Quiet

The sound of water, the smell of woods, out of cell phone and Internet range, my soul longs for quiet.  It's time for our annual pilgrimage to the north woods where there's no TV, or AC or IT only woods, cicadas, crickets, smoky fires.

 We're very blessed with good friends Tom and Mary Ann who invite us to share their Minnesota cabin in the woods a couple of times a year. If you're looking for an escape from the hustle and bustle of a too jammed pack life, check out Minnesota the land of lakes and loons, the bird type not like the type next door.

We enjoy quiet walks along the lake shore.

 Dining al fresco

 Even the birds have rustic luxe accommodations

In the woods there's time to appreciate a sunrise,

 a good discussion,

woodland beauty.

 Sitting here watching the waves of Lake Superior lap against the shore, thinking about the eons that the lake has been here and will be here the insignificance of my worries and cares hits me.  Sitting here, watching the waves roll in I let it all go and find like Thoreau, "My thoughts have left no track, and I cannot find the path again."

 The well worn paths of worry give way to the Lakeshore Trail. In this crowded, busy world taking a walk in the woods slows my racing heart and mind down to the pace nature intended.

The fresh air fills my lungs, everything slows down to the rhythm of the waves, so much like the rhythm of my own heart.  Separated from the electronic buzz, I think I can just make it's steady rhythm out, splish-splosh, whish-whosh, my hearts beats the same rhythm as the waves.

For me seeing the wonders of nature: eagles, a fox and her kits, loons diving, the green of the woods is a necessary balm for a nature wired a little tight. I silence the alarms on my phone, signals which normally move me to the next task, letting the day unfold naturally.

Breakfast at the Lockport Grocery

They let you take the morning newspaper off the stand, read it and return it to the stand without paying a cent. The scrambled eggs with ham are cooked to perfection, neither runny nor dry.

The shelves of the charming grocery are well stocked.  The waitress who doubles as the grocery stocker calls you "Dear" when you pay your bill, just like you're a regular.

Without alarms going off, we stop at Cascade Falls trail which promises "spectacular waterfalls"....all of the roadside trails on Hwy 61 promise "spectacular waterfalls" and none disappoint.

After lunch at the Crooked Spoon in Grand Marais, we check out the bait shop.

Look at this sign more carefully.  Do you see the beaver making their den, the walleye? Doesn't this look like the kind of place you just have to visit?!

The Beaver House is a true curiosity shop.

A frolic in the icy waters of Lake Superior

Smore's

A blue moon, a perfect end to a perfect day.