Barn Bluff

Barn Bluff

On Saturday morning I woke up early to go for a hike on 

Barn Bluff (down in Red Wing, Minnesota).  Over the years 

I’ve rock climbed there and I wondered what it would be like 

to hike along the stone walls in winter.

I don’t usually get excited about “grey” snow days, I tend to 

favor the bright winter sun.  This morning, however, I 

rediscovered a soft, reflective quiet that had me thinking 

about past summer adventures.

I took this photo as I walked along the quarry trail, revisiting 

old familiar haunts cast in a different light.

~ Hal

Running Water

Running Water

One of my favorite spots on our regular running route is the 

small bridge where we cross over the South Fork of the 

Kinnickinnic River.  My anticipation builds as the path curves 

away from the main part of the University campus and bends 

down through a patch of sumac toward the stream.

I love to listen for the exact moment when I first hear the water 

flowing over stones in the stream bed.  The sound of the small 

riffle below the bridge comes just a few gratifying seconds before 

I round the bend and the water comes into view.

On this particular morning we stopped on the bridge to look at 

these exquisite patterns where the ice caught the light. I came 

back later to take this photo.

~ Hal

Kelly Creek

Kelly Creek

Once or twice a year I head over to take a walk at Kelly Creek, 

a beautiful little cold-water feeder stream that flows into the 

upper Kinnickinnic River.

Besides being a wonderful sanctuary for native brook trout, the 

magical thing about this creek is the way it springs wholly from 

a modest rock outcrop beneath an old bur oak tree. I can stare at 

that spot for hours and never come close to plumbing its depths.

This time of year it's just nice to check in on the green watercress, 

and poke around in the brushy alder, watching the birds come to 

the water for a drink.

~ Hal

New Years Day

New Year's Day

The sound of my skis, following a path left years ago. The tall 

hardwood trees move with the wind up high. Every now and 

again one of their trunks makes a brittle, deep cracking sound. 

A winter prayer.

We went up north for the long weekend and spent most of our 

time cross-country skiing and reading around the wood stove. 

The weather was very cold, the snow was perfect.

On New Year’s morning we skied this trail at The Nature 

Conservancy’s Catherine Wolter Wilderness Preserve (near 

Presque Isle, Wisconsin) with our friend Kath who was also 

up for the holiday.

For me, this quiet, nearly silent New Year’s Day felt like the 

perfect bookend to a warm and busy holiday season with all 

of our family and friends.

With thanks, “Happy New Year.”

~ Hal

In the Bleak Midwinter

In the Bleak Midwinter

I love the holiday season, but this year it has thrown some 

of my better habits off-course. There was a period of denial 

after Thanksgiving, then the cold weather arrived, now 

Christmas is imminent.

I would like to blame my not getting out much with my camera 

recently on all of the holiday build-up, and I guess there is a 

grain of truth in that. By last Thursday, however, I started to feel 

cranky, and realized the reason was that I desperately needed to 

get back outdoors.

The next morning I headed to work early, but with my camera on 

the passenger seat. I took a detour toward the upper Kinnickinnic 

River. The temperature was in the very cold range. I paused for a 

while at the Quarry Road crossing and found this ethereal moment 

unfolding.

~ Hal

Confluence

Confluence

This time of year, I always hear them before I see them. In the 

late afternoon when I'm working in the yard I hear their unmistakable 

honking. I look up at my patch of sky, hoping their flight path will 

bring them low over our house. Every now and then it does.

Lately I've been getting reacquainted with Kinnickinnic State Park. 

When we first moved to River Falls I used to go there to watch the 

sunrise before my morning commute. A couple of days ago I had 

some time after work and decided to pay a visit.

I got to the park after the sun had set. The river (which only a few 

months ago was crawling with boats) was perfectly still. As I walked 

the shoreline where the Kinnickinnic and St. Croix meet, I heard 

these geese behind me. I managed to turn around just in time to witness 

their formation flying downstream over the St. Croix River valley.

~ Hal

November

November

I've lived in the upper midwest now for 18 years and I can honestly 

say that I am only beginning to learn the meaning of November 

around here. I got an inkling a while back, when Maggie explained 

to me that brown is not just brown. Each variety of grass transforms 

with its own signature hue. When the grey skies and rain come, the 

grasses begin to glow.

The bright leaves of autumn have dropped; only a few varieties of 

oak are left with color. Their rusty brown leaves had the patience to 

hold out for a more subtle moment to sing. The sun, low on the 

horizon, knits the harvest and hills together.

~ Hal