with us several years later and can teach the same lessons, ones that are even more important now that our houses are worth less than we paid for them, our beautiful children WILL NOT GO TO SLEEP and for some reason (I know this is trivial but it still pains me) the winter sky refuses to sprinkle us with its magic dust (not talking about coke anymore).

So, yeah, I need to wrap this up. "Be well, do good work and keep in touch." What? Somebody already said that? Keillor, again?

Okay....ah, how about: "Pay attention, remember and share?"

Aaron Peterson is a photographer and writer based near Marquette and Lake Superior in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, but he's been known to go to Minnesota, Wisconsin and Ontario too if the money's good. For more of his work visit www.aaronpeterson.net

Wednesday Waterfall: Scott Falls

2011-12-21T16:32:00.001-05:00

Scott Falls is only about 20 feet from the side of M-28 just west of Munising, one of the busiest roads in the Upper Peninsula. It’s so close you can actually pull up, roll down your window and snap a photo from your vehicle. Like black bears munching blue berries in the ditch and the handmade signs for pasties and smoked fish, Scott Falls is one of those precious roadside attractions that makes any trip to the U.P. memorable.

Compared to its brash, crashing cousins nearby, Scott Falls is a dainty maiden traipsing through a fairy tale landscape of thigh-high thimbleberry. The demure trickle drops about 10 feet over a sandstone lip, splashing into a shallow circular pool before running a few hundred feet into Lake Superior.

While the falls is beautiful, the best part is the cave behind it. That’s right, a real cave. Now, it’s instinctual to think “cave=creepy,” but really, this is “cave=cool.” Wade around the edge of the pool and slip behind the falls and into the sand-floored cavern with moss-covered walls. This is the kind of place where garden gnomes are born and raised. Yea, it's a U.P. gnome nursery.

Location: About 10 miles west of Munising on M-28, immediately across the highway from the MDOT Rathfoot Roadside Park.

Bonus: One more mile west is AuTrain Beach, one of Lake Superior’s warmest, and sleepiest sand beaches.

Aaron Peterson is a photographer and writer based near Marquette and Lake Superior in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. For more of his work visit www.aaronpeterson.net

Nuclear Family

2011-12-18T23:17:00.001-05:00

It's that time of year again. Sweater vests and pretty red dresses. Family photo time. Blah.

We have good kids. As good of kids as a guy like me could ever really expect to have I guess.

There's J. The big boy.

And Smiley, the happy little baby girl.

But something goes terribly wrong when we try to get them together for pictures. Two equally loved, positively charged little Peterson particles, and when they are forced together on the same couch for photos...

We get something along the lines of fusion. Not cold fusion either. Genuine, hellfire-hot fusion.

An uncontrolled release of energy of a magnitude to shame the sun. Look at all those reds: sweater, dress, couch...face! J is in full meltdown and Smiley is feeling the heat, starting to slump even.

That's life in our nuclear family.

PS--I don't choose the sweater vests, I just take the pictures.

Aaron Peterson is a photographer and writer based near Marquette and Lake Superior in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. For more of his work visit www.aaronpeterson.net

Wednesday Waterfall: Bond Falls

2011-12-14T11:49:00.001-05:00

Bond Falls has long been one of my favorite waterfalls to photograph in the Western Upper Peninsula (U.P.) It's easy to get to, visually stunning and the surrounding area has lots of potential for creating good images as well. The "Z" formation in the rapids above the falls has long proven popular with nature photographers visiting the region.

Bond Falls is located on the Middle Branch of the Ontonagon River near the tiny hamlet of Paulding, in the Western Upper Peninsula.

The 50-foot high falls tumbles over a 100-foot-wide fist of dark, fractured rock. Below the falls the river pools around a small island, then slips away into the dense U.P. woods to the north.

Aaron Peterson is a photographer and writer based near Marquette and Lake Superior in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. For more of his work visit www.aaronpeterson.net

Noquemanon Trails Network

2011-12-11T18:22:00.000-05:00

I had the pleasure of attending the Noquemanon Trails Network's annual fundraiser, the Snowball, this past Friday evening. What a hoot. Good food, great people and a fine cause.

The NTN is a non-profit umbrella trails group for most of the mountain biking and skiing trails in the Marquette, Michigan region. The same trails where great events like the Noquemanon Ski Marathon and Superior Bike Fest are held. The trails that make the Marquette region such a great place to live and play.

I was proud to support NTN at the snowball this year with a donation of a 20x30 canvas gallery wrap. The print was auctioned off live and brought in $350 for the Noquemanon Trails. There's some gas in the groomer, and I'm glad to help.

See you on the trails.

Aaron Peterson is a photographer and writer based near Marquette and Lake Superior in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. For more of his work visit www.aaronpeterson.net

Wednesday Waterfall: Laughing Whitefish Falls, Michigan's Upper Peninsula

2011-12-07T13:04:00.001-05:00

Laughing Whitefish Falls is located in the Laughing Whitefish Falls State Scenic Site just north of the former town of Sundell in Michigan's central Upper Peninsula.

Here the diminutive Laughing Whitefish River cascades down a sandstone bowl into a deep valley on it's way to Lake Superior.

Aaron Peterson is a writer and photographer based in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. For more of his work from the Lake Superior region visit www.aaronpeterson.net.

Recent Work-Marquette Backcountry Ski

2011-12-06T18:00:00.001-05:00

Here's the December 2011 Traverse magazine profile I wrote and shot featuring Marquette inventor David Ollila and his Marquette Backcountry Ski. The ski was developed for the Lake Superior hills of Michigan's Upper Peninsula but is proving popular all over.

Aaron Peterson is a photographer and writer based near Marquette and Lake Superior in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. For more of his work visit www.aaronpeterson.net

Snowy Owls invade Michigan's Upper Peninsula

2011-12-05T20:59:00.000-05:00

There's nothing a photographer likes better than seeing something new.

Snowy owls, native to the arctic tundra, have been spotted throughout Michigan's Upper Peninsula and along Lake Superior. A photographer's dream come true.

Speculation abounds as to why the birds are here. It's not too uncommon, as every few years the owls' main food source, the lemming, crashes and forces the birds south out of hunger. However, this year reports are indicating that owl numbers are up and this migration may be a case of arctic overpopulation.

This owl was photographed on Lake Superior along the Keweenaw peninsula near Copper Harbor, Michigan.

Aaron Peterson is a photographer and writer based near Marquette on Michigan's Upper Peninsula (U.P.) For more images of life along Lake Superior and Michigan's Upper Peninsula visit my website at aaronpeterson.net.

Recent Work-Marquette Backcountry Ski

2011-12-02T09:57:00.000-05:00

The December issue of Traverse magazine has my five page profile of Marquette, Michigan native, entrepreneur, inventor and all around outdoor nut Dave Ollila and his latest innovation, the Marquette Backcountry Ski.

Dave O developed the Marquette Backcountry Ski (it's a mouthful, maybe just MBS?) for terrain like that found in the Upper Peninsula. Short, steep, brushy, gnarly wooded hurt locker sort of stuff--lots of potential for fun, but also for damage to those pretty, expensive skis designed for the open pow of actual mountains 1,500 miles to the west of the Lake Superior snowbelt we call home.

The ski is designed for the terrain of places like the Upper Peninsula, but what I found interesting is that it reflects the spirit of those who tend to gravitate to places like the U.P., Northern Minnesota, Wisconsin, Ontario, Vermont (maybe) etc: tough, reliable, no frills. We are not pretty or fancy, but we tend to get st#ff done. This is not the land of steez; this is the land of cheese. I could go on, but I think Keillor has used up most of the good stuff.

It's a good ski. It's a good article. Check them both out if you get the chance.

When Autumn Attacks!

2011-09-19T14:06:00.000-04:00

It snowed the other day. September 14th. On my dog.

But not on the chickens. They know to cluck and cover.

Naturally J grabbed a butterfly net and a hammer to confront the incoming weather.

The snow then changed tactics, morphing to rain and evading J's net.

It rained like a *insert favorite rural weather simile here.*

Afterwards the sky did a little victory dance.

J figured if you can't beat 'em, join 'em so we danced barefoot on the wet lawn. Which, by the way, is a really good way to get a toddler's grimy little feet clean!

Oh yea, and this all took place over about ten minutes. Really proves that in the Upper Peninsula, if you don't like the weather, just wait...

Recent Work-Canoe & Kayak

2011-09-06T23:30:00.000-04:00

The current issue of Canoe & Kayak magazine carries my work in a seven-page feature article by friend and writer Conor Mihell.

It's a tale of woe. A tale of a doomed (almost) trip to find a wilderness lake in Northern Ontario named for Conor's family. Mihell Lake. Yes, pronounced "my-HELL." My guard should have been up immediately, right?

Anyway, we had a lovely time kicking and dragging heavily laden canoes through the still frozen (8 inches of ice in some places) lakes of the Temagami region. I say lovely because, although it was mostly a sufferfest, we had the place all to ourselves. Well almost. There was a crazy beaver that wouldn't leave us alone one night.

Point being, if, like me, you ache from your painters to your tumblehome (canoe talk) for quiet, wild and rugged country--then you owe it to yourself to check out the Temagami region.

Just don't go quite as early as we did! Here's the piece:

And, like a parent, I love every image the same--but realize some just aren't going to fit in. Here's to the images from the trip that landed on the cutting room floor:

Paddling in ice is a...wait for it...drag.

Conor and his namesake lake.

Twilight portage.

Sure the fire is cool, but did you notice the moon?

The Mihell's, Kim and Conor

Pre-trip dinner on the back porch.

Tools of the trip. I love that axe.

Smoothwater Lake

Assisting.

Beast of Burden, the Nova Craft Prospector 16. This boat is STOUT.

Giving thanks for situations that allow you to do things you otherwise would never try.

so...cold...

This is the official Canadian ice testing technique.

Marina Lake.

More frozen lake---but sunshine...and hope.

Conor gets his paddle on.

My wingman, the Jimmer.

Moose? Check!

Carnage. My hand after pulling the boat with the axe.

Recent Work-Traverse Magazine

2011-09-02T14:47:00.000-04:00

The August issue of Traverse magazine, a gorgeous publication covering northern Michigan includes my eight-page feature article on Upper Peninsula Overland, a non-profit adventure travel and tourism promotion organization for the U.P.

Fun article to work on and shoot and a great group of folks involved. Check it out:

Recent Work-Adventure Kayak Photo Annual

2011-08-16T11:36:00.001-04:00

Adventure Kayak magazine features some of my work in their annual photo issue that just came out. Adventure Kayak is one of those smart little publications that I love to work with. A hardworking, dedicated team of creative professionals finding a niche.

Now, nobody is going to get rich (or even pay the bills) on a few images like these published in a small, niche magazine a few times a year. But for me, work like this is an enjoyable part of a larger puzzle that involves advertising shoots, print sales, writing and additional stock image sales.

While the pay is not huge, I enjoy working with publications like Adventure Kayak and its sister publications (Canoeroots, Rapid, etc.) where you can still get to know editors, there's still time to chat about the activities and outdoor opportunities we love, which after all is the reason we're in this business. I like to think that this builds mutual respect and understanding, which means contributors get paid on time (usually :-) and know someone is actually going to read your emails and listen to your messages when you have an idea or a concern.

Here's to small publications, and little guys like me who appreciate them. Give 'em a read!

Oh yea, they are also kind of cutting edge with a couple digital versions of the magazine in addition to the gorgeous print version (still my preferred read).

You can check out the issue online at:
http://www.adventurekayakmag.com/adventurekayakmag_fall11

Or even download it and read it on your iPhone or iPad at:
(http://itunes.apple.com/ca/app/adventure-kayak-magazine/id431204681?mt=8

Girl of Summer

2011-08-08T22:05:00.000-04:00

Welcome to our daughter, born over the weekend.

Life with Chickens: Part 2

2011-08-06T13:37:00.002-04:00

Last week I picked up some young chicks. In Trenary, Michigan. Eighty of them. At the feedmill. That's where they hang out. Now I'm not saying Trenary chicks are easy to pick up, but if a guy like me can do it, well, then I'm guessing you can too. It helps if you have a cute toddler like J.

Known fact: Chicks dig toddlers; toddler dig chicks.

Okay enough silly stuff. For the third year we're raising a bunch of Cornish X (stands for "cross") broiler chickens. Also called "meat" chickens, as that's what they're raised for, not eggs. Obtaining eggs would be hard, since these chicks are dudes.

Dudes that grow really big breasts and shapely thighs. Fast. Like 400 pounds of frozen chicken in 8 weeks fast.

In 8 short weeks these little peepy cute fluff balls turn into enormous, voracious, look-at-me-funny-and-I-will-eat-you-too metabolism machines. This is the same breed of bird cranked out of factories for the likes of Tyson and the Colonel.

But we do it different. Same bird, WAY different process. We raise them in mobile coops on pasture. They spend about three weeks in the brooder in the garage where we can keep them safe and warm until their feathers come out (the awkward teenage years; even the word "awkward" looks awkward). Then they move out onto our hayfield into the coops. Coops are moved once, sometimes twice a day so the birds can get fresh grass and get away from their poo.

A couple things happen when you raise birds this way. They fertilize your hay field with an INCREDIBLE amount of manure. They eat a bit less feed (which is mainly GMO corn and soybean unless you go for the organic stuff which we can't really get up here). They eat less feed because they are eating pasture and the critters that lurk on pasture, like hoppers, beetles, frogs, mice and snakes. Yes, frogs, mice and snakes--I've seen it. Nothing left but a red smear in the grass.

They also get exercise to keep their legs and lungs in good shape (broken legs are a common problem in birds that grow this fast). And the best part is they supposedly are better for you since they are partially grass fed, so have higher good fats, lower bad fats, etc. You can look that stuff up and get a better explanation than I can give here.

Or just crack a grass fed hen's egg next to a store bought egg. One is the sun (grass fed) the other is the moon (sad store egg). Try it if you haven't already. The taste difference is there too.

Oh, if you're wondering what in the heck we do with 80 chickens for a family of three (soon to be 4). The answer is that we only keep about 30 for ourselves, and that lasts us the year. Friends come out for one day in September to help process and package the mature birds and we sell the birds to them at cost for helping with the harvest. A good time is had by all (humans anyway). We call it Slaughter Fest. It's not so bad. Really.

Life with Chickens: Part 1

2011-08-03T19:29:00.000-04:00

So, we have chickens. Not really a big deal anymore, seems like everybody does these days. But life with chickens (and toddlers) is just so darn fun I had to share. Who needs TV?

For those that care about these sorts of things, we have a flock of five Barred Rock hens that give us plenty of eggs. Plenty of exercise too if you're in the "try and whack things with a stick" phase of your life (I just outgrew this, but J is picking up the slack). They are sweet, old-fashioned birds that know how to find their own food and keep out of harm's way. Unless of course, by finding food they end up in the veggies, flowers or sandbox in which case they are also in harm's way.

J is a helper. He likes to help with the eggs. He likes to help with the camera. Which unfortunately means he ends up helping with the compost too. Take a look!

Stand Up Paddling!

2011-07-19T15:10:00.000-04:00

Finally got a chance to check out stand up paddling, or SUP this weekend at the Great Lake Sea Kayak Symposium in Grand Marais, Mich.

Sweet sport. Probably adding it to the repertoire, much to my saving account's chagrin.

Here are the first few quick edits:

Yep, that's right, got wet on this one. Shot from the splash zone and underwater in the shallows using a waterproof housing for my Nikon D700. Learned a bunch, mostly how much I still have to learn about shooting subsurface. And that shooting underwater in Lake Superior for about three hours will bring on mild hypothermia even in a wet suit. And that a gin and tonic (or several) is not an approved remedy for hypothermia :-\

Recent Work-Superior Outdoors

2011-07-12T14:10:00.000-04:00

The summer issue of Superior Outdoors magazine features two of our sea kayaking images from Lake Superior Provincial Park in Ontario, Canada.

Superior Outdoors is a great little publication with a big heart based out of Thunder Bay, Ontario. The husband and wife team of Darren and Michelle McChristie have dedicated their publication to active outdoor pursuits and environmental concerns in the Lake Superior region of Ontario, Minnesota, Wisconsin and Michigan. Here's the mag in their own words:

"Superior Outdoors magazine is a high quality magazine for outdoor enthusiasts packed with stunning photographs and engaging stories. Our focus is Lake Superior, with coverage that includes central Canada and the Midwestern states. We cover a wide range of topics from outdoor adventure, news and events to environmental issues and the largest, most comprehensive event listing in the region. Each issue also includes an eight page photo gallery of the best images from around the lake."

It's that last part, the eight-page photo gallery that I like best. Eight pages! If you love life on the Big Lake, you should give Superior Outdoors a read.

Here are the images Superior Outdoors is using this issue:

Till Creek Falls dwarfs a curious paddler.

Lifting fog and a gorgeous day ahead.

And here are a few more from the rugged and remote shoreline of Lake Superior Provincial Park, on Lake Superior's north east coast, in Ontario, Canada. One of my favorite places to work, play and just disappear...

Quiet campsite at twilight on a sheltered cove.

The ancient pictographs of Agawa Rock depict Lake Superior demigods.

Sunset at Agawa Beach.

Lake Superior fog, eerily beautiful to paddle in.

Stretching legs after a long day in the boats.

Waves and boulders grind pockets in the sandstone at Grindstone Point.

Evening paddle in a quiet, sheltered bay.

A bouldery bay at Cape Gargantua.

The ladies dance around the fire to stay warm.

Recent Work-Gun Dog Magazine

2011-07-09T14:20:00.001-04:00

We're in the July issue of Gun Dog Magazine, a respected upland bird and waterfowl dog publication. The image is of my friend Kyle Miller's little Springer spaniel Lilly with a ruffed grouse during our annual Bird Camp hunting trip down in Dickinson County.

Lilly's photo accompanies an article about care for senior hunting dogs, which is appropriate because she is getting up there in years. But it's also funny to me, because she still acts like a spoiled little puppy. If I had a dollar for every time we've shooed her smelly, muddy and wet doggy butt off our sleeping bags, clothes and cots at bird camp, well then I wouldn't have to sell pictures of her to make a living!

Anyway, it was nice to work with Gun Dog, and thanks Kyle and Lilly.

Here's the shot in the mag, as well as a few others from bird camp.

Independent, self-evident, equal and unalienable

2011-07-03T23:33:00.000-04:00

I love words, and these are some of my favorites:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness...

Hard to believe Thomas Jefferson was only 33 years old when he jotted that down, isn't it?

I also love flag photos, and these are some of my favorites:

New Cover for Old Friends

2011-07-01T22:33:00.000-04:00

My mountain biking images are featured on the cover and inside the new July issue of Silent Sports magazine. I work with the fine folks at Silent Sports quite often, you gotta love those long term positive relationships developed over several years. Check the issue out now on stands near you for the best, most in depth reporting and features on active outdoor ventures in the Midwest.

Here's a peek at the July cover, and several other recent ones too.

Paddling Five Mile Point

2011-06-27T13:28:00.001-04:00

Got out this weekend for a quick sea kayak paddle on Lake Superior and was reminded of what I love about living and working in this region: outdoor options.

Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore and Grand Island National Recreation Area are both world class kayaking destinations about 20 minutes from home, and that's where I'm usually lured. This time however, I was looking to fill in some blank spots on my mental map of Lake Superior and stayed a little closer to the farm.

Five Mile Point begins just east of AuTrain at a convenient little wayside with a historical marker and a sweet waterfall. I'm embarrassed to say I had never paddled the point before, but figured a sandstone point in Lake Superior exposed to northern wind and waves was bound to have an interesting shoreline.

I was not disappointed. It reminded me a lot of the Apostle Islands in Wisconsin--arches, caves, cliffs and creamy swirls of tan and brown sandstone. Just an awesome day paddle, one of many along the Hiawatha Water Trail.

Here are a few quick and dirty snaps from the old iPhone.

For those curious about the boat, it's a Current Designs Isle, a Greenland style boat designed for large paddlers. It has lines like a throwing knife, is fast and straight tracking with tons of volume.

New Work-Fantasy Islands

2011-06-22T14:11:00.001-04:00

Just got my hands on the July/August issue of Midwest Living magazine. Last August I was asked to shoot the Republic Island Lodge, a small cabin retreat on an island in the Michigamme River near Republic here in the Central Upper Peninsula.

Working with the fine folks at Midwest Living is always a treat, but working with the great owner of the property, Cara Middleton and her family made it even better. In one short evening and an even shorter morning we were able to pull off the assignment under a tight deadline between paying guests.

It's funny, I consider myself a laid back guy, but wow, do I love stress and pressure. Makes you sharp and focused, eliminates distractions and forces you to use your gut. Give me a double scoop of pressure with stress frosting; I'll polish it off and pay the bill with crisp, fresh images.

Here are some shots from the island.

Bugs!

2011-06-21T11:58:00.000-04:00

It's the first day of summer, so time to say goodbye to the season of mud and bugs (in theory) and welcome in sunny beach bliss.

I recently experienced the worst mosquitoes I've ever encountered. No, not Canada. Not even the Everglades, but right here in the good old U.P. while working on a story at Craig Lake State Park. We got off the water at dusk and couldn't even draw a breath. Now, I grew up in a swamp and have a fairly high tolerance for skeeters, but this was unreal.

Here's a photo salute to some past encounters of the insect kind.

Craig Lake State Park

Fishing the Escanaba River

Apostle Islands National Lakeshore

Isle Royale National Park

Back on the Escanaba River

Sirens of the Stream

2011-06-10T10:07:00.000-04:00

Oh man, I can't stay away from the streams this year. Here are some pix from a recent outing on the Paint, Fence and Ontonagon River systems of the Central Upper Peninsula. Gorgeous colors on the fish already this season. Seems early to see brook trout lit up like this. I usually don't see this kind of color until September leading into spawning season.

Tight lines!

Lupines are Blooming!

2011-06-09T08:17:00.002-04:00

Well, maple syrup season is long over but I still feel like a big dumb old tree with a sweet gooey center. Here’s to my wonderful wife on our 10th wedding anniversary.

Fifteen years ago a couple of kids hopped in a car and headed north in the rain for no reason other than to just be alone together for a day. They drove north as far as they could go in a day and ended up at Black River Harbor. Along the way they picked lupines growing wild in a ditch in front of an abandoned farmstead outside of Bessemer.

Ten years ago they joined each other for life in marriage and moved north to the Upper Peninsula to find themselves like they did those flowers a few years earlier.

Five years ago they found this old abandoned homestead near Chatham with lupines again growing wild in the old pastures.

Lupines flower in their second season, and are all the more precious for it. Of all the stories I’ve been blessed to be a part of, this is still my favorite.

Early Father's Day Reflection...

2011-06-03T12:54:00.000-04:00

Well, Father's Day is coming up and since I spend a lot of time at home with my son, fatherhood is a topic I think about a lot. But, since I spend a lot of time with a toddler, my own brain seems to be becoming more toddlerlike and I'll probably forget to post something when Father's Day actually does arrive. So here it goes!

I love my job. I get to do fun (sometimes crazy) things in a creative way and interact with other creative people. It's a hoot. But when the dust settles and the stories and photos are out the door, I look around and realize my greatest creative acts are those of fatherhood.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Of course these weren't solo acts, so hats off to my great wife too. And of course, I try to remember warm fuzzy thoughts like this when there is sidewalk chalk on window screens, crayon on the walls and marker just about everywhere (washable though!). I guess the creative gene lives on!

To the brave, creative act of parenthood!

Copper Harbor Mountain Biking

2011-05-23T12:24:00.002-04:00

Birds aren't the only things flying in Copper Harbor these days. The hard work of the Copper Harbor Trails club has been recognized by the International Mountain Bicycling Association (IMBA) by being designated an Epic Ride. There are only about 50 Epics in the country, so yeah, it's a big deal.

Sam Raymond of Keweenaw Adventure Company hooked me up with a couple local riders for a quick session on some of the sweet new bridges and banked corners the trails are known for, as well as cliff-hugging views along Brockway Mountain.

There is a lot of hard work that goes into building these types of trails in this harsh terrain, so get on up to the Harbor and give a nod to the trails club and their Epic ride.

PS--This coming weekend (May 27-29) would be a good time. It's the Ride the Keweenaw Weekend and the IMBA Great Lakes Mountain Bike Summit.

And now for the pictures. I was feeling a bit artsy.

Keweenaw Raptor Survey

2011-05-23T08:43:00.002-04:00

I went north again this weekend, this time to Copper Harbor to work on a story about the Keweenaw Raptor Survey and Copper Harbor Birding Festival.

The KRS is a three-year study of the migrating raptors that whiz by Brockway Mountain overlook just outside the little town of Copper Harbor at the tip of the Keweenaw Peninsula. Current data is showing that while the numbers of migrating birds is less than Duluth to the West and Whitefish Point to the East, it's still a respectable number (2,500 hawks on one day recently) and important flyway.

Brockway definitely wins when it comes to the cool factor though. Hawks, eagles and falcons cruise by at eye level and are identifiable with the naked eye. Sometimes an over enthusiastic sharp-shinned hawk will nearly collide with observers as it pops over the ridge on a thermal updraft. It's an amazing place and a great place to start learning your raptors.

Oh Canada!

2011-05-11T14:06:00.000-04:00

Just got back from two weeks shooting in Northern Ontario, working on a couple paddling-related assignments with writer Conor Mihell. Now, it has been rumored that my absence from the USA during the demise of Mr. Bin Laden is no coincidence, but I assure you I am not a secret Navy SEAL. Though parts of this recent trip did resemble SEAL training at times...

First we ran the Agawa River, in Lake Superior Provincial Park, a beautiful whitewater river running through a deep canyon and only accessible by train. Rails to rapids sort of thing. We were the first to run it this season so water was high and the snow was still deep in parts of the woods. Great river and a great time. We worked on this for the travel section of a major Canadian newspaper.

Loading boats on the train in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario.

The train drops into the Agawa Canyon where it meets the river.

Portaging down the tracks.

A nice bit of Class II rapids.

Agawa Falls in flood. The 75-foot falls isn't listed on maps and must be portaged.

Next we headed east to the Temagami region, an untamed land of deep lakes, rugged hills and rich native culture. Our goal was to reach a lake named for Conor's family, Mihell Lake, and celebrate his 30th birthday. Ice out was a bit late this year, so we had to do a little "hard-water" paddling. Vanilla Ice drummed in our heads through long days of smashing through, and dragging over ice. It was a unique experience for sure, and made for some great images. All in all, it was a good trip, but not one that any of us imagined it would be. I can't say too much about the trip, but you can get all the details in an upcoming issue of Canoe & Kayak magazine.

Dragging across a frozen lake with wingman Jim Leaf.

Fire was our friend this early in the season.

Beautiful but brutal--paddling through brash ice.

Sunset on icy Smoothwater Lake.

Conor on open water.

Our goal for the trip: Mihell Lake.

A twilight portage.

The novelty of paddling in the ice quickly wore off.

Thanks to these great companies for supplying equipment for this and future stories:

And a special thanks to my wonderful wife and the grandmas for holding down the fort while I was "working."

Kid Tested

2011-04-18T20:58:00.000-04:00

As many of you know, when I'm not shooting and writing I wrangle a toddler. Wrangling toddlers and making professional progress don't necessarily go hand in hand. I love my job. I love my boy much, much more, but let's just admit it, they don't always sync.

Today was NOT one of those days! I had a big helper today as I got ready for an upcoming assignment. In a little over a week I'll be going on a trip for Canoe & Kayak magazine, 10 days paddling in the Temagami region of Ontario shooting a story for writer Conor Mihell. Before such trips I like to shake down my camping gear a bit, relearn things I've forgotten and try out any new gear before the trip.

Introducing our new tent, an ALPS Mountaineering Vertex 4. It's easy to set up, and even fits in our living room! Josiah liked it immediately. "Tunt! Tunt! Tunt!"

Kid tested, photographer approved.

Recent Work-SPACE Trailers

2011-04-10T21:22:00.000-04:00

Part of what I love about my work is meeting interesting people and sharing interesting ideas. I recently sold a sea kayaking image to a fella from Minnesota by the name of Todd Olson. He needed it for the backdrop to a trade show booth promoting his new company.

Todd and his brother Brennan are starting a company building lightweight trailers for your car. He figures the outdoors crowd is also the environmentally-friendly crowd, and you don't have to be a genius to realize that $4 per gallon gas (or higher) is going to cut down on your outdoors pursuits when you're rolling to the trailhead in a big old SUV, truck, etc. The idea is to trade the guzzler for a sipper and pick up a cute little trailer for your gear.

I think it's a good idea and worth a shot. What I didn't know, was that the Olson boys have had other good ideas. Yea, that's right, they invented the Rollerblade inline skate. Not bad for a couple of fellas from Minnesota, eh?

They're calling it SPACE Trailers, check it out.

Marquette Backcountry Ski

2011-03-17T23:33:00.002-04:00

I know it's a little late in the season to finally get around to posting about a new ski, but here it goes.

Dave Ollila, serial entrepreneur, adrenaline junkie, inventor of the original helmet cam and Marquette, Mich. native has blessed the quiver of snow addicts everywhere with the Marquette Backcountry Ski.

It's short. Fat. Stiff. Sorta ugly, and so much fun I don't know how I lived without it.

Bottom line is, it's a short, wide, affordable ski with big scales on the bottom for climbing. Paired with a three-pin binding and a pair of modern telemark boots it's a useful tool for scrambling around the rolling wooded hills in places like the Upper Peninsula, Northern Minnesota, Ontario, and tons of other places where there's snow and a will to descend it.

Ollila markets it as 70 percent ski, 30 percent snowshoe and 100 percent fun. There's all kinds of argument in the--let's just admit it--snobby ski world, but Dave O is dead-on about the fun part. They are fun, and that's what it's all about, right?

Here's what some other folks have to say about it:

One

Two

Three

I'll be profiling Ollila in an upcoming issue of Traverse magazine. Stay tuned.

Winter in Montana

2011-03-17T22:45:00.001-04:00

We recently returned from our first trip to the Western U.S. in winter. Wow. The Montana landscape is sooo overwhelming visually. But on the other hand, as a photographer it's easy to make great shots because mountains are just so damn sexy.

There are times I wish the Upper Peninsula had real mountains, but then there would be way more people here and we probably wouldn't be able to afford to live the way we do.

So, I guess Montana can keep the mountains and I'll be satisfied with having a brother-in-law who lives and works in them and keeps a couch, a fly rod and a pair of skis with my name on them for when I get a little itch to go West.

Our cabin at Izaak Walton Hotel in Essex, MT.

Izaak Walton Hotel, Essex, MT. Great Nordic trails south of Glacier NP.
Kinda had a Shining feel to it though.

Snow Ghost snow formations on fir trees at the summit of
Big Mountain ski resort, Whitefish, Mt.

On a clear day the peaks of Glacier NP are visible from
Big Mountain in Whitefish, Mt.

Canada Connection

2011-02-23T23:14:00.006-05:00

We love Canada, and that's a good thing since Ontario is physically closer to us than any U.S. state or even our own state capitol.

Back in early January we got invited to a media weekend at Stokely Creek Lodge, a lux Nordic ski resort just north of Sault Ste. Marie. It's owned by a Michigan family and boasts around 120 k of gorgeous trails and even snowshoe trails up a mountain overlooking Lake Superior. It is the best skiing and snowshoeing we've ever experienced, and that says a lot because our own backyard in the Upper Peninsula is so top notch. It's a little hard to admit that our neighbors to the north have it even better when it comes to snowy scenery.

Plus, we got to meet a whole crew of interesting Canadian writers and photographers like our longtime heroes Gary and Joanie McGuffin, Conor Mihell and James Smedley.

Here's a link to Smedley's recent piece in the Sault Star newspaper on our weekend of adventure.

Big Guy in a Small Town-Obama visits Marquette

2011-02-13T15:17:00.004-05:00

So, just your average week here in the U.P. photographing the President of these United States.

Such a handsome devil, that Obama guy.

The president visited Northern Michigan University to talk about wireless Internet technology. I am proud to have shot the event for the fine folks in the Communications and Marketing Department at NMU.

The rest of the pix are here.

Another blog about the day is here.

Ice Fest Cometh!

2011-02-01T08:11:00.005-05:00

This weekend is Michigan Ice Fest in Munising, Michigan. One of the largest, oldest and bestest ice climbing festivals anywhere.

Check out my feature story and photos in the February issue of Traverse magazine covering the festival.

Writing Hurts

2011-01-20T10:48:00.003-05:00

In the office today, trying to push out some writing. Feels like a breech birth of an eight legged bull calf. Hoofed and horned. Painful stuff. Do they do C-sections for uncooperative words?

Here's a completely unrelated photo of a moose and calf on Isle Royale NP because blogs need photos and this is one of the few non-graphic birth-related images I have.

Who needed 2010 anyway?

2011-01-11T09:23:00.003-05:00

So, 2010 is gone. History. In fact, the entire decade is behind us now. Let's not linger. The fact that I didn't post once last year? Well, let's not dwell on that either, okay? Deal?

In full confession mode now. I'm a stay at home papa trying to figure out the balance of work that pays money, and work that pays runny noses, sleepless nights and the joy of watching a toddler stomp snow. The blog just doesn't seem so important. Many things from the past decade don't seem so important.

The next decade is beginning nicely. There is interesting professional work on the horizon, and even more cool toddler events in the near future as well. Maybe I'll even blog about them.

Here's to a a new decade!

Recent Work

2009-12-08T19:01:00.009-05:00

This fall I was happy to continue my work with Michigan Travel Ideas, Michigan's official travel guide.

It was a crummy year for color though, and timing good color and good weather simultaneously was very tricky, but we made the best of it.

Here are some of my favorites from the multiple-day shoot that focused on fall color, shopping, and travel in the Upper Peninsula.

Fully Thankful

2009-11-26T10:21:00.008-05:00

So, ah, it's been awhile. I'd like to get back into this, and thought I'd take the holiday to get back blogging.

Here are some things I'm thankful for:

Our chubby bald baby boy (born in April...about when I stopped blogging)!

My wonderful wife!

A profession that allows me to work from home and raise our chubby bald baby boy!

The lack of blog police to punish folks who neglect posting for over six months. (That'd be me)

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. It's been a crazy fun year, and I'll tell you more about it in the near future.

Sunburned & Smilin'

2009-03-16T11:09:00.008-04:00

Phew, just got back from assignments shooting historic downtowns, posh bed & breakfasts (yum!) and hi-octane outdoor recreation for Travel Michigan again. Gorgeous weather with fresh snow and blue skies helped create a nice batch of images for Michigan's official tourism campaign.

But it also meant I got a jump start on my summer tan after a thorough baking (more like burning!) at Indianhead Mountain. A summer sunburn is painful and annoying, but in March in the Upper Peninsula, it's a more like a promise of good things to come.

Oh yeah, and Elvis was out on the slopes too!

The Tao of Snow Removal

2009-03-05T09:41:00.008-05:00

Here's an essay running in the March issue of Traverse magazine.

Technically, it is spring. It has been for several weeks. But what I’m watching from the living room window at 5 a.m. is not spring. It’s a montage of all-out weather warfare choreographed in cinematic fashion by the flashing of the motion lights on the garage.

Darkness: Growling wind and the house creaks.
Floodlight: Lilacs doubled over, writhing.
Darkness: The staccato spit of sleet on the windows.
Floodlight: The propane tank has vanished under a drift. The picnic table too. Casualties.

My wife is still upstairs, dreaming of warm, exotic places to the south—like Escanaba. But I’m thinking ahead to daylight and what in this white world I’m going to do with over a foot of sloppy slush.

The garage is 150 feet south of the house. The house is 300 feet south of our gravel township road. It’s all quite private, and a major reason we were drawn to this old farmstead. But after a spring blizzard, that distance feels more like a privation than privacy.

Many old homesteads nearby are built close to the road. Some have buildings only a few feet off the pavement, too close for today’s codes. When we were house hunting, we’d frowned on those places, waving to the folks in the yard, but thinking how tiring it must get to have to wave to everyone, everyday. What if you didn’t feel like waving one day? Would your neighbors talk?

We now realize that those goofy outbuildings so close to the road weren’t built there by accident. They were the garages and carriage houses of yesteryear, allowing our snow-savvy neighbors easy access to the plowed or packed roads. On a day like today, they look like a nice option, waving or no waving.

Two snow blowers are in the garage. One is old, normally quite reliable and a rider, but completely dead after narrowly defeating what we thought was the last storm of the season, last week. The other is even older, and is only still around because it is so useless it rarely sees any action. It’s what I like to a call a push-blower, and little more than a very heavy, gas (and oil) burning shovel. In spring I’ve been tempted to fire it up just to smother swarms of mosquitoes and black flies with its blue cloud. Today, it’s my only weapon.

I ease it out into the white wasteland. It hiccups, bogs, comes back up to speed and begins to puke a stream of slush to the side. About a foot to the side. I look across the expanse of yard that needs clearing and try and calculate how long it would take to move the snow one foot per pass. I’m already sweating under the ski goggles, and I can’t tell if it’s from crunching exponential math or pushing a snow blower through a foot of slush.

The machine is too light. It climbs up the slush, compacting it, then spins helplessly. Gelded. I lift the handles up and angle the whirling auger back down towards the ground, pushing it into the mess. Then push down on the handles, see-sawing the wheezing geezer into the compacted slop below.

That’s when the shear pins break. They are the sacrificial bolts that give out first before real drivetrain damage is done. I can measure winter by my reserve of shear pins in an old pickle jar in the garage. There are no more shear pins, and thus winter should be done. It’s not, but this snow blower is.

A lady who was raised on this farm told me that when she was a child the township contracted with residents to clear their driveways. Before that, it seems folks resigned themselves to the snow and parked their cars in favor of sleds, sleighs and real horsepower. There’s a monument to those days on the highway at the edge of town. A giant snow-roller, a tube six feet high and ten feet wide pulled by horses to pack the snow rather than push it.

That’s it! Why didn’t I think of it before? Don’t fight the snow with shovels, plows and throwers; simply pack it down. It’s the Tao of snow removal: use your enemy’s wet, sloppy strength against it.

The old 4x4 rumbles to life even though it’s been drifted in for nearly six months. I drop it into four-low and it crawls out from behind the garage, dragging its belly over drifts in streaks of rust red and grease gray. I drive back and forth, north and south, for the next hour, squishing every last rut down into a brown mush—not the packed white sheet I’d envisioned. My wife nicknames it Lake Snow-Be-Gone. For the next week I wade to the garage every morning in rubber boots to bring her car to the house door.

Would I do it again? Probably not. But it was the last snow, the last straw and the last shear pin.

Personal Grooming

2009-03-04T15:32:00.003-05:00

Since we're talking ski trail grooming, I thought I'd share a bit about how I pack and level our massive depths of snow for our own personal loops at the farm.

This is a little embarrassing since my last post featured what has to be the coolest ski groomer ever. Ours is decidedly non-cool.

We drag a bed spring behind an old Polaris snowmobile. Round and round we drive the sled, packing the powder, and then round and round again with the bed spring to level it all out. Simple, practical, and even effective sometimes. It's an okay way to groom trails, and a really good way to mess up a bed spring.

It has been a long winter.

How we roll, eh

2009-02-24T12:57:00.004-05:00

I found this gem at Valley Spur Ski Trails in the Hiawatha National Forest, just down the road from our homestead. It's a Chevy Blazer outfitted with tracks and used to pull cross-country ski trail grooming equipment. I love it. I wish I had two, so I could make them fight. It would be like our own little neighborhood Transformers episode.

Inching toward Spring

2009-02-23T09:30:00.003-05:00

What an amazing, beautiful...and bountiful winter. I've shoveled the snowbanks twice so far this season so we could see out the front windows. I also shoveled the roof once, and that time was able to climb up a snowbank to get on the roof. This weekend we received over three feet of snow, and I spent around 4.5 hours removing that snow. Ah, the good life. Here's a note from our local weather service office:

“…over 200 inches of snow has now fallen for this winter season at the NWS office located in Negaunee township. The average snowfall we can typically expect to have received through this date is 126.2 inches. While it is not uncommon for our office to receive over 200 inches of snow, it is uncommon to receive that much snow by this date. In fact, this marks only the third time at least 200 inches of snow has been recorded by the NWS through February 22nd."

For Sale

2008-11-06T09:41:00.008-05:00

There's a constant ebb and flow of goods and services washing through the community bulletin boards and classified ads (we even have a Yooper Craigslist!) in our small town. It's one of my favorite spices in what an outsider may consider a bland stew of rural, small town life.

So, from time to time I'm going to share a taste of the local buy-sell economy from my little slice of the world.

Here it goes:

Guns. There are always guns for sale. Or even guns wanted. They are as much a part of our culture as bread and butter (or Busch Light and large trucks). However, some are more interesting than others, as seen in this recent ad. Two of these are semi-automatic assault-style rifles designed primarily for self defense (or self offense).

But the last one is a muzzleloader, like a new-fangled version of Danny Boone's thunderstick. I found it interesting that there was an assault rifle, with no less than 800 rounds of ammunition, for sale alongside a rifle that shoots one bullet, then must be filled with powder and a new bullet pushed down the front of the gun before it can fire again. Two very different concepts.

But the fact that they are all for sale, means to me that one of my neighbors has now probably upgraded to a tank.

Maybe you're wondering what someone would do with a semi-auto assault rifle and 800 rounds of ammunition. Which leads us to...

Animals: there are ALWAYS animals for sale or to give away to a good home (and a well armed one). This week we have free kittens.

It's one stop shopping. It's a win-win. Two birds with one stone. Three kittens with one...HK91.

Also, notice that poor Fido has gone missing. Hmmm, better count your AK47 shells prior to purchase; there may only be 799.

The reward money is $300, and that's nearly enough for another assault rifle. Did they specify what shape man's best friend was to be returned in?

Disclaimer: I love animals; I also own firearms. This is all in fun.

First Snow

2008-10-27T08:46:00.003-04:00

We're getting our first meaningful snow this week. It makes me think about the power of forgiveness.

Only six months ago winter had pushed us to the ragged fringes of sanity, but today, these first flakes are so incredibly beautiful, refreshing--and surprisingly welcome. It's a winter baptism after a short, but hectic summer.

While April snow is an obnoxious guest that refuses to leave, an October snow is a prodigal son, with whom all is forgiven.

At least until April.

Weekend Guest

2008-10-21T14:27:00.011-04:00

So, what happens when you cut big holes in your house with a chainsaw on a fall weekend? Well, naturally an owl flies in and spends the night!

A bewildered little sawhet owl, probably migrating through on his way down from Canada, stopped in for a visit recently. Apparently a gap in the temporary plastic covering the hole for a new window was just too tempting to pass by. He made his way up the stairs and perched on a nightlight where he was discovered by guests.

After a bit of pandemonium, and a few flash photos, I punched a window screen out and he flew back into the night.

Exciting time here in the Northwoods.

Home Improvement

2008-10-21T14:03:00.007-04:00

So, ever since we bought this old farm, my "real job" of travel writing and photography has slowed a bit as I work to remodel our house. Here's a bit of recent video showing what it takes to install a new window in a 100-year-old log home. Note the blue exhaust from a bit of old gas and the chiming of both the smoke alarm and CO2 alarm at the same time--quite an achievement!

Sauced

2008-10-07T12:56:00.011-04:00

Who has time to blog when fall is falling all around? One thing I'd like to share from the past few weeks is our annual Apple Fest, or Apple Camp, or Sauce Fest or whatever you want to call it. Friends gather and help process several hundred pounds of semi-wild apples from our property and surrounding abandoned farms. Some apples are perfect table fruit, but most look fit only for the deer. All of them get quartered, steamed to a mush, then milled to separate out the skins and seeds. Add a little sugar, maybe some spices, and voila--sauce fit for a king. Or at least a toddler. We divide up the sauce and take it home to can on our own. This year we set a new record of around 40 gallons. Now that's what I call getting sauced.

Simmer Down

2008-08-21T11:05:00.006-04:00

I need a time-out. Quiet time. A nap perhaps? Summer in the Upper Peninsula is short and furious, and we do everything we can to take advantage of the long, lingering daylight of the north. This summer has been no exception, except, that we haven't actually been home much to enjoy the short season. We've been on the road since early July with assignments, so it's good to be home now. It's time to simmer down. There's lots to do on the old place, and I'm looking forward to harvesting the garden (if the frost doesn't get it first) and getting the house ready for fall and winter.

A Scythe of Relief

2008-07-07T19:03:00.004-04:00

My new lawnmower cuts a ten-foot swath and runs on organic vegetables, fair-trade Java and a massive quantity of dairy products.

Let me introduce you to my new hobby: mowing. Hand mowing, that is, with a scythe. Since this spring I've been filleting the weeds and grass on our 40 acres with what has to be one of the most beautiful hand tools ever.

Now this isn't the old heavy, curved-shaft contraption with the mass-produced stamped steel blade that broke the spirit and back of your grandfather. No sir, this comes from the mountain valleys of Austria, where folks hand hammer layers of steel into a finely curved blade as delicate and light as pastry crust and as sharp as a carving knife.

Then, good people in Maine pair them with ash handles (called snaths) that are custom fit to customer's dimensions. The whole kit, with a whet stone, holder, instructions (who needs em!) etc. comes in the mail. You assemble it, and then you're a mowing machine.

Well, not exactly. Seems those instructions are useful after all. But after a while you begin to find the rhythm of the scythe. It's often described as dancing, as the mower weights one leg, then rocks to the other leg as the blade sings in an arc, finally laying the mowed grass to one side as the process repeats.

It's a beautiful, meditative thing. It provides exercise and hay to use as mulch in the garden (I've snuffed all the weeds and fought off two frosts already this summer) and does it all in peace and quiet.

Plus, it gives me yet another wacky thing to write about!

Takin' What They're Givin'...

2008-06-20T16:02:00.009-04:00

Whoa, over a month since the last post. Yikes. Rest assured, I'm not lazin' away in the hammock. Okay, maybe a little bit. Here's the deal: Three features, two essays, three photo packages, daily photo requests, etc. Biz-E! The "E" is for enigma, as in, it's a mystery how I'm able to make a living doing this---but so far so good. Anyway, here's a fresh essay regarding the topic of work and balance (more like lack of) that's running right now in Northern Home & Cottage, a sister publication of Traverse Magazine. Now, back to work! For me at least...

I saw what was going to happen the moment the angular split of white birch launched from my hand, a chalky flap of bark following like a contrail. The birch bomb smacked the dog's speckled rump, exploding in an impossibly sharp "yiiipe" that pierced the stifling afternoon heat.

Gus, one of our emotionally fragile and frenetic border collie mutts, bolted from the woodshed and dove under the trailer where I was standing. I’d been moving the woodpile in a work-induced trance of pick-up-wood, toss-wood. He’d been sneaking bits of bark to neurotically gnaw, and got caught in the friendly fire.

"What did you do to the dog," demanded my wife, Kristen, poking her head out from inside the shed where she'd been stacking the wood I was tossing.

Things hadn't been going well that day, and it apparently wasn't going to get better. Maybe it was the still air, thick as bathwater. Or maybe it was because from the moment we saw bare ground in late April, she and I had been raking, wrenching, digging and painting our old farmstead back into shape. Over winter we'd happily filled page after page of a legal pad with projects we fully believed would be accomplished this summer.

Here’s the thing: we like work. Or, perhaps it’s not that we like it, but we know it, understand it and draw animal comfort from it, like Gus gnawing piles of bark into splinters. A friend has diagnosed us with “pointy butt syndrome,” the inability to sit still. But everyone has their limits, and now in mid-July and only about ten items into our list, we could already taste murder in the back of our throats.

She scrambled over the pile and out of the shed, sleeves rolled. Her forearms were bruised and cut, it was 90 degrees and humid, she had sawdust in places I’m not supposed to write about...and now I was beating her dog. There was going to be a reckoning. A wood-chopping woman from the U.P. was about to remind me of all the things I already knew about myself, but tried to forget in between moments like this. This was going to involve genetics, and nicknames and intimacies I definitely won't write about. This was going to hurt.

But then she stopped. She was looking over my shoulder, where the south side of the white farmhouse rippled in the heat.

"Look at that," she said, pointing. "There, on the clothesline."

It was a female ruby-throated hummingbird, sitting like a plump long-beaked Buddha, perfectly still on the clothesline in the middle of the yard. We'd seen several hummingbirds since spring, fighting around the feeder or buried eyes-deep in the pink sweet-pea blossoms climbing up the pumphouse. They are pure energy, feathered electrons zipping through flower gardens from Panama to Canada and back within the year. Still, here she is just sitting, an emerald splash of Zen on our clothesline in the mid-summer heat.

If a walnut-sized bird that's going to cross the Gulf of Mexico in the next few months can take a break, well, maybe we can too. It's not like we hadn't earned it. Already this year we'd hand dug a trench 20 feet long for a new water line. We'd painted the house and outbuildings. We'd hacked, burned and hauled away the collapsed barn and tackled dozens of necessary projects we’d already forgotten. For months we'd been throwing ourselves at the all-consuming, bent-back-and-bleeding-fingers work that doesn't hurt until you stop at dusk.

The ability to work blindly is our inheritance, perhaps the only we'll see. It's how our people kept their heads above water, mostly, even while it planted them in the soil before their time. It's how a girl becomes the first in her family to go to college, works two jobs and doesn't stop until they tell her there aren't any degrees left to obtain. It's how we were able to buy this place, but it's not why we bought it. We bought it for the shot gun blasts of chaotic flowers in the yard and the two fat maples where the hammock ought to go, but hasn't yet. We repotted our lives to this place because there are spots like the clothesline, where, if your feet are small enough and you have a belly full of nectar, you can relax—when you make the time.

We sat down in the wide woodshed door, and leaned back against the sun-bleached hardwood splits to watch the hummingbird for what seemed like an eternity. It would blink, cock its head a bit, but otherwise was still. Humless. But I felt this whole green-and-blue globe purring along beneath us, with a couple of people, dogs and a weird little bird perfectly still at the axis.

Eventually Gus nudged me, a wet nose saying all was forgiven--if he could have another stick from the shed. The bird was gone. I started to get up, but Kristen put her gloved hand on my knee. We lingered a while longer, rolling our eyes and shrugging over it all. Sometimes not working, takes more effort than the jobs that need doing. It's one thing to pile wood or dig a trench, but another to bury your instincts.

Love in the Air

2008-05-15T08:15:00.007-04:00

Well, love is in the air and it's time to hit the road for a family wedding down in the steamy southern realm of Northern Wisconsin. Back to our roots. Bowling alleys and dairy farms. German beer and Polish sausage. So, in the spirit of the season, here's an essay published in 2007 regarding my passion for the farm.

If it were possible to make love to a house, I’d be a cheatin’ man.

For over a year I’ve been engaged in a headlong 100-mph affair with a very mature, white-clapboarded beauty. I’m infatuated with her build, layout and 40-acre dowry, but I think she just digs my toolbelt.

Now, I’m no stranger to romantic notions. As a woodsy type with a gooey center, I end up gaga over something almost weekly. But it’s only been this strong once before, when, nearly twelve years ago, it was a girl wearing a blue and white swimsuit at a county park picnic. It was two weeks after graduation, and I remember a spinning sensation, shortness of breath and that watery, flowery smell of June when spring ripens to summer. Everything was changing and I’d found someone totally familiar, yet tantalizingly unknown, to relearn life with.

Love is dangerous stuff, and that little fling led to marriage. These days my wife and I are as mad about each other as ever, but since finding this old farm, I’ve been rolling head-over-heels down a white-picketed path of debauchery.

I used to read books with plots and characters. Now I just pore over how-tos and house porn—you know, those photo books of scantily clad Tuscan interiors and Normandy knockouts. I’ve spent hours trying to pick out which baby blue French country costume best suits my new mistress.

My family and friends are ashamed. I know what they’re all thinking, “She’s got to be 80 years older than him.” I feel myself changing too, taking on her mature tastes. The weather has suddenly become very important. My favorite magazine has changed from National Geographic Adventure to Mother Earth News. Now, taking a year off and sailing the world doesn’t sound nearly as important as growing fields of basil and really, really big tomatoes.

The most scandalous part, is that my wife totally supports us. This summer the neighbors caught the three of us on the front lawn. The house was semi-nude, with portions of siding and trim laying on the ground where it had dropped during our…project. A car rattling up our gravel road suddenly slowed, as voyeuristic neighbors, drawn by our passionate hammering and the house’s plaintiff groans and squeaks, gawked from the end of the driveway. We simply waved, unabashed at our “household of three.” A nervous hand fluttered back as they sped away.

Some might think this is a midlife crisis, but that means I’ll be dead by 60 so I hope not. Perhaps it’s a quarter-life crisis. Whatever it is, the affair has helped me recapture my manhood, boosted my confidence and helped me open up to trying new things. It’s fair to say my wife is impressed with my new skills as well.

I’m no Casanova, and the house has never said anything, but I get the feeling it’s been good for her too. It had been over ten years since anyone touched her the way I do, and I imagine she is starting to feel young again with all this attention. When I met the house, she was like a centerfold in a snowmobile suit. Underneath the electric blue wallpaper and peach-colored plasterboard was a lady of hewn, dovetailed logs. Since we’ve been together I’ve given her new wiring, windows, paint and lots of other little things a lady her age needs.

Of course it hasn’t all been rosy. The house doesn’t have a central heating system, which can be a problem in a region with a six-month heating season. Plus it makes a lot of strange noises when it’s windy, and then there’s the whole issue of the damp crawlspace. Let’s not go there. I admit, when things get rough I walk out on her, but a stroll through the woods to think things over always leads me back to the corner of the yard, where I can catch a flirtatious glimpse of her backside. There, standing in the berry patch where a rutted tractor path meets the old orchard, I trace the sinuous line of a blonde woodpile and watch her through a frilly tease of apple blossoms. It’s a view that leaves me red-faced and smiling, shuffling my feet and staring at the ground, like that gangly high school grad blinded by a blue bikini.

Lately my wife and I have been talking about the future, and where this affair is headed. I want wrap-around porches and an addition for the house. She agrees, and even supports the purchase of new power tools. But there’s a catch. Now that we’re settled here, she’d like an addition too. An addition to the family. Maybe even three or four of them.

Time to get my toolbelt, and get back to work.

Moving In

2008-05-14T06:17:00.007-04:00

Still crazy busy here--deadlines, deadlines, deadlines--so here's another previously published essay about when we first moved into the farm in 2006.

The moving van lumbers up the rough dirt road and hesitates at the end of the driveway where the faded handmade sign declares this property “For Sale.” With a nervous glance at each other, we rumble forward over the gravel curb and scrape through the tunnel of overgrown cedars and apple trees into the secluded yard.

The sign is lying. This place, a 40-acre Upper Peninsula farmstead in western Alger County, is not for sale. It had been yesterday, and for several years before that, but today it’s home. This is the place my wife, Kristen, and I have been dreaming of, a place to raise chickens and children. A place to live and love while our hair gets as white as the lake effect snows the area is famous for.

A few swings of the hammer and the sign flies loose. If we have our wish it’ll never show its face again.

Like us and our blue-collared ancestors—Poles, Germans and Swedes—the buildings are sturdy and straight, but a little rough around the edges. Shingles missing here, siding sagging there, and paint but a memory in spots. The big white farmhouse, part of it made of hand-hewn logs, is surrounded by a sprinkling of tidy red outbuildings. There’s a root cellar, a shed, a garage, the old milk barn, sauna building and woodshed. At the edge of the field squats the remains of the original log cow barn.

But at the center of it all is a familiarity that we can’t explain. A sense of belonging, like a family reunion where you might not know everyone’s name but it doesn’t matter because you share the same laugh, chubby cheeks or hair color.

This farm was built by people with winter in their blood. Swedes came first, around 1900, and hewed the forest into fields and a home. Then Finlanders took over in the 1930s and didn’t let go until the last one passed on in the mid 1990s. Since then an absentee owner has let it fall into disrepair, and only rodents and coyotes have spent winters here.

A convoy of friends roll into the driveway behind us with pickups and trailers heavy with our possessions. Boxes in the house. Tools to the garage. Garden stuff to the shed and root cellar. Skis to the barn.

“Do you know you’ve got, like, ten friggin pairs of skis?” my friend Cameron is asking from somewhere behind his armload of poles and boots.

I’m aware of how many pairs we have, though I don’t really have a justification for it other than that we live for winter. That’s why we moved to this area, a well-known snowbelt that routinely closes schools and highways. Also, with that many skis you need a place that has a barn to hold them all. We needed a ski stable.

The skinny ones are for racing, their flashy blue and white zigzag graphics leave no doubt. They are iced lightning that must be operated only during daylight hours by those in bright shades of Spandex. I have a tendency to miss turns at the bottom of steep hills at excessive speeds when on them; and Spandex doesn’t soften the cold kiss of mature timber. These snow stallions are kept stabled in all but the finest conditions and fed only the purest waxes.

The workhorses are found deeper in the pile. They are wide, with steel edges and heavy three-pin bindings. Mated with equally heavy leather boots these planks pull loaded sleds and packs into the hills for camping. These are Rosignols, but they may as well be called Carhartt or Craftsman. They are rugged tools, but once camp is established they become powder queens, linking telemark turns through knee-deep lake effect pow pow. Kneeling, turning, kneeling, turning like a powder-powered piston through snow of a religious magnitude. These backcountry boards are winter worship at its best and our new home is only blocks from the cathedral.

Of course we have 10 pairs of skis. Everyone who lives in a place where snow flies from October through May should have a solid winter arsenal or they’ll go stir crazy watching the flakes fly.

Cameron is waving from the door of the shed and babbling incoherently. He’s holding a grey and weather-checked board with a familiar shape.

“Skis. You’ve got skis…there are skis in here!” he stammers, pointing up into the exposed rafters where he’s been stowing our stuff. But there, alongside our modern gear and next to an old white door with fraying paint, is a peculiar-looking board that matches the one in his hand.

They are flat on the bottom, tapered from thin at the tips and rising to level in the center. The front tips are pointed, but not curved up. These are handmade, but unfinished, wooden skis.

“I take it back, you’ve got eleven friggin pairs of skis!” Cam stammers.

But this was more than Pair Eleven. It was the passing of two wooden, Nordic batons, and it was the best housewarming gift imaginable.

Favorite Folks-Daisy May Erlewine

2008-05-02T17:27:00.010-04:00

From time-to-time I hope to feature profiles or interviews or something on the good folks that warm the north and make it such a great place to live.

It's going to be called Favorite Folks. But also from time to time the manure hits the windmill here at Northstead, and when that happens, I'm just going to reach into the archives of my published writing and post it up like lukewarm leftovers.

This post is the convergence of these phenomena. Enjoy.

This is a Q&A with Daisy May Erlewine, a singer-songwriter from Big Rapids, Mich., that originally ran in Traverse Magazine. She and partner Seth Bernard are much loved in the U.P. and should be sought out and enjoyed wherever they may turn up.

Like a bluebird on a rusted barbed wire fence, Daisy May Erlewine's voice is shockingly beautiful and perched on something darker, sharper and slightly dangerous. With three solo albums and enough indie-credo for a boxcar full of singer-songwriters, Daisy May doesn’t need any help hoeing her row in today’s folk scene. But then anyone who’s seen her partner Seth Bernard perform knows he’s not your average gardener.

Together the pair blend whimsical sentimentality with the work ethic of hand-hewn homesteaders. In 2005 the Big Rapids couple left their southern fields and traveled to the Keweenaw Peninsula where they recorded an album at the historic Calumet Theatre. The album, released in spring 2006, is as rich as the earth the singers sprung from. We caught up with Daisy May during a short break in a busy summer touring schedule.

The new album is recorded in the Upper Peninsula, how are you connected to the U.P.?
Seth’s dad is from Marquette, and his grandma and uncles are still up there, he spends a lot of time up there.

How did you come to record at the Calumet Theatre?
Dear friends of Seth’s family live in the Keweenaw, and we would go there a lot, sort of as a retreat, and write songs. One time the guy who books acts for the theater, and kind of keeps it going, Davey Holmbo, asked us to play there. Later, our bass player had the idea to record there and Davey set it up and gave us a good deal.

How did it all come together?
Davey set aside two days in August 2005—that was the longest open period in the theater’s schedule—and Seth and I, our upright bass player Dominic Suchyta, Drew Howard on pedal steel, cello player Andrea Moreno-Beals and the engineer Ian Gorman all made the trip up from down here. They set up mics all over the theater to get a really live sound. The theater has all kinds of ghost stories, it was a really cool atmosphere.

Did you see any ghosts?
No, not necessarily…but there were definitely some weird overtones in the recordings, we’re not sure if it was just the acoustics or something else. In order to get a really good live feel we played back the vocals really loud one night and recorded it to get good reverb and we were wondering if there was going to be anything else on the track when we came back the next morning.

Up until this point both yours and Seth’s albums have been solo, what was it like to record with a group?
It was really fun to work with other musicians; when you’re writing the songs you have this world in your head and then when you hear it come to life through the other artists, but with different interpretations, it’s really special. It was really a joy to work with everybody. We hope to keep the quintet—that’s what we call ourselves, the Copper Country Quintet—alive for the next duo album.

When’s the next album planned?
Well, there are no concrete plans. We’re both working on our next solo albums, then we’ll probably do the next duo album. So, maybe a year. It’s in the ether.

Both of you seem to put out albums quickly.
Yeah, Seth and I are like recording junkies. We both have trouble continuing to write when all the other songs haven’t been put somewhere. We both love the recording process; as soon as we’re finished with one album we’re excited for the next one.

How do you think of your type of music?
I’m a singer-songwriter, that’s how I describe myself. But as far as the sound, there are so many sources of my inspiration, so that’s harder, but I think about my singing as blues and soul. When I’m singing I think of these beautiful black women that sang their hearts out.

The album is put out by Earthwork Music, tell us about that.
Earthworks is a music collective Seth started, a group of friends really, that is trying to enrich Michigan culture on many different levels.

Seth Bernard and Daisy May Erlewine can be found on the web at www.earthworkmusic.com. Visit the Calumet Theatre online at www.calumettheatre.com.

Fielding Questions

2008-04-28T01:03:00.006-04:00

The last of the snow melt has revealed what a long winter had hidden from us: hope.

Hope in the greening meadow grass needling through the brown blanket of last year's growth. Hope in the garlic, that planted last fall with shrugs and doubts, now slices through the straw. Hope in the rhubarb's red alien facing blinking out from warming soil. Hope in the wild leeks, those crazy edible garlic-onion clusters that cover the maple woods floor with a scent somewhere between wet feet and wet farts. Hope in the trout lilly, the song sparrows and the horny lunatic calls of a hundred different critters at dusk.

Besides hope, we've also discovered an impossible amount of dog poop. I guess we shouldn't be surprised, it's simple arithmetic, really: 2 Dogs + 1 Long Winter= 3 Times as Much Poop as Anyone Could Imagine in One Place at One Time. Spring cleaning has a whole new meaning.

But let's focus on hope, shall we? This weekend was the Alger County Conservation District's annual tree sale pickup. We nabbed 250 red pines and four apple trees for the homestead. The apple trees will join the two dozen wizened warriors that came with the farm to add some fresh faces to the old orchard. The pines, however, will go to a windbreak and Phase 1 of a reforestation plan on three acres of pasture.

It struck me today, looking back at our progress of new pines waving like little green flags, that the folks who ripped this farm from the forest 100 years ago are probably spinning in their graves right now. Clearing these fields must have broke the backs and spirits of generations before us, and here we are wiping away their history with a single planting bar and a sack of pines. Green spikes driven in an old Finlander's coffin.

The homesteaders aren't planted very far from this field either, just a mile away at the end of our road in the township cemetery. The possibility of a haunting has crossed my mind. Their tired, calloused ghosts may have understood us if perhaps we'd planted the trees for agricultural profit. "Treeeeeee faaarrrrrmmmm?" they'd inquire.

But I'm afraid not. We just thought there was too much field. Needs more woods, we said. More wildlife habitat for birds and stuff. They're not even planted in rows, just here and there, some single, some in clumps.

Looking across our red pine field my eyes lingered on the stone piles at the field's edge. There's was a season to pick rock, ours is one to plant pines. But it's not like we don't appreciate our fields. We do, and we're keeping the majority of them open for grazing sometime down the road. I appreciate the food our fields give us, but I could feast on a forest forever.

Spinter, er, Wring?

2008-04-15T15:50:00.005-04:00

It's 60 degrees, but there are still several feet of snow on the ground. Birds of every variety have arrived on a stiff south wind, but squirrels are at the feeder like there's a January storm coming.

Welcome to Spinter. Warmer than winter, but you still need a shovel to take a walk.

Several patches of ground are visible again since the last storms. Big brown circles of dry grass and needles under the red pines on our south-facing hill are simmering in the sun. Over lunch I put on the knee-high rubber boots and thought I'd slop around a bit by the apple trees. Too much snow there, so the dogs and I crawled up under the pines and sat in the sun for a bit. Before long the two black-and-white border collie mutts were panting after soaking up the heat. Lucky dogs. The wind, though out of the south, still has a sting--so no panting for me.

Besides sting, the wind brought us our first raptors today. One appeared to be a rough legged hawk, a shaggy and bedraggled splotch of gray and white wheeling quickly over the yard. Two male flickers are having words over the 10x30 patch of driveway that's visible. Easy boys, more real estate is on its way, day by day.

Trespasses

2008-04-13T15:43:00.008-04:00

Well, I was all ready to write about spring, but another late season storm whacked us this week. So, here's a wintery essay originally published in Traverse Magazine.

I don’t know who owns the humble log structure, but I sure know I enjoy pretending it’s me from time to time. And I know there are dozens of others who feel the same way.

It’s a cabin on a bedrock bald overlooking a frozen lake in the highlands of the central Upper Peninsula. And we’re an interloping band of roving cabin poachers. Good people, mostly, I think, but not afraid to bend the rules occasionally, now and again, from time to time and over and over. We hold fast to the belief, often found in areas with high unemployment and low wages, that it’s a damn shame when certain things go unused or underappreciated. Oak saw logs that didn’t make it onto the logger’s truck become our firewood. Fender-tenderized venison fills our freezers. Abandoned, or, um, lightly used camps and cottages fill our weekends.

Now, if you’re still reading, and not dialing the authorities, you’ll be happy to know that while what we do is technically…probably…okay, most likely breaking and entering, there has never been any breaking. In fact, there’s often fixing. I don’t know what the sentence for entering and repairing would be, but up here common law and common sense seem more common place, and I’m willing to bet that a judge in Ishpeming or Eagle River would go easy on us.

I’ve heard that the owners are in Texas, or was it Florida? Anyway, they’re someplace warm and far away. I guess they own several hundred acres enrolled as commercial forestland, and probably managed as part of an investment portfolio. I wonder if they’ve ever even seen this rugged pocket of lakes and hills, a good hike in off a dirt road that only connects to another dirt road? What are the odds that they’ve pushed through blowdowns, mucked around impromptu beaver ponds and scaled the massive rock up to the shack?

Just for argument’s sake, let’s say they did make it this far, scrubbed a little circle in the frosty window pane, and peeked in at the generations of candles on the table, wood stacked along the back wall and a collection of red and white canned goods on the shelf. Would they be upset that their abandoned cabin, was being well cared for? In disbelief, would they reach out for the padlock on the front door and realize, like we had, that it was indeed locked, but not actually attached to the door?

If they stepped in they’d find fishing poles in the corner from the cabin’s trout-seeking summer friends. Winter guests, like us, have jammed cracks and crevices with insulation, while steel cables in the rafters keep the sagging old walls from splaying out under a staggering snowload. Tar dabs patch the ceiling like inky stars.

I’d be proud to take credit for all the improvements, but most of them appear to have been made by our anonymous poaching compatriots over several decades. The truth is, my friends and I have only known about the place for a few years. It started when a friend heard a rumor, about a rumor, about a cabin back in the hills. Another friend had a government job combing aerial photos day-in and day-out, mapping soils or looking for boogey men or something. We soon convinced him to put his technical skills to work surfing for our hobo realestate.

Since then our eye-in-the-sky guy has constantly been on the hunt for new prospects. He starts with public lands, or at least lands with public access, then looks for structures, or even just those familiar squares of cleared homesteads that hint a building might still remain. If the access roads are overgrown, it’s a good bet that nobody owns it, or at least nobody will care if we pretend we do. Then it’s into the bush for some old-fashioned map and compass work.

Most of his finds have just been piles of rotting logs framing the hulk of a stove or tangle of an old bed spring. Some were obviously private, and we moved on…after a little peek. One was obviously private, but a guest book made it clear that strangers were welcome. Few are locked.

The ornery old pot-bellied stove is purring now, finally roused from its January slumber. We shed wool and down, watching waves of lake effect snow wash across the valley. It would be quaint to think of this as a charming weekend in a sparkling snow globe. But this is the highlands, where Lake Superior storms tear their bellies open on forested slopes, spilling snow in amounts only quantifiable with body parts: knee, hip, and chest deep. If we’re in a snowglobe, then it’s one that’s been duct taped to a runaway snowshoe hare.

At the cabin, talk often turns to pooling our scraped-up resources for a little piece of land somewhere way back, far in and high up. Maybe we’d clear a rough trail to get supplies in, but once the place was built, we all agree the road should be abandoned in favor of a foot trail. We call it a snowshoe cabin. Just a place to get warm and dry. A winter basecamp, like the one we’re in now—but actually ours. I don’t know if it’ll ever happen, but if it does, you can bet the shelves will be stocked, firewood cut, and the door open.

Our Trees Runneth Over

2008-04-04T11:41:00.021-04:00

Hank Hughes, 82, is wreathed in a sweet-smelling cloud of steam as he dips, pours, measures, then drains off and adds sap to a roaring evaporator.

We step outside the billowing sugar shack on the dairy farm in Flat Rock, Michigan where he’s lived his entire life. He points down the road to the house he was born in, sweeping his arm past the houses of his and his wife Ilene’s children and grandchildren nearby. Holy Family Catholic Church is over there on the hill. Across a field of corn stubble lies the maple woods his family has tapped for as long as he can remember.

Now, among those maples the staccato pinging of sap splashing into pails is accompanied by the chug of a diesel tractor, the clank of silver pails and the voices of the Hughes’ grandchildren as they race against darkness to collect from the 2,400 tapped trees. It’s a Thursday evening and they just got home from work and school, but the sap doesn’t wait for anybody’s schedule. Cell phones ring and ATVs whine as cousins come and go, lending a hand for as long as they can.

When Hank was their age the sounds were of draft horses huffing as they pulled a sleigh of barrels through the spring snow, and a crackling wood fire under the evaporator. But there has always been the ringing of sap-on-tin, a sound that fixes these laborers to this place and this time with roots that would even make the maples jealous.

The last pail is emptied just as twilight rolls across the fields. The last tractor emerges from the darkening woods, a farm dog nipping at the tires in a game only it knows the rules to.

Opening the door to the shack, warm light and steam roll out to reveal a crowd gathered for the night’s work. Sons, cousins, brothers, sisters, great-grandkids, grandparents—they’re all here and ready to work. A big pot of chili has appeared along with a moist maple syrup cake.

Bottles and cans, caps and seals are all brought out of storage from last season and then the finishing begins. Small batches are brought to the perfect consistency and filtered, then bottled one-by-one and handed down an assembly line--son, to brother, to nephew to mother. Friends and neighbors stop by and samples of fresh, hot syrup are sipped out of small cups.

Hank and Ilene sit near each other at the center of the hubbub. This is the first day of the season, but by the end of spring the family will have produced between 300 and 400 gallons of syrup.

Not to mention a few more memories.

Early Birds

2008-04-01T13:54:00.009-04:00

A robin joined us a few days ago. She was a cheery splash of orange in a still, monochromatic landscape. Unfortunately, we had little to offer in the way of robin amenities.

Warmth? Sorry.
Leaves? Nope.
Bare ground? Just one spot, over the septic tank, I'm afraid.
Worms? Good luck.

It's tempting to think of the first robin sighting as the turning point in the seasons, but I've noticed that the real signs of spring are the scavengers.

Behold, spring comes on the wings of crows.

Though crows spend most of the winter with us, their numbers seem to slip south as we get deeper into winter. During a melt in mid-March, I noticed their numbers seeming to swell. They follow the pulsing interstates north, necking down to state highways, county trunks and finally slushy township and village roads. With each exit ramp the south fades from them like the tans that those of us who stayed behind lost in November.

They are migrant workers harvesting the season's first crop: roadkill. Fender-tenderized whitetails emerge from snowbanks alongside rabbit-ala-road. Four months of plowing has arranged a steady stack of carrion blooming in the ditches, as the warming temps throw open the door on the north's roadside meat locker. The crows eat their way home on this, bumper crop.

There's been no sign of our robin guest since the blizzard. Gambling on spring is risky business in the north, so sometimes, when the early birds can't catch their worms, they're caught by the weather.

And then by the crows.

White Fang

2008-04-01T10:34:00.008-04:00

The blizzard came last night, burying its white fangs in the back of our skulls. It was an attack from behind as we slept, dreaming of warm, far off places--like Wisconsin.

At 3 a.m. I woke to the pacing of nervous dogs, and was able to watch the assault in cinematic fashion, a montage of violence choreographed with the flashing of the motion lights on the garage.

Darkness and growling wind. Floodlight and lilacs doubled over, writhing. Darkness and the staccato kiss of sleet. Floodlight and the propane tank has vanished. The picnic table too. Casualties.

All schools are closed, in mourning I suppose. The state police have issued bulletins to keep everyone off the roads while plows and graders grapple with the beast.

Within a few days it will be subdued, pushed back in banks, scraped into ditches and thrown twenty feet from our driveways. Cut by steel plow and churning auger, the blizzard's flesh will break, spilling into puddles and overflowing the banks on Slapneck Creek down the hill.

We'll overcome this April onslaught, but not before it claims a shovelful of swear words and the last of our shear pins and sanity.

Fools for Spring

2008-03-31T16:24:00.011-04:00

We're celebrating the twin holidays of the Vernal Equinox and April Fools Day here in the Upper Peninsula. It seems a "late winter" storm is rolling into the region today, nearly two weeks after Spring officially sprung in our hemisphere.

A blizzard warning has been issued from the National Weather Service, with up to 20 inches of snow and high winds forecast. A fitting joke for the first day of April, but cruel reality on the 13th day of spring.

Our spring, is decidedly unsprung. I fear the green season's coils have been irreparably rusted red; smothered somewhere neath the four feet of snow that still carpets the land. Perhaps tomorrow it'll be five feet.

Happy Spring...and April Fools!

Aaron Peterson-Writer and Photographer

Michigan Ice Fest article

Michigan Ice Fest!

Wednesday Waterfall: Miners Falls, Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

Recent Work-Marquette Michigan feature in Lakeland Boating

Inside Outside: Making the List

Wednesday Waterfall: Cascade River State Park, Minnesota

Wednesday Waterfall: Scott Falls

Nuclear Family

Wednesday Waterfall: Bond Falls

Noquemanon Trails Network

Wednesday Waterfall: Laughing Whitefish Falls, Michigan's Upper Peninsula

Recent Work-Marquette Backcountry Ski

Snowy Owls invade Michigan's Upper Peninsula

Recent Work-Marquette Backcountry Ski

When Autumn Attacks!

Recent Work-Canoe & Kayak

Recent Work-Traverse Magazine

Recent Work-Adventure Kayak Photo Annual

Adventure Kayak magazine features some of my work in their annual photo issue that just came out. Adventure Kayak is one of those smart little publications that I love to work with. A hardworking, dedicated team of creative professionals finding a niche.

Now, nobody is going to get rich (or even pay the bills) on a few images like these published in a small, niche magazine a few times a year. But for me, work like this is an enjoyable part of a larger puzzle that involves advertising shoots, print sales, writing and additional stock image sales.

Here's to small publications, and little guys like me who appreciate them. Give 'em a read!

Oh yea, they are also kind of cutting edge with a couple digital versions of the magazine in addition to the gorgeous print version (still my preferred read).

You can check out the issue online at: http://www.adventurekayakmag.c​om/adventurekayakmag_fall11

Or even download it and read it on your iPhone or iPad at:(http://itunes.apple.com/ca/app​/adventure-kayak-magazine/id43​1204681?mt=8

Girl of Summer

Life with Chickens: Part 2

Life with Chickens: Part 1

Stand Up Paddling!

Recent Work-Superior Outdoors

Recent Work-Gun Dog Magazine

Independent, self-evident, equal and unalienable

New Cover for Old Friends

Paddling Five Mile Point

New Work-Fantasy Islands

Bugs!

Sirens of the Stream

Lupines are Blooming!

Early Father's Day Reflection...

Copper Harbor Mountain Biking

Keweenaw Raptor Survey

Oh Canada!

Kid Tested

Recent Work-SPACE Trailers

Marquette Backcountry Ski

Winter in Montana

Canada Connection

Big Guy in a Small Town-Obama visits Marquette

Ice Fest Cometh!

Writing Hurts

Who needed 2010 anyway?

Recent Work

Fully Thankful

Sunburned & Smilin'

The Tao of Snow Removal

Personal Grooming

How we roll, eh

Inching toward Spring

For Sale

First Snow

Weekend Guest

Home Improvement

Sauced

Simmer Down

A Scythe of Relief

Takin' What They're Givin'...

Love in the Air

Moving In

Favorite Folks-Daisy May Erlewine

Fielding Questions

Spinter, er, Wring?

Trespasses

Our Trees Runneth Over

Early Birds

White Fang

Fools for Spring

You can check out the issue online at:
http://www.adventurekayakmag.com/adventurekayakmag_fall11

Or even download it and read it on your iPhone or iPad at:
(http://itunes.apple.com/ca/app/adventure-kayak-magazine/id431204681?mt=8