The Corona Diaries Vol 44: In the Pines, In the Pines and the Sun Rarely Shined

(Don't forget to start by showing your true colors.)

(late November 2021)

The next morning, I felt pretty good. Not very sore and that fresh country air does a body good. First on my agenda was to head north about 50 miles to Stone Lake. My parents and an aunt & uncle used to own cabins that were formerly a resort on 90 some-odd acres a few miles outside of town. I hadn't been there since c.1988 when I accompanied my father to the cabins to make maple syrup in the spring.

Stone Lake was a very small town of only a few hundred people and no stop lights when I spent my summers up there as a boy. I recall an ice cream shop up on a hill and the Stone Lake Pub which was a mandatory stop for my dad and uncle on the way to and on the return trip from the town dump. I drank a lot of Nehi soda there, alternating between grape and orange.

Truth be known, my last time in Stone Lake was not pleasant. Reflecting on it decades later as a man, the trip up there to boil maple sap was an attempt by my father to try and salvage his relationship with his youngest son. He had destroyed his marriage to my mother and my brother had moved out or was on the cusp of doing so. Their relationship was, in a certain way, over. 

My last memory from that trip was of us speeding back home down Highway 53 with the car's speedometer pegged at 85 as my father, drunk as usual, stewed in his anger, most of which was directed at me.

I was thankful that those memories were not the ones I dwelled upon as I headed north to Stone Lake. Would it be any different decades later? I was keen to find out.

The drive was fairly uneventful with just an occasional dusting of snow. At one point, however, the sun came out for what was the first time in a couple of days when I was just south of Rice Lake. It was quite a relief as I thought that I might have to go to a clinic to get treated for adult onset rickets before the trip was over.

Cruising into town, I was surprised to find a fancy wine bar that most certainly wasn't around back in the day. I parked and was greeted by a black Lab wondering who the city slicker was.

He was all bark and no bite, though. I got out of my car and found he was happy to have someone scratch his head.

Stone Lake looked pretty much as I remembered it. The ice cream parlor was gone but the hardware store I went to many, many times with my dad and uncle was still there. While the local craft beer bar was closed for the season, the Stone Lake Pub was still in business and had retained its faux stone exterior.

When I spent time on the water on our trips up north, it was on Sissabagama Lake and not Stone Lake but I walked down there anyway. Beautiful clear water and lots of the lake's namesakes.

To get to the shore, one must cross 4 sets of railroad tracks. Stone Lake has quite a neat rail history. Tracks were first laid in the early 20th century and the town was a stop on the Chicago-Superior freight route. Before long, passenger service was introduced and Chicagoans could head to Stone Lake or farther north to the port city Duluth on the shores of Lake Superior. Today the town is on a main line of the Canadian National Railway and sees trains loaded with freight heading to Chicago from Winnipeg and, I suppose, vice versa.

A block over is the Stone Lake Community Wetland Park. You enter the park via a boardwalk which disappears off into the distance.

It leads to a small but pleasant wooded area where a moss-lined path takes you over gentle hills that look down upon the wetlands.

I ran into a couple people who were starting their days with a wetland stroll and they cheerfully bade me good morning.

This was not to be a lengthy walk but it was good to stretch my legs in anticipation of my next hike. On my way back to my car, I noticed that the vegetable stand outside the antiques store was being stocked by a young couple. I asked what was good and was told that the cabbage was especially tasty – nice and sweet. Four dollars later I had a fine head of cabbage in my bag and visions of gołąbki (Polish cabbage rolls) dancing in my head.

I bid Stone Lake farewell and hit the road for my next destination: a cross-country ski trail for a hike.

Heading down a county road, I noticed a doe on one side which thankfully just stood there watching me as I slowed down and cautiously drove by. A little farther down the road, I spied a couple of bald eagles. One was sharing a meal of venison with a crow while the other was about 10 yards away licking its chops having already feasted on the carcass. I tried to get some photos but the eagles were having none of it.

Within a mile I noticed a Paul Bunyan statue by the side of a road that intersected with the one I was on. More of a driveway, really. Sadly, there was no Babe. The weird thing was that there was no resort, no restaurant, no business at all by that intersection. Just houses. Apparently, someone in that vicinity simply likes Paul Bunyan.

And why not?

This area was part of Wisconsin's pinery and was home to a thriving logging industry at one time. Bunyan first appeared in print in 1910 but evidence suggests that Wisconsin lumberjacks didn't really know his tales until the 1920s**. Once they did, however, they came up with their own Paul Bunyan stories such as this one:

Paul Bunyan was driving a large bunch of log down the Wisconsin River when the logs suddenly jammed in the Dells. The logs were piled 200 feet high at the head and were back up for 1 mile up river. Paul was at the rear of the jam with the Blue Oxen. While he was coming to the front, the crew was trying to break the jam but they couldn't budge it. When Paul arrived at the head with the ox, he told them to stand back. He put the ox in the old Wisconsin in front of the jam. And then, standing on the bank, shot the ox with a 303 Savage rifle. The ox thought it was flies and began to switch his tail. The tail commenced to go around in a circle. And you know that ox switching his tail forced that stream to flow backwards and eventually the jam floated back also. He took the ox out of the stream and let the stream and logs go on their way.

The life of the lumberjack was not easy. Men would report to camp in the fall and not return home until the spring, although they did get to visit family at Christmas. They were in the woods before dawn so work could start promptly at first light. Lumberjacks or shanty boys, as they were known in the Upper Midwest, felled trees, trimmed the branches off, and put them onto sleds which transported them to the riversides to await the spring when the logs would be put in to float downstream to the anxious blades of a sawmill.

If all of the back-breaking work and the dangers posed by very large crosscut saws, axes, and falling trees weren't enough, lumberjacks also had to contend with a host of (mythical) creatures that inhabited the forests and posed their own threats. For instance, there were Axehandle Hounds, dogs that looked like dachshunds with hatchet-shaped heads and handle-shaped bodies. They'd roam the lumber camps and eat all of the axe and peavey handles.

But the creature that survived the decline of the logging trade and entered the public imagination is the Hodag, a native of Rhinelander. Driving into the town, one is greeted by a statue of the beast.

It inhabits the swamps in the area and generally feeds on the wild animals there but it won't turn down a meal of human flesh…

Just a few hundred feet from the Paul Bunyan statue was the parking lot and trailhead I sought. I parked and popped the rear hatch open so I could change my footwear. While doing so, I noticed a solitary boot just off in the woods. Was this a sign? Would I meet my end at the hands of a Hidebehind which caused the demise of many a lumberjack and was known to leave only a single boot behind?

Bootlaces tied, I hit the trail. It was fairly warm out and, though cloudy, it never snowed or rained, which I was thankful for, as I was allowed to enjoy the scenery without getting soaked.

The trail was not particularly difficult but I don't think I'd survive attempting to cross-country ski it. The most challenging aspect of it was trying to avoid tripping while navigating the divots and rills formed by runoff. At one point I found a branch on the side of the trail and made it into my walking stick.

Unlike my last hike, this trail didn't feature much water but what there was of it was pretty.

At one point, the sun came out very briefly but it was still quite welcome.

After 3 hours – maybe 4, I cannot recall – I was back at my car. To be sure, I was a bit worn out after walking 6.5 miles or so, but, overall, I felt pretty good. Popping the hatch open once again, I sat down to change back into my gym shoes. At this point I discovered that my legs didn't work anymore. They just couldn't be persuaded to go up so I could rest them on my knees and untie my boots. Uff da! So I was forced to grab my pant cuffs and lift my legs upwards. You really feel it when you stop moving!

My next destination was the tiny town of Dallas (no stoplights) (or was I north enough that they were stop and go lights?), about 12 miles west of Chetek, where dinner and muscle relaxant awaited.

I rolled into town and pulled into the parking lot of Jen's Chopping Block where I had dinner. The smothered chicken was OK but the chili was surprisingly good. With a full belly, I headed down the street a block to Valkyrie Brewing Company.

Valkyrie no longer distributes their beer to Madison and, even when they did, its availability was limited, at best. It's a very small brewery that, as far as I know, still uses repurposed dairy equipment. Here's brewmaster Randy Lee showing off his decidedly low-tech brewing setup back in 2009 when the Frau and I were there.

There were no computers to monitor temperature or to open and close valves as the proto-beer was automagically transferred from one tank to another. I don't recall there being any electric motors to stir the wort either. Valkyrie is, in my opinion,  a "craft" brewery in way that other such breweries are not.

The taproom has been totally redone since we were there and now includes a mural by co-owner Ann Lee who loves to paint.

The bar had no stools as the Lees are keen on people sitting at the booths and tables together to socialize. Cribbage boards adorned each table to abet the pursuit of that communal vibe. And, as you can see, guitars and a mandolin were at the ready for anyone to entertain the masses with their musical stylings.

My first beer was Whispering Embers, a smoked Oktoberfest. It's an amber lager brewed with a portion of malt that had been enhanced with the flavors of smoke from beechwood. As I have remarked in one of these diaries previously, I just adore smoke beers. Setting down my empty glass and licking my lips to get every last drop, I noticed that the soreness in my legs was beginning to fade.  To hasten the salubrious effect, I ordered a Night Wolf which is a German Schwarzbier or black beer.

As the name indicates, it's dark in color but it's nimble on the tongue. Full of roasted grain, coffee, and dark chocolate flavors but never heavy or cloying, the style is a favorite of mine.

My legs were feeling fine by the time I left. The muscle relaxant worked like a charm.

Back at the hotel, I showered and put on some fresh clothes. The sun was nearly gone and clouds had moved in. It wasn't long before some snowflakes were to be seen. Since I'd been out of the loop for a couple days, I took the opportunity to check out the news back home.

I read an article stating that Madison's budget included money for 2 "community connector" positions which would provide translation and community outreach services to Hmong and Chinese Mandarin speakers. I didn't know there were that many folks who spoke those languages instead of English to warrant special city services. The times they are a-changin'.

One more Valkyrie beer went down smoothly as I did some reading before bedtime.

The next morning was time to go home. My vacation was too short.

Getting south of Highway 29, I had left "Up North".

My plan was to stop back in Osseo at a tourist shop for some souvenirs. But first I had to narrowly avoid a buck that had decided to run out in front of my car. One thing I do not miss about living in the country is having to dodge horny deer on the road every fall. Driving east through town, I saw people putting up Christmas decorations in public spaces and trucks full of cord wood when they weren't full of Christmas trees. There was definitely a festive atmosphere in town.

While I was eagerly grabbing kettle corn and bourbon barrel aged maple syrup for my Frau, I overheard an older woman talking to the clerk. She remarked, "…we did it to ourselves by buying everything online." Amen.

Buy local! Support your mom & pop shops before they go the way of the dodo.

********

The bonus photo for this edition is a step. It sits on the terrace of a Victorian era home in Madison so I presume it was used when people boarded or alighted from a carriage. It was nice to see that this bit of history was preserved when the streets were torn up and repaved several years ago.

 

 

**I may have been using outdated reference materials. See the Wikipedia entry on the subject. 

(Listen to this entry's Post Script.)