A Pair of Loons

There they were, two black loons floating in the bay, disappearing and then popping back up. Kevin and I have come to northern Wisconsin with the hope of building our cabin. The families will all arrive for the 4^th of July and then depart. I think it will feel strangely lonesome. When your life has been spent with 3,000 teenagers a quiet day in the woods is a bit unnerving.

The loons are one of the most primitive birds on earth, they have not changed their current form in about a millions years. That is how I feel in the old farmhouse we are in, surrounded by my parents former possessions. Why do I insist that the lamp remain in the same spot or that the rocker has to face towards the woods? This house has so much history it is hard to ignore.

My parents came up here when they retired and we remained in Chicago. I didn’t realize how my mom must have missed the city. She loved the lake and the woods, but I know she longed for her lovely Riverside home. I didn’t appreciate her adventurous spirit at the time.

I have discovered that loons can live for up to 30 years and are loyal to eachother, but actually more attached to specific lakes rather than their mates. So I’m sure this is the pair I swam with 2 summers ago and it is a good thing Kevin and I both know the way to this lake.

The view has certainly changed. We are up in the air and look out on constantly moving traffic, a glowing light sculpture that lines Congress and whose colors change in patterns I have yet to figure out. But it is those owls perched on top of the library that draw me in and I watch and wait to see what happens to them. Today they are being rained on and they look sad, a crow lands and looks like a tiny black speck in comparison to their large hulking size.

I’m enjoying my walks down State Street, a street I knew in college when I worked and took classes at The Art Institute, but when did Carson’s in the beautiful Sullivan building become a Target and why is C.D. Peacock Jewelers now a Kay Jewelry store? I used to look in that Peacock window at the rubies on display in July, since it was my birthstone. It was such a treat, after a day of waitressing at the garden restaurant in the Art Institute. I’ll never find Macy’s worthy of that Marshall Fields clock, or those elevators with the grains of wheat in the Fields logo.

The 19th-century philosopher Hegel famously noted that “the owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk”—meaning that philosophy comes to understand a historical condition just as it passes away. Perhaps I’ll come to an understanding about Marshall Fields, but I don’t think so.

There was no better place on a cold March day than the sugar bush outside of Shell Lake Wisconsin. We huddled together with others hoping to learn the secrets of the sweet syrup that my mom used to call “liquid gold”, we could never waste a drop. The trees nearby were hung with buckets and sap was flowing after cold nights and warm days.  We had headed north for spring break and Wisconsin greeted us with a bit of snow coming sideways so all the people arriving were all white on one side.  But that warm, sweet, steamy smell was worth the long walk through a muddy field. Kevin was intrigued by someone’s 4 wheel utility vehicle and off they went across the fields. They returned in time for ice cream covered with hot syrup right from the tap.

Our next adventure was to find Gull Lake which is north of Trego. We were looking for a cabin designed by Marcelo Valdes. It was on a secluded road overlooking the lake, empty, quiet and too early for all the summer fun that lies ahead.

The melting ground created a slippery, muddy walk and the morning fog took hours to disappear as we made our way to breakfast at Shannon’s Trailside in Birchwood.  We doubled the size of the morning crowd and enjoyed the yummy red potatoes and eggs.

But the reason we drove this far was to plan for our cabin in the woods. We have stomped through these woods with mosquitoes thick, and this time the leaves were gone and the view was so different. We followed along paths made by deer, climbed over mossy green logs and came to our spot. We will look north and face the bay and have a glacial ravine at our backs. Every view reminds us why we want to be here. The dream is coming closer. See you soon Long Lake

Thoughts of birch logs buried under the snow, but soon to reveal their ruffly bark and soft insides. Longer days ahead and Kevin and I planning a trip up north to tramp through those beautiful woods once again, calling out to each other. “I’m over here”

A yellow house waits for us to return.  Mice scurry, deer look and we drove up in the yard to find wild turkeys, a blur of burnt sienna, heading for the woods. Arnie and Vivian were there, they rang the bell as we arrived.  Climbing out from sticky seats, slightly bent, and then straightening to hug them. Kids romping and kicking like colts.

The kids are grown, driving in their own cars, coming from busy city lives. We meet again, flags unfurl, cousins big and many, boating, laughing, bonfire smoke in our hair and taste of marshmallow washed down with wine.

Two summers ago I swam daily with a pair of loons, this seemed apropos and they circled me and we looked slowly at each other. They must have chosen another bay last summer, but I am counting on them returning this summer. I’ll be there, Kevin and I will be there, waiting for a pair of loons.