Ramping down for the season

I'm ramping down for the season.Scylla and I went for a walk to the woods to harvest ramps for the last time this season. The stroll through the three fields to the woods was lovely. At one point the air was filled with a heady fragrance from wild privet or currants. I couldn't see where the fragrance was coming from but it certainly smelled like one of those two spring flowering shrubs. There was also a patch of wild strawberries along the path in our field. In the low-lying area where the pussy willows thrive there were squadrons of dragonflies.

Wild strawberries in the field

But when I got to the woods it was full-on assault from both blackflies and mosquitoes. The breeze that had kept them at bay in the open ground had disappeared in the closeness of the forest. I also lost track of the path which looks much different at this time of year from the winter. It was time for full HazMat.

HazMat protective gear

Finally I reached the hardwoods and was able to locate some ramps. Wild leeks like to bury down between rocks so it can be difficult to get down to the bulbous part of the ramp. On the very first plunge into the soil my trowel broke. After that I had to use the handle to dig down deep to get extricate the ramps.

I had a couple of moments of panic; because I'd lost the path, because once I found them the ramps were so difficult to harvest and because the bugs were driving me to think longingly of a cliff to jump off.

Having fled the woods, pursued by a cloud of bugs, the final insult came when, attempting to cross a double barbed wire fence, my bug jacket netting got caught in the wire. I felt like Steve McQueen at the end of The Great Escape. I'd made my escape, true on two feet, instead of on two wheels. I'd eluded clouds of bugs, not a squadron of evil motorcyclists, but like Hilts, "the "Cooler King", just as freedom was in sight I got snagged on a barbed wire fence.

Once I had extricated myself from the barbed wire both Scylla and I made a beeline for home. Our woods, being young since we planted them over the past twenty years, are much more civilized, at least for their lack of bugs and scattering of naturalized daffodils.

Scylla leads the way home

Naturalized daffs in our woods 

I'm done. That's it for a walk in the woods until the chill of frost in the air in the fall. But since I did go there are BBQ'ed ramps for dinner and ramp pesto for a taste of spring in the depths of winter.

Ramps cleaned and ready for washing

A drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkling of coarse sea salt

Fresh off the grill

Ramp Pesto with Roasted Pinenuts

Making Willow Plant Supports at North House Folk School

I had flown up to Thunder Bay to see Alex's new apartment and accompany her on her drive down to southern Ontario. We decided to cross the border into Minnesota and take a course at North House Folk School in Grand Marais. The workshop was part of their Sustainability Symposium, with a focus this year, on harvesting sustainably from the boreal forest.

Leaving Thunder Bay south along the north shore of Lake Superior

We set the alarm for 6:10 with the intention of leaving by 7 to arrive at NHFS for 9AM. Everything went according to plan until we arrived, only a few minutes late, to find out we were, in fact, almost an hour early. Minnesota is in the Central Time Zone! Alex used the extra time well to borrow a socket wrench and attach the topper for her pickup truck more securely. I checked out the school's bookstore and where we could eat our dinner.

The campus of North House Folk School

The school's bookstore

At 9, local time, we met Emily, our instructor, and the other four women who were taking the course. We also got a look at what we were hoping to have built by the end of the day.

Emily's willow plant structure

Emily had brought willow branches harvested in the fall and now dry which we would be using for the supports for our structure.

Dried willow for the vertical supports

First on the agenda was a drive twelve miles out of town to harvest the whips we would be weaving amongst the supports. Everyone loaded their harvested whips into the back of Alex's truck.

Emily, second from left, explaining how to recognize willow

Alex harvesting willow whips

We all piled our willow harvest into the back of Alex's truck

It had turned into a beautiful day, sunny and a good ten degrees warmer away from Lake Superior. So we stopped at Bull Bay Lake on the way back into town.

Alex and I on the shore of Big Bull Lake

Both Alex and I were absolutely ravenous once we got back to the school. We inhaled the chicken salad sandwiches we had brought. And so headed next door to a smoked fish cafe for a delicious bowl of smoked trout chowder and a Turtle brownie on the deck in the sun.

Smoked Trout chowder on the deck overlooking Grand Marais harbour

The hard work began in the afternoon. Emily provided us each with a box which would act as a substitute for soil. Into this base we put sixteen of the dried willow supports in a circle. Then it was time to start weaving the freshly harvested and pliable willow in and out of the supports. This, for me at least, was incredibly challenging.

Step 1 was pushing the vertical supports into the boxes

Emily keeps a vigilant eye on us

After securing the 16 vertical supports it's time to make the base which is woven from the willow we had harvested

A couple hours later we each had a willow plant support which needed the finishing touches; trimming loose ends with secateurs and securing the top with willow "twine".  Each structure was unique; the variations indicated by the angle of the weaving, the colours of the willow and, undoubtedly, the skill of the artisan.

Alex is loving the process and making great headway

Emily explains a finer detail to Joan

Hard at work and some time for quiet contemplation - or perhaps simply exhaustion?

Alex is thrilled with her finished product

I,  too,  am thrilled. But more just because I am finished! 

The willow plant supports ready for the drive home

We finished the day at The Angry Trout, apparently the "destination restaurant" in town. Dinner was shared whitefish fritters, a salad with grilled fresh whitefish and maple syrup cheesecake and Quaker lemon tart. Delicious!

We stopped at a lookout over Lake Superior close to the border. A veiled full moon hung over the scene.

Looking over the forest down to shore of Lake Superior just before sunset

There had been a certain amount of discussion at the workshop about whether we would have trouble bringing a wood product over the border. We had all concluded probably not since it wasn't firewood and the willow was just stems. But we were all wrong. The customs officer was clearly torn - our creations were undoubtedly a wood product. But Alex had engaged him in conversation as soon as we pulled up to the booth. He was familiar with the North House Folk School - and The Angry Trout - and  seemed reluctant to disappoint us by confiscating the fruits of our labour. So, in a tone of consternation he warned us never to repeat this unlawful action - and sent us on our merry way.

Happy to be back on Canadian soil

The early signs of spring

After working in the vegetable garden edging and worrying the whole time that is too early, that I might be permanently destroying the structure of the soil by working while it is too cold and wet, I decided to go for a walk through the fields to the woods. After hours of bending over I also need to remind myself that I am a biped who walks upright. And to reward Scylla who yet again demonstrated her patience and loyalty sitting right by me for hours today and yesterday.

On first appraisal there's not much to see. It is a very monochromatic scene but the sun was out and it was a beautiful 20C. The wind strong but warm.

A beautiful Wedgewood blue sky with puffy cumulus clouds.

The strong wind ruffles Scylla's fur, but not her enthusiasm.

But this time of year rewards closer observations. I love the old cedar fences with their robing of rich green moss.

The moss facing north grows thick and luxurious.

Being on the edge of the Canadian Shield, most pastures are dotted by outcroppings of rocks festooned with lichen.

In the middle of the pasture this outcropping of rocks and a few hardy shrubs.

Different lichens on the rocks

Bird nests are easy to see when not hidden by deciduous leaves.

A large nest; a perfectly circular bowl that seems made of clay

A much smaller nest high in the crown of this alder tree

And pussy willows are out but not yet flowering.

Pussy willows 

Once you come to the woods, a natural, not cultivated landscape, one sees that, in fact, lots is happening. Ferns cover the forest floor and the different tree barks are noticeable. The few leaves on the trees are beautiful for their rarity.

Ferns cover much of the forest floor and the coniferous needles lend lots of green

A beautiful yellow birch in the forefront with white birch in the background

A ghostly beech sapling

I love these woods with their relatively minor human disturbances. Here is a great old snag, clearly having provided homes for birds or animals for many years.

Many cavities up and down this snag

I come upon the first ramps, a foreshadowing of more to come once the forest changes from coniferous to deciduous.

An isolated clump of ramps.

Further along the gentle slope of the deciduous woods is covered with ramps.

Railway Creek's spring run-off has broken through the beaver lodge and created a few waterfalls that only exist at this time of year.

The breach in the beaver dam.

Even Scylla, who hates water, can't resist exploring this new development.

The first of the spring ephemerals are in bloom.

I think this is a white hepatica

Once we're back home there are a few courageous plants that offer a bit of colour.

An early crocus

And a very early bee covered with pollen.

Johnny Jump Up catching the sunlight

The rhubarb sporting the complementary colours of red and green, and the contrasting smooth and rough textures of emerging leaves and stalks..

The garden after I edged some of the beds ready to be planted once the soil is warm and workable.

The beds in the original vegetable garden with their (for now) crisp edges.

As I write this the sun is setting, the temperature is plummeting toward its predicted low of 2C and the spring peepers fill the evening with their chorus. Spring may not feel committed but it is definitely on its way.