"Should Old Acquaintance be forgot,

…and never thought upon…" – Robert Burns

Back when, great diners fairly littered the western U.P. A handful of those still exist to this day, often in other forms.

The others are just gone.

The diner we prized most was called Scotty's, located on US2, between Bessemer and Ironwood. A long, dark drive from Bobcat in the woods, but so worth the effort.

And it's likely, long about the time of The Bear Story, that's where I first met a sixteen-year-old waitress named Chris.

Much later, Chris and her family saved the Black River Pub from dissolution and for a while, she short-ordered the only fresh Superior fish fry you could get without driving maybe 30 miles.

Though not 'all you can eat,' it was one of the best Northwoods fish fry's I've ever had. 

Chris has since moved on from the Black River Valley. At last report the restaurant remains, but not the same. Never again, the same.

*

For perhaps thirty years, when Heather & I needed a clean, dry place to stay on the Gogebic Range, our home away from home was the Travelers Motel. This is from our front door:

The other sign read "Squeaky Clean." So it always was.

Stays at Traveler's ran the gamut from our settling in for comfy weeks at a time, to us getting unceremoniously swept out of the woods and very much needing safe haven.

Coincidentally, up this bluff behind the motel and tucked into those trees was once my Uncle John's farmhouse.

It's not there anymore either.

But for decades, at the end of full days spent pursuing wilderness adventure, when sitting in the chair outside my door at the motel so to relish the nightshift chorus, its ancestors had once sang likewise to mine.

This long term sense of connection to a specific landscape is no small thing, as it turned out.

Pandemic Year 3 and The Traveler's Motel is gone.

It's replaced now by a national chain store peddling cheap goods to everyday folk, though no longer as cheaply as their name implies.

'Times long past' indeed.

Onward

Some folk believe a white moth and/or butterfly represents spiritual growth, transition or even good luck. You know, depending on who you ask.

In any event, it's an old belief.

So for today let's just say that's true, then I can share this little bit of good fortune with you...

A better new year to us all.

The Season of Light

 

It's always struck me odd that northerners refer to the dependably darkest time of their each and every year as 'the season of light.'

 

Like with everything else we do, there're a host of compiled reasons. Cultural, scientific, you name it. Dating all the way back to probably before the Pagans and in various forms sailing on clear through to today.

Believe whatever you want, for whatever reasons you wish. Regardless, this far north winter solstice spells deep dark and lots of it.

 

And it'll stay that way into March, so far as anyone'll notice on a daily basis. Then, as if the sky turned on a spigot, light and life will return.

 

Before that, winter promises a long climb and that's where we're at today.

 

This project is called "In Search of Perfect Light" not because perfect light's particularly rare. It isn't.

Many/most days feature some, however briefly.

But you must be looking for it.

Then willing & able to take what unexpectedly comes your way, and make the most of that.

 

My most perfect light of 2021 occurred during the last days of October. It was wholly unexpected, but I'd put myself in place to see it and when the opportunity came, I didn't miss.

 

Fungi are old. Way older than the human race. Ridiculously older than any mere belief. That pretty much by definition means fungus is more successful than we, at least to date.

 

Fungi are among the largest life forms on Earth. There's one in the U.P. that's three times the size of a Blue Whale.

Fungi are inherently collaborative. Imagine that.

 

Right down to their core existence, a fungus understands that life requires collaboration and without it, the community that sustains life dies.

 

I don't suppose most people give the 'lowly' fungus much thought, unless it's in their salad.

 

So I saved my most perfect light of 2021 to share during our communal acknowledgment of regeneration. A rich, stark light to pierce the dark season's most impenetrable days and remind us of what's to come.

 

What was there remains, even if hard to discern.

 

What is there still will be, when better light returns for us to see.

 

#winter #solstice

Meteorological Winter – 2021

 

In need of symmetry to work with, the weatherman tells us today's the first day of winter, and it's all downhill from here.

Until it's not.

Science is good. I like science. But accumulated human knowledge is, by & large, provisional.

There's always more work to do. That's a good thing.

This year I'm entirely content to wait on the Pagans for to usher winter in, then out at the same celestial moment. Handy how that works, eh?

The hard season of cold light is on us soon enough. In some places, it's already here.

Time enough left, for a look back.

Shining Light on the Prairie – Fallen

Enriched by autumn rains, parts of the prairie stayed wide awake well into October.

It was a pleasure to be out & about, except the light was too often flat and dull.

The rains subsided. The sun shone bright. Long light pierced through fading woods.

More visitors stopped by.

The air turned chill, yet a few things held on.

Day by day, the light sank.

Then it was all but gone.

Shining Light on the Prairie - Falling

We got four inches of rain during October. An unusual amount, but it'd been dry for so long the water was welcome.

Then it turned unexpectedly nice. Late autumn prairie blooms held on. Some few even seemed to start afresh.

A pair of visitors stopped by.

How long they stayed I can't say. It's safe to assume they've flown from these parts by today.

Near the end of October, change accelerated. Light grew longer.

Autumn piled on.

At times the light fell near perfect. Then life on the prairie was revealed in high relief.