The Corona Diaries Vol 44 - Preamble: Show Your True Colors

(Begin reading.)

Happy Vernal Equinox 2022!

Happy spring! I've been busy preparing to have our hardwood floors sanded and refinished that I've neglected this glorious day. Does this mean I can turn off my roof heater now?

The Big River

I was inspired to read about the Mississippi River after visiting the National Mississippi River Museum & Aquarium and bought Paul Schneider's Old Man River: The Mississippi River in North American History last summer. After many side steps and detours, I finally cracked it open a couple weeks ago and finished it earlier this week. This is good for me as I normally become interested in a topic and then go out and buy a book about it only to finally get around to reading it years later after that initial dopamine rush of love for a new discovery has gone.

Although not an exhaustive history, it was a very interesting book indeed. I enjoyed learning about the French explorers making their way through Wisconsin to the Mississippi - there's a school named after one of them not too far from here. The chapters on the Native Americans who called the Mississippi watershed home were fascinating for me. While I have read Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee and know the odd bit of Native American history relating to Wisconsin, such as the Black Hawk War, the history of the Americas prior to 1492 is largely a mystery to me. Schneider gives a good overview of the Mississippian peoples with their capital city, Cahokia, just across the river from St. Louis. Closer to home, a little east of Madison lies Aztalan, the site of a settlement of Mississippians, that lasted from the 10th to the 13th century.

Another area of history in which I am not well-read is that of the American Civil War. Schneider notes the importance of the Mississippi and its tributaries in the conflict. Personally, I think of battles in the east when I think of the Civil War, so I found these chapters quite illuminating.

There were pirates on the Mississippi! I did not know that.

Unfortunately, the Upper Mississippi, that is, the part of the river north of Cairo, IL where it meets the Ohio River, doesn't get much mention after the sections on the French explorers. So more of the history of river life for towns like La Crosse, Dubuque, and the Quad Cities will have to be found elsewhere.

Regardless, if you're looking for an overview of the Mississippi and its watershed, I recommend this book highly.

So how about some music related to the history covered in the book?

 

 

 

I Dig Heavy Metals

When Ian Anderson's musical career ends, Homo Erraticus will likely not be viewed as a classic by music historians and prog rock aficionados. Jethro Tull fans will, generally speaking, consider it a minor, if pleasant, album, if I may prognosticate here. Personally, I rather like it, though I do recognize its faults. With a new Jethro Tull album out, I've been listening to Anderson's more recent music, including Homo Erraticus. A song I keep coming back to is its second tune, "Heavy Metals".

Anderson picks out a very pretty melody on acoustic guitar while Scott Hammond keeps time with a bell (or so it sounds) that mimics a blacksmith at work with hammer and anvil. (Or this could be a synth sound.) John O'Hara contributes some tasteful keyboards that mainly add mood and fill in a sparsely arranged song, but he finds the room to throw in a flourish or two with a harpsichord-like sound.

Anderson's voice changed forever after some throat problems back in 1985 and he was in his late sixties when he recorded this song so age was a factor as well in his limited range. But his singsong style here is perfect to accompany the bouncy, folky guitar melody. And in 90 seconds Anderson encourages us to ponder how human nature persists through the ages.

"Heavy Metals" probably won't make any best-of collections where it would sit next to recognized acoustic Tull classics such as "Mother Goose", "One White Duck", or "Dun Ringill" and this is a shame. This is a late period Anderson gem.

The Corona Diaries Vol. 43 - Supplement: The Rice Lake Fiddler

(Begin reading this diary entry.)

  

I found this handbill up at the Wisconsin Historical Society's online image repository as I poking around the web for info on Chetek for my previous entry. I don't think the Chetek Opera House exists any longer. The Rindlisbachers mentioned here were, I believe, Otto and Iva Rindlisbacher of Rice Lake which lies about 15 miles north of Chetek.

Otto Rindlisbacher is a figure that looms large in the history of Wisconsin folk music. Primarily a fiddler, although he played other instruments, his biography reads like that of the quintessential Wisconsinite from days of yore. He was a cheesemaker and lumberjack before running a tavern - the Buckhorn in Rice Lake. Rindlisbacher came to semi-prominence in folk circles after a group of which he was a member, The Wisconsin Lumberjacks, performed at the 1937 National Folk Festival held in Chicago. Alan Lomax would record him the following year.

For more information about Rindlisbacher, check out Folksongs of Another America: Field Recordings from the Upper Midwest, 1937-1946 by James P. Leary.

That's Otto and Iva in the upper photo, bottom row. Otto holds the accordion next to Iva who has a Viking cello.

Leary is leading the charge here in Wisconsin against the notion that American folkways (Americana) are the exclusive domain of the South. (Josh Garrett-Davis is another figure that comes to mind.) As a young man, he visited Rindlisbacher's Buckhorn Tavern and these visits proved highly inspirational to the budding folklorist.

Someone else greatly inspired by Rindlisbacher is Jason Busniewski, a Milwaukee-area fiddle player and self-described cultural activist who seeks to preserve the musical traditions of the upper Midwest. Busniewski has a YouTube channel featuring his playing. This is "Lumberjack Dance Tune". He describes it as "From the playing of Otto Rindlisbacher" so I am unsure if it was written by the man or if Busniewski plays Rindlisbacher's arrangement of someone else's song.

The Corona Diaries Vol 43: Sauntering Through the Woods

(Go the this entry's introduction.)

(late November 2021)

I went to the woods because I wished to move perambulatively.

When you last read about me, I was at the trailhead at the Chippewa Moraine State Recreation Area. The rain, which had plagued me since the previous evening, had now become a mist. I went left at the T intersection for no particular reason and was soon descending a moderately tall hill surrounded mainly by barren trees.

Not to get overly transcendental, but it felt wonderful to be in the woods again. It amazes me how quickly my mind was able to put aside thoughts of unfinished projects at work, chores at home left undone, and other such distractions and instead focus on the beauty of the forest around me, the changing smells as I meandered deeper into the woods, and the unseen squirrels scampering on either side.

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er moraines and hummocks

The path was lined mainly with oak leaves although there were stretches here and there that had some from a maple strewn about. Sometimes I would see leaves that I couldn't identify. I soon discovered that much of the trail wound its way between the many kettle lakes in the area, that is, lakes formed as glaciers retreated. There were land bridges as well as man-made ones.

Although I could have done with more sunlight, it was simply gorgeous out there. The stillness, the quiet – just fantastic.

The Germans have a word – Waldeinsamkeit – which refers to experiencing the sublime or something spiritual when you're alone in the woods. If it can be said that I experienced it on this walk, it was when I stepped down from the path into this little swampy area on the shore of one of the lakes.

The stillness, the water, being surrounded by saplings – it was, dare I say, sublime. I stood there for a little while just taking in the natural majesty of my surroundings.

At some point it occurred to me that I was slowly sinking and had better extract myself from the mud before I couldn't do so and some poor DNR ranger had to pull my corpse from the muck.

The trail is 4.5 miles long so I had plenty of time for reflection. While sauntering along, I suddenly recalled Jason's comment about the bear attack and started being a bit more vigilant. I needn't have worried, though, as I saw no bears. No deer either. And barely any birds. The wildlife was smart enough not to go hang out in the rain, unlike the human.

I did see evidence of the local fauna, however. Beaver!

I immediately thought of the song "Release the Beavers" by Kansas.

I wondered how this tree ended up growing like this.

After about 2.5 hours I was back at the top of that hill standing before the interpretive center. I felt really good. A bit wet & chilly, a bit exhausted yet energetic and sated.

Despite feeling good, I went inside where there was heat. As I warmed up and dried off, I chatted with the staff for a bit. A new t-shirt was added to my wardrobe as well. It is an Ice Age Trail shirt with textured footprints on the chest. Some or all of the recreation area's trails are part of the Ice Age trail, 1,000+ miles of scenic trail that run along what was the edge of the last glacier to grace Wisconsin before it went into retreat.

A few last photos of the magnificent view from the hill and I was again heading north.

Not far up the road was Chetek where a hotel room awaited. After checking in, I found myself to be quite hungry so I drove over to Norm's Open Kitchen. After being seated, the locals there, who were all older folks, glanced over at the stranger briefly before returning to their meals and/or interlocutors. I looked around and noticed that the salad bar was closed for the season. (?!) My guess is that it's only available when there are tourists around. I take it that it is not particularly popular with the locals.

I ordered pot roast and mashed potatoes. The photo of my dinner turned out to be wildly out of focus so no gratuitous pictures of food. Aside from needing salt, it was tasty. The potatoes were lumpy, as is my preference, and the gravy tied everything together. A fine, hearty meal which was just what I needed after my hike. Getting into my car, I noticed my legs starting to feel sore and so it was off to the liquor store for some muscle relaxant. This came in the form of Oat Starkbier from our brewing neighbors in Minnesota, Schell.

 

 

Starkbier simply means "strong beer" in German and, if memory serves, the term was used for tax purposes in a taxation system no longer used in Germany. I think it went away shortly after reunification. The oats added a nice smoothness to the beer while the hops gave it a bracing bitterness. And the alcohol took away most of the ache.

 

A few flakes of snow were falling as the sun set and I settled in for the night. Just as I'd put my feet up and began to feel that warm alcohol glow, it then occurred to me that I had forgotten to stop at the Chetek Bakery to see if I could find a loaf of Swedish limpa bread. Limpa is a rye bread with caraway, anise, fennel, and orange and reading about it severely intrigued my tastebuds. Ooops.

 

I did a little journaling (on paper!) before deciding to listen to a concert by jazz great Roland Kirk. 

It was a show from Warsaw on 14 October 1967 and all of Kirk's trademark sounds were on display – playing up to 3 saxophones at once, blowing and talking into his flute, and virtuosic performances on his "nose flute".

 

During "Blues for C&T" Kirk began playing a melody that was familiar but I couldn't place it. I believe he's playing multiple saxophones during that song so there's that drone like a bagpipe and it threw me off. I kept thinking it was a Scottish folk song but, later, I racked my brain and figured out that it was the highly un-Scottish ragtime song "Maple Leaf Rag" by Scott Joplin.

The forecast had possible snow in it. I wouldn't have minded a little but I hoped that we would avoid a blizzard as I settled under the blankets.

********

Bonus photo. Someone in the Marquette neighborhood put a kind of macabre Deliverance display for Halloween. Where you goin' city boy?!

(Head over to this entry's supplement.)

The Corona Diaries Vol. 43 - Introduction: Walking

I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least--and it is commonly more than that--sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements.

I am alarmed when it happens that I have walked a mile into the woods bodily, without getting there in spirit. In my afternoon walk I would fain forget all my morning occupations, and my obligations to society. But it sometimes happens that I cannot easily shake off the village. The thought of some work will run in my head, and I am not where my body is; I am out of my senses. In my walks I would fain return to my senses. What business have I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods?

"Walking", Henry David Thoreau

(Continue to the diary entry.)

They were dancing in Strasbourg, dancing in the street: Ryed of the Valkyries by Gathering Place Brewing Company

Do you suppose Frigg got pissed off when the Aesir convened to interview prospective Valkyries only to find that Thor had yet again chosen a slate of applicants that were all slim, busty, and blonde? Weren't any Valkyries brunettes? Brunettes with some small love handles and cup sizes smaller than D? If Michael Whelan and company are to be believed, there weren't. And poor Odin. With only one eye, he must have been especially busy with a clutch of comely warrior maidens parading before him. I guess you've gotta make sacrifices when you're the chief wise guy and Allfather.

This winter was rather exiting as far as beer goes as I've been able to sup not one, not two, but three different beers that were brewed with one of my favorite ingredients: rye. There was the annual quaffing of the Roggenbier with Vintage's Tippy Toboggan but also a couple of new brews: a ryewine from Parched Eagle and a rye stout from Revolution in Chicago. In one of those posts I lamented the general paucity of rye beers and how options are even fewer for those like me who eschew IPAs. Not long afterwards I encountered two more beers prepared with the coveted grain.

I was so happy that I almost started dancing. This would have been oddly appropriate since rye is hypothesized to be the cause of the Dancing Plague of 1518 which broke out in Strasbourg, now in modern day France. Records indicate a woman suddenly began dancing in the street in July and was joined by several others, mostly young women. While no one knows exactly what caused this terpsichorean outburst, there are those who blame rye. Well, ergotism.

Ergotism or ergot poisoning happens when you eat too much of a particular fungus that likes to grow on grains, particularly rye, in cool, moist conditions. I haven't found anything that explains why rye is the grain most commonly infected. Regardless, ergotism was a persistent threat in the days of yore. Not only did it cause gangrene but also seizures and mania, hence it being blamed for the Dancing Plague. 

A little more than 100 years ago some enterprising chemists put some of the fungus in test tubes and mixed it with something else and sloshed it all around or whatever chemists do and discovered that some of the ergotine alkaloids - the compounds that did nasty things to people - utilize lysergic acid in their daily routines. This discovery led another chemist named Albert Hofman to start tinkering with derivatives of lysergic acid and he discovered another acid - LSD.

Far out, man.

This bring me quite nicely to Ryed of the Valkyries from Milwaukee's Gathering Place Brewing Company, a dunkel brewed with rye. A Roggendunkel, I suppose you could say. I've had a couple of their other brews and found them to be delectable so I was keen on trying a third.

My pour produced a modicum of loose, off-white foam. The beer was a deep amber and clear so I was able to spy a fair number of bubbles inside, including a bunch adhering to the side of my glass. My sniffs revealed mostly chocolate and honey aromas but I also found small doses of grass, plum, and citrus, which I initially read as "uterus", from my notes. Now there's a challenge for a brewer who is looking to deviate from the norm.

Through a firm fizz I tasted dark chocolate, stone fruit, roasty malt, and spicy rye on my initial sips. A bit of that citrus and a herbal hoppiness came through subsequently. After drinking a few ounces, I made the mistake of reading the label which mentioned pear. It was like being told not to think of an elephant and then getting Dumbo stuck in your mind's eye. And so I couldn't get pear out of my brain and began to taste it with every sup. Stoopid power of suggestion!

Chocolate and citrus lingered a bit on the swallow while the hoppy taste became a bit spicy. There was a moderate dryness helped out by some hoppy bitterness.

This was a fine brew. Besides name-checking a certain pomaceous fruit, the label also notes that 3 types of rye were used. No wonder I really enjoyed the rye flavor. I also found the spicy finish to be very tasty. Gathering Place describes this as a "gentle nod to the classic Bavarian Dunkel" and my only gripe would be for it to be a little less gentle and boost those roasty grain flavors that Bavarian brewers conjure so well. Less fruitiness and more bread.

Still, this was wonderful stuff. At 4.8% it isn't exactly a winter warmer and would be great in the summer, but it instead eased me into the comforting folds of hygge on a chilly evening.

Junk food pairing: I am all about the rye so get a bag of Gardetto's Deli-Style Mustard Pretzel snack mix to go with your Ryed of the Valkyries.

The Corona Diaries Vol 42 (Postlude): Bron-Yr-Aur

(Go the beginning of this entry.)

 

The Corona Diaries Vol 42: To pass an evening with a drink and a couple friends

(Listen to this entry's prelude.)

(late November 2021)

Like a fool I'd been putting off using my vacation time. November had crept up on me and I found myself with several days of paid time off to use before 2022 rolled in so I scheduled a few days off earlier this month and planned a trek up north. The Frau's work situation didn't allow her to take a break from her job on short notice so I was to go it alone.

So be it.

I simply needed to go somewhere else, to get away from my workaday life, and have a change of scenery. Last year I'd hoped to make a trek to the northwestern part of the state but didn't manage to do so. I've been wanting to hike the Chippewa Moraine State Recreation Area since 2009 when my Frau and I stopped at the interpretive center there atop a hill and watched hummingbirds drink their lunch as a storm went by to the south. It had been on my to-do list for far too long.

When my dear brother died, it really made me aware of how short life is and put the zap on my brain. We had talked about doing some traveling together, including a trek to New Orleans and The National WWII Museum where we'd check out the exhibits and reminisce about the old man. Our father was a big World War II history buff and responsible for me writing a paper when I was in the 3rd grade about the attack on Pearl Harbor and for my brother being able to distinguish between Mk III and Mk IV Panzer tanks at a glance. But those trips never transpired. Plus, I found some unfinished stories he had written amongst his effects. Too many words left unsaid and too many things left undone and then it was too late.

Carpe diem!

I left home on a grey and cloudy Wednesday morning with my first stop being Osseo, about 160 miles straight up I94. It's a rather nondescript town of 1,700 and I suspect that most people who know of it do so because there's a Norske Nook there. The small chain is known for its pies and Norwegian-inflected menu which includes generous amounts of lingonberries and lefse aplenty.

There is a Norske Nook just outside of Madison so I wasn't there for the food. Instead, I was to meet up with a couple of high school classmates that I hadn't seen in long time – decades, in fact. Earlier this year I had gotten in contact with Jason after finding an old email from a former co-worker with his email address in it. Long story involving baseball nerds. The message was buried deep in my inbox for several years and I fortuitously happened upon it while searching for a different missive.

Jason is the world's foremost authority on baseball in Eau Claire, a small city about 20 miles up the road from Osseo. He is the author of Baseball in Eau Claire and Diamonds in Clear Water: Professional Baseball in Eau Claire, 1886-1912. Furthermore, his expertise was tapped for the documentary about Hank Aaron's brief stint playing ball for the Eau Claire Bears in the summer of 1952, Henry Aaron's Summer Up North.

Jason had recently run into another classmate of ours, Nick, and he committed to joining our little gathering. Rather than being an expert on sports, Nick specializes in backs and necks at his chiropractory or whatever you call it in a nearby town.

 

As I settled in at my hotel room, a feeling of unease came over me. Osseo wasn't really my quondam stomping grounds as I did not spend a lot of time nor have any traumatic experiences there so it wasn't because of the town itself. I lived and spent my high school years mainly a little to the west and northwest of Osseo. And I didn't feel particularly nervous about meeting old friends. Indeed, I was really looking forward to it. My mind, however, was knee deep in this familiar, though long-buried, sense of not belonging.

 

I left the area when I was 18 because I knew that small town life in west central Wisconsin was just not for me. This isn't an insult against those who call small towns or that part of the state home, it's simply that I knew that my future did not lie there. I visited the area, though not Osseo, on a fairly regular basis for about 13 years after having moved away so it wasn't like I was returning for the first time since high school. My suspicion is that this was due to the bad old days of high school being so prominent on this visit. My brain must have gotten a few wires crossed and some atavistic teenage feelings seeped into the present to make for an odd emotional palimpsest.

 

As best I could recall, I'd seen neither Jason nor Nick since graduation when George Bush, Sr. was still president. The three of us were to meet up at the Northwoods Brewpub. I arrived first and didn't see anyone that looked like an old classmate so I grabbed a seat at the bar, opened a book, and ordered a beer.  

I'd been to the brewpub when it was located in Eau Claire but not since it had moved to its new digs in Osseo. I just love their Rowdy Rye ale and think it's one of the best beers in the state. Unfortunately, it was not on offer so I went with a Lil' Bandit Brown Ale.

It was quite tasty. Not too sweet and with more of a roasted grain flavor (vs. caramel) than I expected. Good stuff.

After a few minutes, someone tapped my shoulder. I looked up and saw Jason clad in - quelle surprise - a baseball cap. I got up and gave him a big hug. My unease immediately dissipated. He took a seat and we began chatting away. After a short time, someone else approached us. I looked up to see a gentleman with perfect posture. Nick had finally arrived.

Over the course of a few hours, we caught up on what we'd been doing over the past 30-odd years and threw in a healthy dose of reminiscing as well. I explained that I had come up north to do a bit of hiking and just get away from things. Jason remarked at one point that someone in the area had been attacked by a bear.

Gulp! I'd never seen a bear in those parts when I lived there. Well, hopefully I would not run into one in my travels.

I was amazed at how much I had forgotten over the years. As we chatted, memories came flooding back – of teachers and classmates that escaped my mind as well as sundry events that had lain hidden in the dark and dusty corners of my brain until that night.

For instance, a comment about our typing teacher reminded me of how what was surely tens of thousands of dollars of computers remained in boxes and so we were relegated to learning our keyboarding skills on old electric typewriters which were, as a technology, on the way out and had also been used to teach many of the parents of my classmates. And then something else rattled things up in the grey matter and I remembered a friend and I being chased by a kid in the grade behind us. For reasons I cannot recall, he was angry at us and was intent on expressing his anger with a shotgun. Someone drove us away at high speed and the chase was on. We eventually got enough distance between us that we could be dropped off next to a corn field fairly close to home unseen and we made our escape by running through it into some woods.

Ah, the good ol' days.

It was great to pass the time with such wonderful company. While I wasn't quite sure what 30+ years would do, for my part, I found it quite easy to slip into a loose, laid-back rapport with my former classmates. A few decades didn't seem to have diminished our abilities to enjoy one another's company. Looking back, I find it funny that none of us took any photos. In this day and age of everyone having a camera at their disposal at all times, the thought didn't even cross my mind. Perhaps next time.

The day had been overcast when I arrived in Osseo and it was pouring that night when we left the brewpub. My plan was to walk a stretch of the Buffalo River State Trail the next morning figuring that the rain would depart overnight so that I could get a nice, early stroll in before heading north again. Well, that didn't quite work out as planned.

It was still raining when I awoke and the end of it was not forecasted to be until late in the morning. I saw that the trail had some large puddles bordering on ponds so I decided to forgo that hike and instead take the long way to my next destination hoping that the rain will have at least dwindled to a drizzle by the time I got there. And so, I aimed my car west and took off down Highway 10.

Driving by my old high school, I was reminded of how one of my English teachers, Ron Harper, told me that John Steinbeck had driven this very stretch of highway when he was out searching for America in 1960 on a road trip that he would turn into Travels With Charley. I've never read the book and don't know if this section of Highway 10 was, in fact, part of his route. A cursory internet search leads me to believe that the exact route he took is unknown and that it has been left up to Steinbeckophiles to try and deduce it from clues in the text.

Here's a photo of a map of his purported route at the National Steinbeck Center:

That bit of dotted line with turkeys just to the north may very well be the stretch of Highway 10 that runs by my old high school. Someday I will read Travels With Charley and try to solve this mystery once and for all.

The school itself seems to have doubled in size since my time there. I am told this is because the elementary and/or middle schools were thrown into the mix and not because the area has seen any population growth. Plus, there was a new football stadium. At least the giant cardinal still stood atop the main entrance.

Turning onto Highway 93 in Eleva, I drove by the Family Farms offices/factory where, I assume, the very tasty bacon-wrapped chicken breasts that I buy here in Madison are made. I must admit to being quite surprised at finding something from Eleva at my local grocery store when I first spied them in the freezer.

The drive north on 93 is quite scenic. This part of my route is in the driftless area so it has a wonderful topography full of wooded hills overlooking green valleys. I didn't get any photos but have snagged this one from The State Trunk Tour:

It felt odd driving part of the route that I traveled many times in a school bus. Zipping past various intersections, I could recall the bus turning down those roads to tack the winding country lanes in pursuit of the next student. I contemplated going to look for ruins of Hadleyville but the rain put the kibosh on that venture.

Hadleyville was a town about a mile from my family's home in southwestern Eau Claire County. I am not sure when it was abandoned. When I worked at the Wisconsin Historical Society, I discovered a cache of historical aerial photos and found one showing the outlines of foundations of some Hadleyville buildings. Back in the late 1980s, there was a store at the intersection of county roads HH and F where we'd stop for a soda on our bike rides and I believe that was the last remnant of Hadleyville except for the cemetery. That store is, I am told, long gone.

 

Instead I drove through the towns of Cleghorn and Brackett which are due east of where Hadleyville once stood. They are very small, as in no stoplights small. But that area in southwestern Eau Claire County is just so scenic. I simply love driving through it – over hill and dale.

I caught Highway 53 at Brackett which is a sleepy two lane road until you get to Eau Claire, 10 or so miles to the north. On the south side of town you enter a roundabout and voila! – you are suddenly on a four lane freeway. My destination was about 40 miles farther north – the Chippewa Moraine State Natural Area.

When I arrived, the rain has tapered off to a hard drizzle. I stepped inside the interpretive center hoping that the precipitation would stop for my hike. Plus, all of the rain made me need to use the restroom.

It's a pretty neat place with some taxidermied examples of the wildlife in the area.

Other displays gave a brief history of the Native Americans who called the area home as well as the European settlers who have largely displaced them.

Large maps such as this one explained the topography of the area, what a moraine is, and how Mother Nature lovingly sculpted the region into the gem known as Up North.

Eventually I decided it was time to seize the day and hit the trail, rain be damned. 

Walking out, I noticed a stuffed and mounted beaver in the entryway that I had missed earlier in my haste to find the men's room.

Stepping outside, I found that the drizzle had lightened and that the cloud cover had kept things relatively warm. I put on my boots and hit the trail.

********

Bonus photo – alphorns! These local players open the annual International Festival here in Madison with these hand carved Swiss instruments.

 

 

(Listen to this entry's postlude.)