Black sand beaches, 90-degree rock-cliffs, and bouldered shorelines—all along the coast of this ice-cold inland sea.
Swollen waves moved by the chilled autumn winds exclaimed their arrival to shore with crashes sending water far into the air.
A look back onto the coast revealed the sharply elevating terrain: nature's canvas of this seasonal treetop mosaic of yellows, greens, reds, and oranges.
Nestled within: a town seemingly true to its origins of folks right at home in this cold-weather climate, whether here or their native northern Europe.
And nestled further up the hills: Dirt roads nearing the Canadian border, splitting through forests of rocky ground and blueberry bushes leading us to a small lake untouched, then to firewood for sale on the honor system, and finally to an unofficial campsite appropriately devoid of the formalities and amenities distinguishing the manmade from the natural.
the creek bed along our campsite
This is this Earth along the Minnesota shoreline of Lake Superior and the lands northward toward the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. Most visitors arrive in the summer, when the weather is most comfortable. But this land is most at home in cooler-than-(humanly)comfortable temperatures.
And so, over the past few days a couple of friends and I visited these lands on its terms. And our reward was what we humans might consider its annual, colorful swan song before its long sleep—but what it might rather consider its colorful opening act before its truer nature commences.
So, as a former hippie mentor of mine likes to ask, "What does this expression of nature teach us?"
We're of the earth; what does this part of it say about us?
At the cliff, I noticed a tree growing straight out from the rock face, as well as a single plant sprouting inexplicably in a crack between rocks. Each may each indicate the hardiness of life, of tenacity and of beating the odds.
But most of all, I observed a massive rock along the shore, sitting just at the water's surface.
It seemed to hover there like a whale breaching the surface.
On this windy day, though, waves kept this massive body underwater.
"Stay down!" the waves commanded the rock, commands repeated through my time there.
But I also acknowledged the winds' eventual calm and the boulder surfacing to its rightful place. With each wave, then, the boulder patiently replied, "Go on," knowing the winds and waters would tire. Then it would reveal itself and enjoy a new shower of the sun's rays shining down their warmth.
Difficult times are cold and windy and relentless and seemingly unending. But, in time, those who endure emerge to enjoy the warm sunshine. Then, the question (for us humans) is: Who will we then shine upon as we reflect these rays onto others?
In the big picture, I felt my weekend at Lake Superior was one to recharge my spirit and recall its purpose.
have a reflective week,
-Brandon
p.s. - Enjoy some extra (and extra beautiful) sites, the final being that black pebble beach up close.
Just got back from Two Harbors. Now back in MX. But it was the colors of leaves I needed to see. The brisk temp I needed to make me pull down my sleeves. The foggy, wet, and gray sky I needed to understand that not everyday is sunny. Even though I live in MX and basically every day is perfect, lol.
Maybe its nostalgia. Or maybe something else. But it makes me feel at peace.
Lovely pictures, a trip up north is like chicken noodle soup for the soul.
Well put! Yeah, I was saying to my friends that I actually prefer the drizzle and hazy sometimes. It's somehow cleansing.
Enjoy Mexico!
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