The Angle Welcomes a New $10 Million Dollar Man
The road to the Northwest Angle is a multi-faceted character in an epic, cross-genre novel that spans decades. The story has had many narrators over the years, from the original logging and dragline crews, to the hearty stick-pickers and early adventurers, to the Lake of the Woods county folks who’ve matured and maintained it, to the oft-traveling parents, school bus driver and local package carriers who, today, use the road nearly 260 days a year.
To know The Angle is to be intimately acquainted with its road. The only over-land passage in and out, it belongs to both Canada and the US. It sports a tarred toupee for a majority of its winding miles, but the final 18 are gravel, and that is where its bi-polar personality is cemented and made infamous. Continue reading “Grooming The Road Less Traveled”
Six years ago, my first fall back in the Northwoods after a 23-year hiatus, I was out for a walk on the quiet gravel roads of our off-season when a slow-driving truck of orange-clad elders slowed beside me. They were all smiles and we spoke of nothing significant, but before driving away they cautioned me to wear hunter’s orange next time I was out and about on foot. “Even on the road?” I asked in disbelief. “Even on the road,” they said.
Continue reading “Lessons in Orange”
From its very foundations, family has been central to Angle Outpost resort. Through four sets of owners, 17 children have been (or are being) raised there, beginning with Harold and Irene Peterson’s five.
Peterson’s Camp was formed as a hunting and fishing outpost in 1957. That was in the pre-electricity days of the Northwest Angle, before there was much for indoor plumbing or even a road to get there. Raising a family and running a resort in those hardworking times took fortitude. “Money was pretty scarce and I ‘worked out’ eight hours a day,” Harold said of the early times, his faded yet still musical Norwegian accent catching on the hard consonants. Continue reading “Angle Outpost Resort Celebrates 60 Years”
Resorts are shuttered or getting close to it, now. Traffic has slowed. Boats are being pulled. And the leaves fall like manna for hunters and 4-year olds, though the end of our fall color is already nigh. We raked the biggest pile simply for her diving delight one day, and within minutes I found myself in it as well. I have fond memories of playing in the leaves as a child and it seemed only fitting to give her that same experience.
The portly black bears are braver now, scavenging closer and closer for their final meals. We smiled one morning to see our compost pile dug through and muddy black paw prints across our deck.
“Mom, do bears eat people?” she asked me on one of our dusk walks. Continue reading “Precious Life”
Representatives from the Warroad VFW Post 4930, Jeff Ploof and Gordon Heurd, journeyed to the Northwest Angle on Saturday, September 30 to present a $600 check to the Angle Inlet School. The funds are earmarked for a new flag pole, installation and lighting. The existing pole is a rough cut log and no longer has a pully system attached. When it was functional, it tore the flags to shreds in a matter of weeks. Mr. Ploof and Mr. Heurd met schoolteacher Linda LaMie for a tour of the one-room school house and shared stories about community history and the new updates to the building.
The donation came about as a result of the school fundraising efforts at this past summer’s Angle Days event. Community member Deb Butler reached out to pulltab auditor Gail Haugen, who then involved the VFW’s gambling manager Dan Demolee and the rest of his team.
On behalf of The Angle community, teacher Mrs. Lamie, paraprofessional Mrs. Shoen, and all “The Angle Kids”, THANK YOU to the entire group at the VFW and to everyone involved. Also, a big Thank You to Mr. Ploof and Mr. Heurd for making the trek all the way to The Angle.
(Published in the October 3 Warroad Pioneer)
The pelicans are long gone. The caterpillars are crossing the roads, and the snakes, when it’s sunny, are sunning. The Northern flickers are caucusing and the ravens are ever talkative, chortling every chance they get at their fair-weathered friends who fly south for the winter.
Even in these fall winds and crazy rains everything feels, well, right as rain…even as we move the mortally wounded snakes to perish somewhat peacefully in the grass, and shoo the uninitiated babies back to the sidelines of the gravel roads. Nature so gently and unassumingly reminds me that everything is as it should be, always.
Then I read the news. Continue reading “The Roughing-Up of Fall”
We walked today, picking fall flowers, dried seed pods and colorful leaves. Chattering like a busy chipmunk, she found pretty rocks in the gravel, drew line after line for us to race from, and marveled at the troops of soldier mushrooms. It was more a meander than a walk, but definitions matter not to a four-year-old. Her thoughts bubble over into words like a flowing well in the flat lands; there is no filter, no pause and the music of it all soaking the earth is innocent and pure.
And it never stops. Ever.
Even in her dreams she is talkative and loud. A social sleep talker, telling her stories and voicing her fears.
But it is a respite to tune into her world, letting it drown out my restless mind that takes eternal practice to quiet for even the rare millisecond. She is my practice. Continue reading “Mea Culpa”