the Friday after

Much can be written about the Friday after Thanksgiving. People shop and hunt for bargains. That's a given. How many emails have you been getting announcing best ever Black Friday deals?  It's also a day of regrets for those who do their shopping early. (Me!) What? I bought that at 10 percent off a week ago and now it's half price? Infuriating! And famously, it is a day of struggling with leftover turkey. Most people would agree that reheating leftover turkey is like reheating leftover seafood. Dryness sets in. Turkey and seafood do not taste good all dried out. The flavor's gone.

Cooks have long figured out that you have to lose those bits of turkey in saucy dishes that add moisture and taste. I'm sure if you google "what to do with leftover turkey" you'll hit a jackpot of suggestions and they all will include smearing something on that meat or drowning it in some moisture bath.

I dont disagree with any of that, but I do want to remind you that back in the 1960s, we had our own answer to the vexing problem of too much turkey in the fridge: we made Turkey Tetrazzini. Well, not "we." More like the populace out there. My mom never roasted a turkey and so we had no turkey leftovers. But, in my pre-teen years (like from about 10 or 11 onwards) I was responsible for cooking up my own supper (my sister and I ate dinner at 4 -- right after school) and there was nothing, simply nothing I liked better than popping a Stouffer's frozen Turkey Tetrazzini into the oven. That love stayed with me. When I was a young adult, starting out on my own, I'd also stack up on Turkey Tetrazzini frozen dinners. 

What is this dish, you ask? Oh, turkey bits and mushrooms smothered in a creamy cheese sauce, all mixed with some noodles. It was the brainchild of a San Francisco chef who named it after a popular Italian opera singer, Luisa Tetrazzini who happened to be in SF at the beginning of the 20th century. The frozen dish, made by Stouffer's, came much later -- after World War II, when frozen dinners became the rage. I swear, the reason these so called TV dinners were always so addictive was because they had a huge sodium count. Excessive salt always strengthens the flavor of bland dishes. 

So here we are, at the farmhouse, with, would you believe it -- turkey leftovers! Is it Turkey Tetrazzini time??

It is not. The thing about youthful tastebuds is that somewhere oh between age 22 and 22.5 they get radically transformed. Things that were once heaven on earth take on questionable worth. You have evolved into the world of adult pleasures and nothing from that period of preadolescence is terribly impressive anymore. 

So heads up: Ed and I will not be eating Turkey Tetrazzini today and, too, we will not be shopping.

What's left in life for Black Friday??

To add to our misery (if Turkey Tetrazzini depravation is indeed reason enough to shed tears), the high temperature today (the HIGH mind you) is only going to reach 31F (-.5C). We haven't grown our winter fur yet! That's way too cold to enjoy the great outdoors (when there is no snow...).

Brisk walk to barn (it's nowhere near 31F yet -- that blast of "warmth" comes late in the afternoon) to feed the animals. 

Dumb chickens still get confused when I walk there to feed them. Some run at the clap of my hands, others halt dead in their tracks, as if wondering -- where is everyone?

Breakfast. Oatmeal. Back to basics. Dance is not impressed. 

And then we get ready for the rest of the weekend. This includes such tasks as house cleaning and figuring out all those details of who goes where and when and for what reason on Saturday and then again on Sunday. You'll see -- it's going to be complicated.

By late afternoon, I'm ready to sprint out for a hike in our local park. No biking today. We drive and I and so glad that Alpine Blue has warm seats!

(the cranes are still grouping, waiting perhaps for the right moment...)

(ducks, not minding the icy cold waters of Lake Waubesa)

And how do we manage our leftovers? Pretty much the same way we managed the Thanksgiving meal itself: arrange what you want on the plate, being mindful that on this day you should eat less because yesterday was the national over-eating day, but the Friday after is not. Then pop it in the microwave, pick a good movie (NOT the end of All the Light You Cannot See -- I reserve that for an overseas flight where the standards for movie viewing are much lower) and exhale. With leftover turkey and leftover gratitude. It's all good!

 

Thanksgiving Day

The sun rose at 7:00 a.m. in our neck of the woods on Thanksgiving Day. I know this because just before, as Ed began shuffling about the bedroom (he was going to sleep, not getting up), I had an urge to be up for it. I hadn't witnessed a sunrise out over the lake in years. Perhaps since I first moved here ages back. This morning, I felt it was a proper way to begin the day.

It's 32F (0C) when I step outside. Can I bike in this weather? I don't give it a second thought. 

I pedal fast -- to keep warm and to get to the lake by 7. But just before the last bend in the road, I come to a full stop. Will this be my last Sandhill Crane sighting of the year? Shouldn't I take note?

Okay, now I am at the lake. A few clouds delay the burst of sunlight. Geese swim in the icy cold waters. All is quiet. 

Good morning, day. Thank you for all that is beautiful and kind.

As I turn away from the lake, I hear it. The call of the cranes. Not just one. I pedal toward their noise.

Turn west, then north, up the hill. Ah, there they are. In the early morning light.

So many! I dont understand their migration signals, but it seems to me (and perhaps I am projecting) that on this day they are preparing for their great journey. They clamor, call out, practice flight, come back down. By mid morning, I know these birds will no longer be here. 

A morning of cranes. Birds that are not afraid to give their full energy to something bold and dangerous. Beautiful, graceful birds that are said to bring luck. May they themselves have luck! Turns out we all need it to have a smooth flight in life.

My fingers are frozen, despite the gloves. I am beginning to feel the bite in the air. How do the Finns bike in winter? My face feels like it's chiseled out of ice.

At home, I feed the animals then return to the farmhouse. 

Ed asks -- where have you been?? Out with the cranes. I'm jealous! Would you have ridden with me? Well, maybe later. When it's warmer! 

I take a very hot shower and thaw out.

We have Thanksgiving breakfast. A combination of treats and fruits.

I turn on the Macy's parade. Ed rolls his eyes. I laugh at that: it's the American thing to do! I'm American and I dont watch it. Yes, I know. We have had 18 years of Thanksgivings together.

[For those who do keep the parade on in the background -- tell me, dont you feel like joining in the dance when the Rockettes do their thing? Always have, always will, knee replacement notwithstanding. Though I am glad the kids weren't here to witness the ridiculousness of me doing an up-kick.]

I am very aware of how different the holiday is for those who do not have to cook (me this year!). I make a cup of Cinnamon Plum tea. Texts from daughters come in. I smile. 

In the afternoon, Ed and I go downtown to Olin Park for a stroll through the lakeside woods. On a day like this -- gently sunny, peaceful -- it's a pretty walk. 

(The waters are so blue today! I know you see this view when I snap it as I drive to the bakery. This is a better vantage point, because you see the full swing of Wright's Monona Terrace.)

We pass a woman taking a photo of a naked oak tree. She feels compelled to explain herself -- I live in Las Vegas. We dont have trees like this there!

Here for a family Thanksgiving ? -- I ask.

Yes, exactly!

Have a happy one.

Thank you! You too!

Oh we will. We will indeed.

At home I have a late lunch. I mean, you're not supposed to eat a lot before dinner, right? And the official holiday season begins after the parade, right? 

The star shape is the traditional Clasen's chocolate covered gingerbread. The dusted dark cookie is their German Peppernut -- deliciously zesty! And the plain looking flat cookie? Not from Clasen's. It's a Finnish Pepparkakor. Gingerbread as well, but not too sweet, to temper the sugar in the others. With milky coffee -- it doesn't get any better than this!

And in the evening, I take out tubs of food prepared by Merchant. By their list: Roast Ferndale Turkey, Classic Turkey Gravy, Brussels Sprouts with Maple Bacon, Classic Mashed Potatoes, Roasted Beets with Cranberry Vinaigrette, Sweet Potato and Rutabaga Gratin, Italian Sausage and Apple Stuffing. There seems to be also a container of wild rice and broccoli which wasn't on the menu but hey, we pile it on!

For dessert? We skipped the pie option. Honestly, two small chocolate are more than enough to end the meal. 

Feet up, TV on, we watch All the Light We Cannot See. Wait, what?? It's not a movie but a series? 

Verdict? No, not as good as the book. Not even close. I agree with those who call it a cinematic misfire. No big themes remain with you, certainly not after the first episode. Will we continue with the remaining three? Not sure. Ask me tomorrow.

So ends Thanksgiving Day. If you're an American, I hope you spent your turkey (or tofurkey) day very well. With good food, and love in your heart. 

Wednesday before

What a beautiful moment: the day before, the eve before. You're ready for whatever comes next, no more fretting, you've run the clock and, like the garden in early spring, the eve presents no disappointments. It all looks good! Ready for the next day's bash!

So, I always loved The Eve. And indeed, the whole day of The Eve. As a young family, we had rituals for Christmas Eve Day. And of course, there's New Year's Eve Day. And, too, Thanksgiving Eve -- the day of it. Always on that Wednesday I would do the last huge and comprehensive swing through the grocery store. The girls would come with me -- not to help necessarily, but to wander through the store, the two of them, admiring holiday foods, looking for free samples, sneaking off list items into the cart. I'd be checking off a long list, hoping not to exceed some theoretical number (like, the bill from the previous Thanksgiving), but inevitably succumbing to the thirst to make this one perfect, so maybe picking up a special cheese isn't such a ridiculous idea. Say what? $15 a pound?! Well, it's Thanksgiving Eve after all. (The next day, I will have smiled at the stupidity of that reasoning. As if anyone would notice a special cheese on a day when there is so much food!)

And this morning, the Day of the Eve, I felt the same thrill. Even though I will be cooking precisely zero foods tomorrow, and Thanksgiving is all about food and a table packed with people and ours wont have the crowd either, I still felt the thrill.

So after taking care of the animals...

I drove to Madison Sourdough Bakery. The store's packed! Everyone wanting some of their bread product, maybe a cake, maybe a pie, maybe just those best ever croissants.

(always the gorgeous loaves...)

I had gone to sleep last night trying to decide if I should maybe go to another bakery, with foods that I dont typically bring to the kitchen table, but what the heck, I like the bread product at Madison Sourdough, so this is what I pick up now: croissants, pain au chocolat, a morning bun. I'll sort out what to eat when later.

The morning temperatures keep dropping each day and the highs for this Wednesday aren't all that high. We're topping at 42F (5.5C), which is very appropriate for November. What I notice driving home is that there are still two sandhill cranes by the newly restored wetlands across the road from us. I'm totally sure that they are the last pair that I will see this year. Most Sandhills depart right around Thanksgiving and the fields where they congregate have suddenly become very empty. Except for these two.

Hurry up and fly. It's not going to get any better than this!

Breakfast -- so cozy it hurts! Thankfully (that word!) Ed is not sensitive to the light whiff of Kobo's Rustic Pine.

We have not moved much in the last few days. It's as if that hike we took over the weekend was big and bold enough to carry us through a bunch of days going forward, but of course it doesn't work that way. You cant store your movements and spread them out into the future, so we agree to get back out there today. But doing what? Ed asks -- can you bike in this weather?

There's a bit of a wind and so the ears feel cold and the eyes pour out water, but yes, I can do it and it really feels good!

When you are basically lazy about going out, biking works a magic that hiking cant compete with. In 45 minutes, you have done your work! You are golden for at least the rest of the day! We return home proud and happy.

This is when it feels good to settle in for a good read and I pick randomly Zadie Smith's story in the week's New Yorker and it is so good! I gave you a link and if you're like me, who loves great coming of age writing, you will want to click and read it. (You might also want to read it if the teenagers in your household are driving you nuts with worry and exasperation. It's a good reminder of who you yourself were back then in those years.)

I do have one very important Thanksgiving errand to do today and that is to pick up our dinner at Merchant -- a restaurant downtown that is offering a whole Thanksgiving package for two. It sounds delicious! I'm on it!

Sunset, across the road from us: dramatic, at 4:28 p.m.. If you look closely, you can see a flock of cranes, heading out.

Still later, I heat up yesterday's dinner soup and I let Ed pick our viewing pleasure, because tomorrow I want so very much for us to watch my choice -- something I have been saving up for days now. But that's tomorrow. Today we are on the Eve of Thanksgiving. A happy, peaceful and so very beautiful Eve, when the New York City balloons get blown up to their full size, and the harried cook puts the last pie into the oven, and the rest of us just sit back with the pleasant thought that tomorrow, food will rule our day and we will truly be grateful for all the wonders that once were, and that are still to come.

with love...

Tuesday

Talk about ease of shopping: yesterday, I spent most of my free time (all the way up until midnight) buying holiday gifts. And I'm done! Now comes the awful part -- the daily arrival of boxes -- something that causes great anguish for my beloved acquisition hating Ed. I hide everything instantly and yet he notices it all. Still, I promise him -- most of it is for the kids and the minute the littlest one has cycled through all that's available here for their afternoons of play, the toys get donated and the play room returns to its prior emptiness. With maybe a comfy chair for reading. Okay, no comfy chair needed. Empty it shall be. I haven't yet given up my dedication (theoretical at the moment) to minimalism over clutter.

We wake up to a dusting of snow. Pretty, for sure, but so ephemeral and so very wet.

Breakfast -- I light my Montana Forest while Ed is out discussing a branch chipper with some Craigslist person. 

Then I snuff it out and switch to Rustic Pine. He claims this one is fine. As usual, I barely smell anything at all. I buy candles that are very low on fragrance. But my imagination tells me we have left Montana and are now near a forest and the scent of fir is all around us.

And speaking of growing things, I do some indoor plant maintenance today. We keep the huge orchid plants inside the sheep shed for the winter because they are just over the top and there isn't the space here on the window sill. After a summer outdoors, they burst into early winter bloom. I hope the sheep shed cats enjoy the display!

In the farmhouse, the Christmas cactus as usual has started to flower on Thanksgiving. It will grow dormant again by late December. Silly plant. For now, it surely adds color to the art room!

The two impatiens plants I bought in are doing well, the pelargonium - eh, they're getting old. I may rethink their fate come summer. 

The rosemary is robust, but I know its real test comes later when it strains for more light. Our windowsills just do not have that much sunshine (because of the surrounding trees... I blame Ed).

Inspection and maintenance done. I get in the car and drive toward the kids' school. Wait -- isn't their school close to Clasens European Bakery? And didn't I hear that Clasens is putting out "hearts moons and stars" already -- my very favorite chocolate covered gingerbread cookie, sold only at Christmas? We have had a long standing rule in our family, born of the days when my daughters were just little: the Christmas season does not start in any way -- not with the foods, the music, the stories, the movies -- until after Thanksgiving. In those days, we would have Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade on in the background on Thursday and the kids convinced me that Santa, coming in at the end of the parade, officially launched the holiday season. Who can argue with that! But that means no Clasen's shopping until after Thanksgiving, right?

When you're 70 years old, you get to break the rules. You also get to keep your transgressions hidden from the world. So, telling no one, and especially not the grandkids, I drive over to Clasens and pick up a couple of packets of my very beloved cookies. I mean, what if there was a run on them? They might sell out! But shhhh! Tell no one! And no photos posted of my foray into that wonderland of holiday baked goods! 

Okay, time to get the kids. It's my last pre-Thanksgiving visit with them. A good one! The excitement of the approaching holidays is palpable! In fact, I had to ratchet it down a little. Too much bounciness doesn't always give us a productive afternoon.

(out the window, on our way home...)

And now the young families are in their own tailspin of Thanksgiving preparations and planning and I'm back at the farmhouse enjoying the images I have of them all, knowing that there will be stories from the holiday and there will be lots of smiles in the retelling. 

And tonight? Like I said, I'm taking control over the movie selection. Let me take a look at what's out there...

Monday

In having before us a quiet Thanksgiving, we are slated to also have a quiet pre-Thanksgiving week. This creates an opportunity to reflect. On gratitude, on joy, on the inevitable sadness you feel when you hear about someone's loss. Can you have all three emotions in one day? On one holiday? 

I think about this on my walk to the barn...

And I talk about this over breakfast with Ed.

Well, not so much about emotions -- that's not his topic! But about processing others' loss and grief. He tells me about recent articles/videos he's been tracking down on the science and history of electricity. (It's related!) 

Do you know that just 200 years ago we had no electricity?

I didn't have it growing up at with my grandparents in the village!

I don't mean that. The world then had electricity. Your house wasn't powered by it, but you made use of it at every turn. But 200 years ago, no one knew about it, no one relied on it. Magicians played with a static charge and then someone, actually a handful of people, took it a step further. My point is, loss is part of life, but then, look how much our lives have evolved to minimize loss! In such a short period of time.

I suppose someone might say -- I wish I lived more in the future, in a century where children no longer had to battle cancer (my readings this morning had been about that), then I will protect myself from a possible loss of a child from disease. Well yes, but if loss is part of life, it will be with us in some fashion always. Looking for a time without its threat surely is a futile enterprise. Isn't it better to think how splendid it is to have lived with all that we do have now, we the carriers of progress, perhaps not necessarily the direct inventors of cures, medicines, preventions, or electricity, but still, there, carrying the torch forward, in much the same way the magicians' play with static charge eventually lead the world to LED light bulbs, now available at your local store? With lights twinkling every which way we look -- including on our porch, with furnaces heating, hot water pouring out of our faucets. 

Ed often talks about collective knowledge, shared ideas, breakthrough in design (it's his field after all). We are both of the generation that couldn't conceive of sharing knowledge in the way that it is shared now (through the internet). We were happy if we lived near libraries (how many times as a young adult, I'd head over to the medical library on campus to look up some health topic?!), relying on encyclopedias to get us to a basic understanding of how things work and who invented what in which epoch. These days? It's all within a click.

In other words -- it is possible to think about gratitude, joy and sadness -- all in one breath! We are equipped to handle all three and indeed, it is our job to reach down into our souls this week and spend a few minutes with all three, recognizing their validity, their worth. Their unique place in our lives.

In the afternoon, I pick up the girl, who is actually very adept at cycling through big emotions in record time. Today is a fine example of it: a dismal morning, a triumphant math class, an even better recess, and now, at the farmhouse, excitement at the discovery of calligraphy and kaleidoscopic image making. (This, shared with Ed. Long story.)

In the evening I examine my stock of winter candles. Ed claims that one of them -- the one that produces almost zero fragrance -- is irritating his nasal passages. Fragrance to him is mostly fine except when it isn't. Then it's like feeding him cilantro: a downward spiral into a hellish world where you're forced to eat soap and take whiffs of acidic chemicals. Goodbye, Montana Forest scent! Or wait -- Ed, didn't you say you had some work to do in the sheep shed tomorrow?

You gotta love a guy who can spend hours in a machining shop (those places smell of... machines) but who flinches at the light scent of Montana Forest! 

We watch a movie tonight. Nothing about it is fun or funny or even mildly enjoyable, yet we are glued to it, waiting for each dramatic twist to take us further into a sinkhole of despair. Honestly, Ed! Tomorrow I'm taking charge of the movie selection. Somewhere out there, I will find a show that will make us end the day with a chuckle. Or at least a smile.

with love...

Sunday

For me, the mood is definitely tinted by the upcoming holidays. Little things, like checking bakery store hours for the week ahead. Catching sight of a Clasen's display in the grocery store, with a small gingerbread house and packets of my beloved holiday cookies -- their stars, hearts and moons. I have a legal pad that has pages of notes. What to do in the next five days, fifteen days, thirty days. What the kids might like for Christmas. What dinners will require special attention in advance of their preparation. It's all filling my head right now. And music, too. When I hike, I nearly always have a song running in my head. Once it sticks, it wont budge until the walk is over. I noticed in the last couple of days that the songs in my head are, well, of the season. (I love holiday music for exactly 4 weeks out of the year: from the day after Thanksgiving until December 25th. After that I swear I never want to hear another bouncy jingly tune again. Ever.) And the candles: I'm temporarily moving away from interesting scents from Scandinavian boreal forests and am plunging into pine and blue spruce.  All this before we've even dug into Thanksgiving.

I mentioned that we're slowly descending into a cold spell. Today is the last day where we're still well above freezing (a high of 50F or 10C) and so the morning walk to the barn is pleasant...

Breakfast? Oh, it's always deliciously wonderful.

And then I push myself to do my annual grand mow of most (but not all) of the farmette lands. I use the tractor mower for this -- you need a solid, large machine to manage the tall growth of our mock prairie and to power through, as it goes over fallen timber. 

It's a bumpy and dusty terrain (we haven't had rain for weeks!) and there is a very large part of me that hates this job. My head spins, my stomach turns. On the other hand, there is a deep feeling of satisfaction that you get from bringing down a year's worth of spent growth. Weeds, goldenrod, tall grasses, dogwood. Sticky seeds, thorny bramble canes, dried snakeroot. I bring it all down. 

The purpose of this is manifold: I want to slow down the growth of invasives, and I want to open up the ground so that the wildflowers that I love have a chance to emerge. Out front, I want to mulch the maple leaves into something that wont totally smother the grasses that do survive the dense shade.

By the time I'm done, I am ready to collapse and not move for at least ten hours. Did I mention how woozy riding that bumpy machine makes me feel?

All that and my movement rings dont even budge! Ah well: I sacrifice a good chunk of my day for the health of the farmette lands and the plant life that I want to encourage and keep healthy here.

In the evening, the young family comes for dinner. They, too, are focusing more and more on the holidays. Sparrow, who is always too quick to proclaim something as his favorite ("my favorite food is watercress!" "Have you ever had it?" "I dont think so...") has been saying for a while that his favorite holiday is Thanksgiving. ("Why?" "I told you already many times! Because you give thanks!") Feeling a bit like he is abandoning me by going with his family to Chicago for that day, he draws me a picture of just him and me at a Thanksgiving table together. "This will make you feel better!" 

All my grandkids are very, very sweet to me.

(wait! do I see braids??)

(Sparrow really loves to read these books to his brother...)

(If she stands on a chair pretending to be the Statue of Liberty, he, the one next in line, has to do it too. Sandpiper joins in, of course, though he is clueless about Ms Liberty, or her iconic pose.)

(finally, dinner is ready...)

Warm, breezy and fragrant summer evenings may be beautiful, but honestly, nothing beats the cozy and snug, dark evenings of winter. You add your own light. You add color. You add just a whiff of a forest scent (or you bake something with cinnamon). Maybe you mix up a kir vin blanc, or a warm cup of tea with honey. You take out the quilt or a throw blanket and you settle in for a quiet set of hours and it is nothing short of sublime.

Saturday

Since my kids have flown the coop (decades have passed!) and set up homes of their own, there have been fewer than a handful of Thanksgivings where I have not had either one or both of them, along with their families, at my table for that traditional turkey dinner. Sure, there are other grandparents who also value time with them -- three other sets in fact -- but none of them are ardent Thanksgiving dinner preparers. Or at least they haven't clambered to roast turkeys for big crowds. Graciously, I should add. Less demand for the kids' presence makes it easier for the young families to sort this out in a way that can accommodate the needs of the very young.

This year, however, is one of those rare times when no one will be in Madison for Thanksgiving. Well, except for Ed and me. 

It is a perfectly reasonable arrangement. The kids' other grandfather, though not a dedicated cook himself, has wanted to have the bunch of them over for the holiday and he surely deserves to have that memorable experience on his own turf. So Ed and I are coasting according to our own whims and predilections. Thanksgiving 2023 will be imagined by me, for the two of us. I'm thinking back to past times when it was just us:  in that horrible first Covid year, we were alone, yet I stubbornly roasted a turkey and did the sides. We had a lot of leftovers. On a previous alone year, we  went out to a restaurant and it felt really dumb to sit in a dining room with a bunch of others, all waiting for their turkey slice to be brought by a harried waiter. And there was one other time that I recall -- we went out for sushi. Restaurants serving Asian food almost always stay open on the holidays. The proprietors couldn't wait for us to be done so that they could close up and go out shopping in Big Box stores that opened with big sales even before the day was done.

What's our idea for this year? Oh, suddenly, it's easy! Since Covid, many very nice restaurants are in the business of selling prepared foods to go. It works this way: they do the turkey, the sides -- all of it. You pick it up on Wednesday, and presumably throw it all in the microwave or maybe oven on Thursday, and boom! You've got yourself a meal! And since restaurants always give copious amounts of food, there are sure to be leftovers. What's Thanksgiving without Friday leftovers after all. 

This new game plan means that on the Saturday before Thanksgiving (today!) I am not making grocery shopping lists and I am not searching high and low for better veggie recipes, nor am I sweating over whether to spatchcock the turkey, or whether to brine it, in salt it, or smother it in mayo before roasting. (I've tried them all in the past. Spatchcocking is my favorite.) 

Instead, it is a Saturday like all other November Saturdays: I feed the animals in the early morning...

And because I love freshly baked goods for breakfast, I drive over to Madison Sourdough for their rolls, croissants and bread...

(sky so blue...)

And I sit down to the morning meal with Ed and it is joyous because, well, for no reason at all actually.

It is a very quiet day. I have time to make lists for the remaining weekends of this year, very few of which will be quiet ones!

In the afternoon, Ed and I return to Donald Park. We liked it a few weeks back and it seems like a good hike choice for Wisconsin hunting week. Many of the Ice Age trails within a short drive are now taken over by men with guns. I am not opposed to hunters claiming their hunting rights and privileges, I just don't enjoying being among them in November. So we go to Donald's because it's a county park and we're not going to hear the occasional explosion of gunpowder. No ducking stray bullets required!

We had hiked one segment of it before and we turn in the opposite direction today, following trails that skirt woodland, prairie, and the sandstone cliffs that are so endemic to this hilly region. 

We are impressed! The park grew out of a vision shared by local farm families and especially Delma Donald Woodburn and a neighbor, Pat Hitchcock. Donations, easements and some purchases helped establish the park. Delma died at the age of 104, Pat -- at a slightly younger age, and it is in their senior decades that they worked on ensuring that their vision for the Donald Park became a reality.

The park has only 475 acres, but it is magnificent nonetheless. The trails are varied and never boring. You're walking along a stream and the next minute you're cutting across a restored prairie. One more mile and you're climbing up steep rocks. 

(from the top)

All of it is lovely and we try to imagine what the place is like in other seasons. We'll surely return!

As we stroll along the stream (Deer Creek) that picks up spring waters and meanders south, ultimately pouring its waters into the Mississippi, we note that the sun has dipped below the horizon. In other words -- it's late! How long have we been walking?! 

We speed toward the car and drive home, pulling in just as it really is getting dark. We breathe a sigh of relief: all chickens accounted for! No predator visits tonight. Just the moon, a few stars and the lights twinkling over the farmhouse porch.