Last Sentinel of Winter

Dog and I had attack of cabin fever today. I just had to get out of the house and somewhere new. So we drove up to Lino lakes (about 20 miles north of downtown Minneapolis) on a beautiful afternoon. We're supposed to receive seven inches of snow over the next couple of days so the time was right. The light was gorgeous as it so often is at this time of the year. The stems of the sumac have begun to redden in preparation for Spring.

Our regular park has gradually been tidied over the last couple of years. The trees have been thinned, the underbrush removed. Huts built, non-native trees removed (some of them giants). All very necessary, I'm sure. I realize that I rely on this civilization of the land. It means we have a paved trail, Maddy and I, for walking, a road to drive to beautiful places. But I'm a middle of the road gal (meeden agan, nothing in excess, as the temple of Apollo at Delphi advocated). Somehow all the tidying, trimming, thinning took away more than excess brushwood. A little bit of magic left too. There's now nowhere in the park you can't see and hear the road, smell the vehicle exhaust. So here at Lino Lakes Park (at least for the time being), the woods have been left a little more wild and natural.

You really don't have to go far north of the Twin Cities - just to the suburbs really - to encounter the boreal forest and its characteristic birch, and the ubiquitous aspen.