Monday Mystery Tour, August 1, 2011

I wrote this article and posted it in the Spring of 2007. I’m reposting here today and have added a short 30 second YouTube video of a ship at the harbor in Duluth, MN at the end. If you click on the title, you will have an audio of Gordon Lightfoot's "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald"


Recently, I spent some time at the South Shore of Lake Superior. When I wrote this article, I was living in a two-room cabin on the shores of the Great Lake. I miss living there immensely. I visit the lake frequently and I am always drawn in to the water and its uses in so many ways.

Originally Posted in April, 2007


The ship Philip R. Clark, part of the Great Lakes Fleet arrived in port at Ashland, Wisconsin on Friday, April 27, 2007 with a load of lumpcoal destined for for Xcel Energy power generating plant. The coal was out of Toledo. The ship will head for Two Harbors, Minnesota after unloading in Ashland, to pick up a load of taconite ore bound for Detroit, Michigan.

We don’t get many ships in port here any more. I don’t remember a one last season. The year before that, I think I saw one deliver coal. The water level is very low, the lowest in 80 years. A full twelve inches lower than last year. The Corps of Engineers claim that this will continue until September and even then, a rise of only 1-3 inches is expected.

The cause of the low water is drought. Dry conditions in the area. Many inland lakes are also at lower than normal water levels. Boating this season will be a nightmare for many. Those that make their living relying on water use may suffer economically. Boats may not be able to dock, swimmers won’t have safe beaches and in some cases, no beaches, on the Great Lake Superior and many other inland lakes here in Northern Wisconsin.

When I returned from doctors appointments in Duluth early Friday afternoon, the ship was just coming into the port. They are quite large, the Philip Clark is over 760 feet long. But when it was made in the 1950’s, it was only 647 feet in length. They cut it open and added a 220 foot section at Frazer Ship Yards in Superior. Now, at 767 feet, it is a very large vessel to be getting into Ashland. And although loaded with coal on this latest delivery here, it was not a full load as the draft of the ship, fully loaded, would have made it impossible to maneuver with the Water level of the lake at this historic low.

This ship was built as an order of three such ships made by the American Ship Building Company for the Pittsburg Steamship Company. One of the others was the Arthur M. Anderson. The Anderson was the ship that followed the Edmund Fitzgerald the night when the famous Gales of November brought her down and the lives of 29 crew members were lost, November 10, 1975.

One night in 1994, when I lived in Duluth, MN, we saw that the Arthur M. Anderson would be coming into port around midnight. It was a late season arrival and the weather was cold by the lake shore. We bundled up and stood there and watched the lights come from the distance towards the harbor entrance. As we stood there and the giant ore boat slipped quietly past us into the harbor, we felt an eery surreal feeling as we knew the story of the Anderson and it’s history of the last people to hear Captain McSorely  of the Fitz say, “We are holding our own”. The Anderson followed the Edmund Fitzgerald and had her in sight up until its fateful end, 15 miles short of Whitefish Bay, Michigan.

While I haven’t lived right on the shore of the Great Lakes, as I do now, for quite some time, I was born in their shadows and have lived near them all my life. Born in Chicago and the Great Lake Michigan. Living in Two Harbors, Grand Marais and Duluth, Minnesota over the years, and close enough to be influenced by Lake Superior from a standpoint of weather and energy.

I remember once wanting a glimpse of a NorEaster storm. We went to the shore near Duluth and donned every bit of cold weather gear we had. We tried to look at the waves, but they were not to be seen from the literally blinding sideways falling snow and sleet. the wind taking our breath away and the impossible task of getting any closer to the lake for fear of a rogue wave taking us to the depths and certain death.

Although I don’t read as much as I could or sometimes think I should, I have made my way through many a ships log, fact finding investigation, non-fiction story and/or fictionalized version about the Edmund Fitzgerald and other great lakes ships and ship wrecks. Web sites abound about the Great Lakes and the toll of ships taken as the ocean vessel Captains will tell you that they’d much rather ply their trade on the ocean than on Superior.

In 2004, we attended the launch of the United States Coast Guard Buoy Tender Alder at the Manitowoc Shipyards on the Menominee River in extreme Northeastern Wisconsin. This was quite the experience. Up close and personal with the ship as it lay in it’s crib, then watching it slide sideways into the river to start it’s service, replacing the Sundew, an older cutter harbored in Duluth. If you ever get a chance to watch a large ship be christened, do it.

Launching of the Coast Guard Buoy Tender Alder

I guess watching that ship come into harbor in Ashland moved me as I thought of a former life or of a bygone era on the Great Lakes. Less than 50 ships remain from a fleet of over 350 in the 1950’s. A theme of my fictional writing is set on the waterfronts of the great lakes and includes a longshoreman, Joe Nighthawk, as the main character. He’s still in print in someones old comment section.

The lake changes everyday. Its color changes with the color of the sky. Its surface with the strength and direction or lack of the wind. The wrinkles change from the gulls and ducks flying across the waters and the pods of waterfowl dotted around in sight. The energy flows as the big lake cleanses itself of unwanted debris, the waves pushing old logs to the shore and scouring rocks into round edged nuggets.

Go to the water. Stand by its shore. Enjoy this short video of the Gordon C. Leitch pulling into the Duluth Harbor one fine sunny day a couple of years ago.

Epilogue: In 2010, Lake Superior's water level has returned to its pre-2006 level. From 1998 to 2007, however, lake levels dropped steadily until they reached near-record lows in 2007. The time of this story, April 2007, was the lowest water level recorded since records were started to be kept in the late 1800’s.

This data taken from the Minnesota Sea Grant Report from 2010. Minnesota Sea Grant is a program run by the University of Minnesota and studies properties of the Great Lakes throughout the region.

Peace

Bottle of Wine, Fruit of the Vine

Shadow Shot Sunday
July 31, 2011

Shadow Shot Sunday is a fabulous meme. You can see great photos from all over the world. Find out how you can participate or just browse the great photography at Hey Harriet's Photography.

We were out to eat last week at a place that we used to frequent regularly when we lived in St. Paul. Since we moved in 2005, we get there only so often. The name of the place is Cafe Latte' and I have never ever had a bad meal there.


Our celebration was a birthday. In attendance were Mrs. Spadoman and my two daughters, Alyssa and Jayne. We all had dinner, and we all had dessert. I didn't take pictures of the delicacies we had after dinner, but I should have. For the sake of a story, I'll mention them, and if you're so inclined, look them up on their menu which can be found by clicking on the highlighted link above.


Mrs. Spadoman had the Lemon Tort, Alyssa had Vanilla Cheesecake, Jayne tried the Tre Leches, (Three Milks), and I had Raspberry Tort.


At one point, the "girls" went to the rest room and check out a store window or two. I sat and saw shadows and took pictures. I chose the best of the shots for today's Shadow Shot feature.


We didn't order wine, and I'm not sure I would order Hob Nob if we did. But I did look it up after I posted this photo as my shadow shot. They have a very lively web site. 
Take a LOOK.


By the way, I used the camera feature on my cell phone. The light was low overall, but the wall display cast the long shadow of the bottle and the lines of the shelf it was mounted on.

Peace

Headin' Out

My own selkies

We'll be leaving in a little while for a weekend trip to visit the Great Lake Superior. Taking the Grandchildren for some swimming and hiking along the South Shore. We'll visit some friends in Ashland, collect rocks, picnic and generally have a great time. This excursion may turn out to be the only "Vacation" we take together this Summer.

That photo above might be what the kids will look like as they swim in the big lake. A bunch of Selkies. They love the water. I'll stick my toes in they'll turn blue and go numb, but they will love splashing and frolicking no matter what body of water it is. From the bathtub to the Great Lake, and all temperatures in between, water is King!

I'll be back Monday morning to tell you about why I'll be going to South Dakota soon.

In the meantime, treat each other with kindness and practice Peace.

Happy Birthday Maggie

Margaret Ellen Spado

July 26, 1973

We were living in Brookfield, Illinois. Our house was on the corner of 31st and Harrison. It was a single story two bedroom affair built on a slab of concrete. The washer and dryer were at one end of the kitchen.

Our first born, Maggie, came to us that day and we became parents. We lived and loved. Then, on a fateful late Spring day, our lives would change forever.

L to R: Bobby, Maggie and Adrienne, Graduation Day, June 4, 1991

June 8, 1991

We were living in a cabin at Minneapolis YMCA Camp Menogyn, where I worked as a cook and caretaker. A one room affair with a sleeping loft, a screen porch and an outhouse. We had one 4-gang electical outlet.

We got the message early that morning via a knock on the cabin door by the camp director. Maggie was killed in an aotomobile accident in St. Paul. We were 300 miles away.


July 26, 2011

Maggie will be 38 today. We will celebrate with family and go out to dinner. We'll have decadent dessert, in the form of chocolate chocolate cake, at Cafe Latte' in St. Paul. We will all be together.

Please, my friends. I don't look for sympathy. I just wish to tell you we are still here and we acknowledge and celebrate Maggie's life and our loss on this, the day of her birth.

Maggie's Song
By: Dad

When I was young
I followed my dreams
My friends thought I was crazy
With some of my schemes

You stood by me, baby
Through good and through bad
This world is crazy
The end is so sad



Through twenty years of marriage
The love did divide
Twas a Pearl named Maggie
So sweet and sublime

She awakened our spirits
And of others around
Made her mark on the world
Her legend lives on

Chorus:

Maggie
(Maggie won't you) Please come back
I knew you would
If you could


Life is a card game
It was the luck of the draw
It was comin' up aces
But fate had a flaw

Something has happened
No more smilin' sweet song
My world is empty
Maggie is gone


Repeat Chorus:

Maggie
(Maggie won't you) Please come back
I knew you would
If you could

Repeat

Sometimes we think we'll wake up from this horrible dream. Deep inside we know we won't ever live happily ever after.
Happy Birthday Maggie, we love you.

Peace

Rock, Paper, Scissors, But Mostly Rock

Rocks, stones, pebbles, boulders, scree, outcroppings. What do they mean to you? Do you cast your eyes downward when you’re at the beach or on a trail? Do you look at some, pick up a few, and put some in your pockets? What force is at play for the entire process? The process of going to the beach in the first place? The process of looking at, or for, rocks? What attracts your senses? Color? Shininess? Shape? Size? Is it something that’s out of the ordinary?

Inukshuk on the windowsill

I believe all of these things, individually and collectively, are the spirits at work. The rocks are the spirits. Each has its own soul. Every grain of sand was at one time part of a mountain or the mountain itself. Worn down through time from wind, rain, flowing water, frozen water, snowed upon, sun drenched, fogged, clouded over and exposed to temperatures from so cold no human could live and breathe, and so hot the same.

Each one we see, that our eyes are drawn to, a masterpiece. None other like it. Similar, yes, but no two the same, like snowflakes. Some colored bands, some with cavities within sheltering gemstones. Translucent, opaque, solid, light, heavy, granite, chert, jasper, crystal, metallic, cinder, coal, diamonds.

I have an affinity for rocks. I have been taught that they are our ancestors. They are our Grand Mothers and Grand Fathers. They have seen all that man has ever done. They carry all wisdom because they have experienced everything in the world.

Think about it. The pebbles that are cemented together with tar to make an asphalt road are still pebbles. The accident that happened last year. The speeding car or motorcycle. The slow moving sightseer. The hitchhiker, the bicyclist. When she got out of the car to rebel from mistreatment and walked the rest of the way to town. 

Each pebble laid witness 

The pebbles of that road have seen it all. The explosions of the tumbling of the World Trade Center or the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. The pebbles saw it all. They know what happened in every detail. They know who did what. And there might have been a stone sitting on a sidewalk. It becomes part of the rubble. 

Small pebbles gathered together, sealed in tar, connecting us

And it lives with every bomb we drop, every human sacrifice made, I’m sure there was a rock or a grain of sand, a particle of the Great and Sacred Earthen Mother nearby to witness. Taken from the Earth. Made into a structure with cement, then blown apart and released as a stone again. They never die. They never disappear.

Wall Street Journal photo from a bomb explosion in Iraq. The stones are set free to wander once again

So, what about it? Big deal. Eh? You can walk amongst them, or ignore them. I choose to pay attention. To wonder why I pick them up but not ever really expecting an answer, not ever to actually know the reason why the ones I have are with me. The ones on the windowsill. The ones on the dresser. The ones I carry in my pocket and travel with me. The ones I hold and ask questions to. The ones I pray with while holding them in my hands. The ones I look at from afar on pages of magazines or on a computer screen, telling them. “I’ll try to get there to visit you in person.”

Maybe it’s these rocks that call me, make me want to be on the move. Begging for a visit. I know I love them. And they let me walk over them, or up to them, touch them, feel their textures, their sharp or smooth edges. Their grain. Their hide.

Large crystal in rough, (unpolished) form

These are some I have around me at home. Believe me, I have asked the Great Mystery if it is okay that I take them home and have them live with me. I give gifts to the Sacred Earth Mother in return for the gift given to me. Some stay for a while and then find new homes by me giving them to someone or bringing them to a Sacred place to rest.

A scraping or digging tool perhaps?

Some that have come into my life are unique to where I got them, but not unique in their existence. This almost turquoise piece was cleaved and can be held in two positions. One for digging, one for scraping. It was found way atop a coastal hillside, one of the highest points around Cape Mendocino on the Northern California coast, along the Bear River Ridge Road. A place the locals call Monument. 

Scrape, with a place for the thumb

It was found with just a small edge, the rounded part that might be fitted into the palm of your hand, sticking up out of the ground. The rest of the rocks in the area was whitish in color and jagged, fractured flagstone. This was the only piece like this. Anything that resembled it was miles away on the black sand beaches of the Pacific Ocean.

Dig, or gouge, with this tool

This is my heart. This one was sitting in the sand on the Oregon coast. I had just had a heart episode that almost killed me. This heart was given to me by Mother Earth and was telling me that my heart is solid and the arteries were open for the business of carrying the blood I needed for survival.

Heart Rock

Can you spot the resemblance?

This one was but a small pebble in the sand, with more than 95% of its mass buried beneath. This agate looks like someone’s butt! In the sun, it glows.

Large agate butt

These are from the shores of the Great Lake Superior. Others are from the lava beds of a place called Craters of the Moon National Monument in Idaho, and still others found while walking around the desert in the American Southwest. It’s funny that I use that word “found”. Like many that say Christopher Columbus could not “discover” America since there were already people here when he arrived. How could I “find” a rock that has existed through millennia?

From the Great Lake Superior

From lava flows in Idaho

I’ve been shown relics in the city, in the streets. How did they get there? Why are they there? Do the spirits send them out to observe us, to report? Are they, might they be, aliens? Do we ever see them move? Are they really inanimate? 

That blueish one from the top of Monument traveled there somehow. Who cleaved it? Did a human being that walked there long ago work with it and carry it here? Did a child that had it in their pocket, and got tired of carrying it, bring it?

And the question can be asked why for every instance, for every rock, pebble, stone and grain of sand. Do you ask these questions? Do you also ask them of the trees and plants, the grasses and flowers?

These are some of the thoughts I have about rocks. What are yours?

Peace

Vintage Pipes

Shadow Shot Sunday
July 24, 2011

This is a wonderful meme every Sunday that features submissions of Shadow Shots from all over the world. To see more and find out how to participate, go to Hey Harriet's Photography.

I love the detail in this close-up. The subtle shadows within the cylinder head fins and under the fender draw me in. Click to enlarge.


Guess the make, year and model and I'll send you a Dream Catcher.

No guesses. Oh well, here's the answer:

1973 Honda 500 Four

Gabba Gabba Hey and Peace to All

Thank You, Welcome Home

Haiku My Heart
July 22, 2011

Haiku My Heart is a creation of my friend, Rebecca, who writes the recuerda mi corazon blog. This meme is in its second year. Check it out and see more fantastic photos and read more Haiku from all over the world. And if you're interested, find out how to participate yourself at recuerda mi corazon.

Amber waves of grain

Side by side we are buried

Side by side we served

Raising the coffin flag of a deceased Veteran at a ceremony

According to my research, the letter at the end of this post was written on 12/27/2004. It was e-mailed to me by a good friend, and Veteran from the American war in Vietnam, just a week or so ago. That's right, it was one of the Larrys. Larry N. from Memphis, TN.


When I watch TV, I see corporations jumping on the support-the-troops band wagon. Sporting events have half-time or seventh inning stretch festivities to celebrate the modern day soldier. Ceremonies abound making sure the Veterans in Iraq and Afghanistan aren't subjected to a population of people that couldn't care less that they served their country and watched their brothers and sisters shed blood and die.


I've got one friend that vehemently denies that any Vietnam Veteran was spit upon or called a baby killer. No one spit on me. No one called me a baby killer. No one, not one family member or friend, was even at the airport when I returned home from the war. No one ever said anything to me except for my Brother-in-law's Mother, an insensitive woman who asked me if I ever killed anyone.


I don't know how he knows that no one was called any names. I'm sure someone somewhere at one time or another was treated poorly when seen in uniform back in the 1960's and early 1970's. How could there not be some ill will as the protests against the war raged on at a high pace for many years before the government brought an end to the American war in Vietnam.

Common Bumper Sticker for a Vietnam Veteran

By the way, I like the sound of that moniker for the Vietnam War. The American war in Vietnam. Has a great ring to it. It was never declared a war you know. The American government defied the Geneva Convention with what they did in Vietnam, from naming a Prime Minister to withholding elections to providing arms, all against the UN Charter and against the 1954 Geneva Agreements. Look it up. It's all there. I'm not providing links. But I'm not telling any lies. Just Google "The Pentagon Papers."

Sometime in 1969, Republic of Vietnam. "Boots on the Ground"

Anyway, this Marine Corps Major, Brian P. Bresnahan, wrote this profound piece and I haven't read it until recently. This is the ultimate "Thank You" I've waited for since 1968. I don't need any fuss at a sporting event, or some TV commercial collecting beer bottle caps and beer can tabs so members of the armed forces can go see a ball game.


Actually, it's too late for any of that. We Veterans take care of each other. We shake hands and avert our eyes when the tears flow. We thank each other and welcome each other home. We've been doing that for years. We started doing that when we came out of the woods. We have done this since our heads came out of that cloud of smoke. We stop each other in parking lots when we see a Republic of Vietnam bumper sticker. At the VA. At Native American Pow Wow honoring ceremonies. On the street, in Walmart or the Natural Food Store and with our hearts when we hear of another brother dead or dying from the affects of Agent Orange.

The uncanny thing is that I don't feel one bit resentful that the people are doing something to honor current day Veterans. And since I watch a lot of sporting events, (my mindless fodder choice as opposed to reality shows, murder dramas and Idol), I see a lot of commercials and pomp during the broadcasts that honor the brave men and women that serve our country. I'm also keeping in mind that all this is sponsored by some corporation, but I do see the rank and file common man doing it as well on occasion, especially Memorial Day and Veterans Day, and now recently, the Fourth of July.


Some find it hard to believe that someone that wants peace, and is against the wars the United States is involved in, would support the troops and not have a problem with the rest of America honoring them as well. If you've been coming here for any length of time, may I call your attention to the side bar where it shows very clearly that I honor those that have given the utmost to Family, Community and Country. May I suggest you do too.

All Gave Some, Some Gave All

This letter has the heading of "A Thank You from a Marine stationed in Iraq". Without further adieu, here is the 2004 letter by Major Brian Bresnahan:

A guy gets time to think over here and I was thinking about all the support we get from home. Sometimes it's overwhelming. We get care packages at times faster than we can use them. There are boxes and boxes of toiletries and snacks lining the center of every tent; the generosity has been amazing. So, I was pondering the question: "Why do we have so much support?" In my opinion, it came down to one thing: Vietnam . I think we learned a lesson, as a nation, that no matter what, you have to support the troops who are on the line, who are risking everything. We treated them so poorly back then. When they returned was even worse. The stories are nightmarish of what our returning warriors were subjected to. It is a national scar, a blemish on our country, an embarrassment to all of us .. After Vietnam , it had time to sink in. The guilt in our collective consciousness grew. It shamed us. However, we learned from our mistake. Somewhere during the late 1970's and into the 80's, we realized that we can't treat our warriors that way. So, starting during the Gulf War, when the first real opportunity arose to stand up and support the troops, we did. We did it to support our friends and family going off to war. But we also did it to right the wrongs from the Vietnam era. We treated our troops like the heroes they were, acknowledged and celebrated their sacrifice, and rejoiced at their homecoming instead of spitting on them. And that support continues today for those of us in Iraq . Our country knows that it must support us and it does. The lesson was learned in Vietnam and we are better because of it. Everyone who has gone before is a hero. They are celebrated in my heart. I think admirably of all those who have gone before me. From those who fought to establish this country in the late 1770's to those I serve with here in Iraq . They have all sacrificed to ensure our freedom. But when I get back, I'm going to make it a personal mission to specifically thank every Vietnam Vet I encounter for their sacrifice. Because if nothing else good came from that terrible war, one thing did. It was the lesson learned on how we treat our warriors. We as a country learned from our mistake and now treat our warriors as heroes, as we should. I am the beneficiary of their sacrifice. Not only for the freedom they, like veterans from other wars, ensured, but for how well our country now treats my fellow Marines and I. We are the beneficiaries of their sacrifice. Semper Fidelis,  Major Brian P. Bresnahan  United States Marine Corps May Peace prevail on the Sacred Earth Mother