CHICAGO, IL
By 9 am the heat is stifling. An early morning trip to the park leaves both my niece and I dripping in sweat, and wilting in the heat. She has the advantage of catching a ride on the way home. I have the, um, advantage of carrying a 30 lb. human furnace on my back. It certainly is limiting our daily adventures.
Instead there's been a lot of reading, a smattering of glitter, a wee bit of baking, and a whole lot of hair clips. I am informed that princesses wear LOTS of hair clips. The wee royalty sorted through her clips, pulling out the ones that met some mysterious criteria. The criteria definitely included pink and purple, though not ALL of the purple clips made the cut. There were a few blue and green ones, and surprisingly a yellow one in spite of earlier disdain for the color. I secure the last of her eleven hair clips, and she bounds off in search of her mom-made tutu and wings.
CHICAGO, IL
I was delighted to arrive in Northern Wisconsin just in time for strawberry season, a full month later than any place I've ever lived. Strawberries are one of those early crops with relatively short harvests that I seem to often miss, along with asparagus, and most unfortunately, rhubarb. I found these berries at a local market, though they came from an organic farm just up the road.
I find nothing more pleasing than eating fresh food, grown with care, near the place where it was grown. In an ideal world, my food would come from my garden, and a local farmer's markets, with a few exceptions- spices, oils, coffee, and chocolate. And maybe avocados. I'd have a REALLY hard time giving up avocados. But I'd also have a REALLY hard time living in a tropical climate.
There are a few problems that I've run into in recent years when it comes to eating: It's hard to eat local when you don't have a locale. And it's even harder to eat homegrown when you don't have a home.
A few years ago, I spent 4 1/2 months on a road trip throughout the U.S. I diligently looked up farmer's markets and co-ops, trying to find places along our route to stock up on local, responsibly grown food. Inevitably we'd end up in the wrong town on the wrong day, or the town with the farmer's market would be hundreds of miles off our planned route. We once detoured a few dozen miles to stop in Vermillion, SD, for some free camping and the weekly farmer's market. While the camping was indeed free (love South Dakota city parks!), the farmer's market consisted of radishes, lemon balm, and potted plants. When it came to grocery shopping, I would love to have always shopped at a locally owned store, whether a co-op, or even a locally owned franchise. But it was impossible to know where we might stumble upon such places, as they are sadly rare. I shopped at Wal-Mart more that summer than ever before in my life and certainly ever since. We'd be out of food, and end up in a town largely shuttered with Wal-Mart as the only grocery option. So I'd set aside all my ethics for the sake of dinner, but then two towns down, now well stocked with cheap food from afar, there would be the sort of store I had been hoping for. Or a market or fruit stand that I hadn't known about. It was frustrating and challenging, and I continue to face the same problem wherever I go, whether abroad or here in the states. When I'm only passing through, and it seems I'm only ever passing through, it is hard to know where to find good food, and harder still to know who grew it and in what setting.
When I do stumble upon local, organic food, like these ruby berries, it feels like such a treasure. I just wish it were easier to make this a regular occurrence.
APOSTLE ISLANDS, WI
The rocky bluffs stretched out into vast rolling hills, and the pine trees gave way to deciduous trees of all manner. As I drove farther into Minnesota, the forests grew thicker and darker, creeping ever closer to the road's edge. Though my love for Minnesota may be tempered slightly by the mosquito who accompanied me for 300 miles, it really is such a lovely part of the country.
2 1/2 days and 1200 miles took me from Montana to the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore in Northern Wisconsin. I didn't know this place existed until three years ago when I took a roadtrip. My then partner-in-crime raved about Wisconsin and all its beauty, which I ignored entirely, plagued by memories of a very rainy childhood vacation to Milwaukee that mostly stirs up memories of watching the circus parade in the pouring rain. But a couple dozen states after setting off, we landed here where I once again had to put my foot in my big fat mouth. It's amazing here. I'm a little bit in love. It reminds me of Maine, with whom I've had a longstanding love affair (even pre-dating my first actual visit to the state). The two lane highway to Bayfield is nearly empty, but a few bikers. Gently rolling hills stretch out before me, wildflowers in bloom, rich forests with ferny underlayers, and the damp sweet smell of pine wafting in my windows. Occasionally I catch a glimpse of Lake Superior through the trees.
When I first passed through here so many summers ago, I thought to myself "I need a kayak and a month for this place!" lamenting our tight schedule that demanded our onward travel. What I forgot in coming back here, still only for a few days, is that I do actually NEED a kayak. Most of the islands are only accessible by boat, and only two of the twenty-two are serviced by the extremely expensive National Park concessionaire's ferry (Yep. Thanks NPS for keeping the parks affordable for all of us.). Traveling solo and with absolutely no experience navigating on water, not to mention the 38 degree water and lack of westuit, renting a kayak and heading out on my own seems like a bad idea. Or maybe I'm just getting to be a wimp in my old age.
So I'm still planning to come back someday. Someday when I have more time. And a boat. And a companion.
But for now I have a lovely campsite nestled in the trees, with the views of the lake making up for the swarms of mosquitoes. I took a ferry out to the one island that is not actually a part of the park. (Ironically the ferry to the private island that is clearly not hurting for money is much more affordable than the ferry to the public islands). I read and napped in the sand, with only the sound of lapping water interrupting the silence. The water is cold but the sand is warm as I walked along the shore, picking up bits of rock and glass and wood smoothed by the water.
