Nature Journal

27 September



There are few better things to do on a September weekend in La Crosse than to get your "duff up the bluff" as many times as possible...before the perfection of the mild weather turns gray or cool.  Up at the HPT's the Epic Bike Race took up most of the parking real estate, so I continued to drive up along The Rim of the City Road to the furthest parking area where there were only a couple of cars.  An old access road serves as a good clearing to get onto the old Mathy quarry rim.  When you stop and look out over the landscape, if you didn't know better, you might easily think you were somewhere else completely than the mild bluff lands of the midwest.  Steep rolling green hills merge up here with cliff face and the panorama, stubbled by wild flowers, is vast and nearly mountainous in its contrasts in geography.

This pic might just as easily be taken up in the butte plateaus of Montana or the sandstone rednecks of Utah or Colorado.  From here, toward the direction of town, abandoned mining architecture and access trails; towards the east side of the rim, looking out over the green spines of the coulees.  I

circled back and took one of the strands of the HPT trails back toward the weather station off of FA.  Over a wood planked bridge and on up through switchbacks, curving through beds of understory roots.  The north facing gullies of the bluffs are lush and prehistoric.  All rock, green and root, until I reached the trail flags signifying the bike race.  Riders whizzed by, eyes down, at the maximum speed allowable without losing control, in essence becoming the trail.

Nature Journal

26 September


It had been some time since we've explored up on the Grandad Bluff side of the Bliss Road ridge.  Most often, we hitch some bikes onto the car and head for the HPT's over on the Rim of the City side, itself a regional gem that has recently been improved for access.  The south side of the ridge, I had forgotten, is a unique geography of sheer sandstone cliff faces.  Much of this area had been quarried in the early days of La Crosse history, sometimes rock chutes coming right off the ridges down below.  Here and there along the vast web of trails just below Grandad's itself, many remnants of mining still exist.  Flat stone stretches of ground, or an old cement stairway, pegged and walled for ease of walking in among the great crumbling ravines and small canyons which make up this portion of the bluff.  Rising up the very cliff that held the Grandad lookout above we noticed a series of metal loops that had been installed there most likely many years ago for rock climbing.  With a good and trusted belayer below, these sandstone cliffs, although sometimes fragile, can make for an easy introduction to the fun art of rock climbing.  At one point, out past the concrete mining steps, moving in the direction of the city of La Crosse itself, was a series of rock outcroppings that were unlike any other in the area. Very often at the top of bluffs there are a series of rock shelves, each one offering a tilted boulder of some sort, where people can easily climb, sit and take a look at the lush green canopy of the city.  Here at the face of Grandads, this sort of shelving of outcroppings and boulders extends for hundreds of yards, something you might see only in the movies of the great west.  Because these rocks are part and parcel of a bluff, though, not a mountain, the proportions are also scaled back seemingly are made to travel, rarely forcing the hiker to take more of a risk than a brief hop or casual lunge.  Down at the bottom, at the final shelf over looking the railroad and out beyond the blue dashes of the Mississippi River, the sand has accumulated and created a soft carpeting to stand on in and around the chairs and couches of boulders.

Capital Cuisine

Often at the outskirts of old Wisconsin towns there were public houses for tying up a wagon, a horse, or housing, in the case of Madison, rail workers passing through the territory.  "By 1858, Madison boasted six restaurateurs.  Most of these early eateries were located on Main, King or Mifflin Streets, all within walking distance of the capitol." The old Plough Inn (and 'Stagger Out") was one of the original taverns that also served food in young Madison, dating as far back as 1838, becoming the famous namesake in 1853.  Located down at the far end of Monroe Street past campus and nearing the UW Arboretum, the old Plough Inn, now a nationally registered  

historic sight, has become the unique "green b and b" the Arbor House, which has added to some of the original structure. "Many of the features found in the historic structure can be found in the Annex addition, with today's sustainable architectural features in mind...both buildings have 12-inch thick walls, an abundance of windows, tile, stone, and quality carpentry and solid wood floors...The main arbor connects the two buildings serving as both a physical connection and symbolic connection between two periods of time: how we used to live and how it is possible to live today and in the future."

The last time we stayed at the Arbor House (not knowing then it was the old Plough Inn) we stayed directly above the old sitting room made of solid maple wood.  At 7:00 sharp, a chocolate torte was set out on the sitting table for any of the house tenants to try.  The room smelled of old wood and chocolate.  This would have been the same room as old tavern dwellers would have passed time sipping a draught ale, perhaps being served a frontier-style steak or ham.   Just outside the annex

the new B and B owners had created a lush garden with a trail that leads through fallen pears and hummingbirds silently buzzing through the edible crops like taste testers.

Nature Journal

9/19


The fine art of bridge climbing is made easy at Lytle's Landing on the Black River.  The broad rusted girders are like monkey bars for the old, set off from the main trail-riding planking and hand railings by only a foot.  You can park your bike, climb up the railing and twist on over to the other side, walking yourself down slowly, one foot on the railing and the other on a massive bolt, the size of a golf ball, on one of the towering girders.  As you look down from this perch, the river is just below, shallow, and under a mid-afternoon sun. Although brown and brackish it is see-through, where little minnows scuttle across the top in unpredictable rhythms.  A few feet away from the channel is the sand bar spit that is set in the middle of the river like a street boulevard, extending at least another 50 yards to a point where only a single sandpiper stands with long legs in soft sand.  We lower ourselves this time by the sheer strength of our arms until we can see our feet are dangling only a foot above the last shelf of metal, then let go, pushing off to get proper distance.  From this level, nothing more than a hop onto the sand; behind now the great structure of the historical bridge like monument to history, old, brown, rusted, metal – the green of trees and slide of blue framed inside a hand full of angled frames.  As we walk out towards the point, a few shots ring out from the nature preserve and a man carries his .22 over his shoulder above across the bridge.  The resident of the house at the bank shoots arrows into a target in the backyard.  Another man and his son slowly glide by the deeper portions on the other side close to the bank tossing worms near the underbrush.  A large strike surfaces and we can see the slapping back of what looks like a mammoth catfish.  The man holds his pole with his left and awaiting the approach of the fish with the black net in his right hand.  He pulls up as the pole bends and in an instant the fish slips and disappears below the top line of the canoe.  Very little is said.  The current takes them out into in the last of an afternoon sun patch which makes the brown water look blue.

Giada's "House" Soup

With fall comes a craving for soup.  The warm spoon takes an edge off of the thought of the coming cool weather.  Root vegetables match the colors of the coming leaves and the often healthy ingredients

seem medicinal against some of the poorer eating habits of August or the rest of the previous summer for that matter.  Giada's, like seemingly all the great soups, is simple in its own way, but includes a variety of vegetable and protein to create a complex dish.  When looking through a soup recipe, I look for type of bean and type of meat to see if I think it will be popular.  If these two main ingredients are good, and the stock is water and chicken, then all the rest of the ingredients should melt away and turn into supporting flavor, which is exactly the perfect description for this simple Italian recipe.  The supporting cast here are what give the soup complexity and Italian earthiness: 1 leek, finely chopped, a

Leek

fennel bulb, also finely chopped, a dash of pepper flakes (adjusted according to audience), a can of diced tomatoes, carrots, turkey kielbasa, a small pile of kale and, if chosen, a parmesan cheese rind.

Fennel Bulb

The bulk of the soup, then, becomes chunky spoons-ful of beans, kielbasa and carrots; but the essence of the soup is extremely rich in taste and nutrients.  Leeks are a smoother, more absorbent alternative to straight onion, and fennel is one of the more unique aromatic (anise) cooking ingredients that exist.  Red pepper flakes add a subtle flash of heat.  The kale, so crisp and hard going on the top of the soup,

quickly collapses and adds not only the green contrast, but is considered a superfood because of its nutritional value.  I imagine that this soup is called "house" for a few reasons.  One would be that it is a reliable and hopefully popular family style soup; the other is that, because it is a soup, ingredients can easily be tinkered with depending on taste and literally what's on hand.  If you didn't have

standard white beans, really any bean would do and quantity easy to adjust.  If you didn't want turkey kielbasa, ham, sausage, pork could do.  No kale? Add some other leafy green at the end.  All can be spontaneously re-arranged as long as there is the stock, carrots, and some form of chopped tomatoes.  Cut into large chunks a baguette, smother in olive oil, dash with garlic, bake to brown, and you easily have home-made croutons to dip over the top.

Zoo and other Nostalgia

"Nothing more important now than reveling in shifting panoramas, exploring scenes remembered vaguely from the past, surcharging minds and spirits with color and warmth against the coming white and cold.  There were many places to go, each one different, places that somehow had poetry of their own and, while part of the changing scene, stood out and said: 'Enjoy me while you can.'"
            – Sigurd Olson, from "Falling Leaf"


Looking back over this very informal attempt at an A-Z history of La Crosse, it seems fitting to dampen the last entry with a small dose of nostalgia.  La Crosse is a relatively old city for the upper midwest – located along the banks of the Mississippi – it began as an outpost, in essence, for the fur trade; and where natural resources and profit merge comes more trade, people, and means of transportation.  Lumber took over for the fur trade, and for lumber, beer brewing, and then everything else. This is to point out the obvious – that La Crosse has plenty of history, which leads to generations worth of memory. These memories, whether we choose it or not, in the case of La Crosse, have been formed by the premise of the Mississippi River, its backwaters, its sources of sustenance, and its bluffland protectors.  Where memory meets nature and appreciation forms is what Sigurd Olson refers to above.  Colors and seasons, tree groves and forest undergrowth, farms and animals... human experience in nature results in nostalgia just as often any regret or bad memory.

A simple case like the Myrick Park Zoo, a dedication in 1929 by the Veterans of Foreign Wars, is a good example of the heart of La Crosse nature and nostalgia.  It started as far back as 1837 when the city of La Crosse paid Fanny Strasburger $1,600 for 20 acres of land known for its "Turtle Mounds....in 1903, Lake Park was renamed Myrick Park, after the first La Crosse settler Nathan Myrick.  A couple of years later, 1906, the music pavilion was erected at a cost of $800, plus $500 for electricity and sprinklers (the facility was demolished in 1974)."  Monkey Island came along with the dedication in 1929 and wading pool installed in 1945.  Over the next 50 years a menagerie of animals were added including bear den, deer, bobcats, prairie dogs and to never forget the eventual showstopper, the wandering peacocks.

Monkey Island, a city-wide favorite

"In 1990, an animal inventory was comprised naming several interesting inhabitants at the zoo.  Among the animals were badgers, red fox, arctic fox, ferrets, tarantula, shrew, pheasant guinea pigs, chinchillas, and turkeys."  To have walked in among the wide-ranging outdoor zoo as a child, even then, was an unusual but very memorable experience.  Beginning with the outdoor concession, always including a blue slushy, and on past the boats circling over a shallow pool and then to the goose pond, was a walk through a time of years past.  Hours might be spent at the rough-bottomed concrete wading pool; or hunched over the fence of the 'bear pit' to see, if even briefly, the poor hot bear. These seemed to be a given part of a La Crosse childhood.  Time leaped forward and our modern mode of caring for animals changed, leaving behind an archaic zoo structure with apparently not enough help to match the needs of the zoo inhabitants.

In 2009 a new Eco Park was built in its stead with much fanfare but not enough funding to bring back the full support of the public.  For the academic, the Eco Center is a boon: a lot of potential data and rooms to talk about it.  Its potential as a learning facility is still not yet tapped, which is unfortunate because of the building's beauty, its ecological foresight, and its location.  Small groups of La Crossites have created groups to rejuvenate certain parts of the old zoo – maybe bring back some animals or concessions to supplement the Kids Coulee edition above.  What gets lost in the minor debate over an Eco Center or a newfound zoo is that a few hundred feet away from either is the La Crosse River Marsh where, when you are lucky, you walk through its green altars of cotton woods and marsh oak and experience the most abundantly free natural resource in the city, no cages, no center, no need for anything but a little time and two feet.

Yellow Lights, Orange Cones, Constructions Zones

The horse and buggy-men of old, although no doubt hindered by bumpy muddy roads, horse waste, and an occasional run-in with a fellow rider, never did have to contend with the entire city of La Crosse under construction restrictions at once, or have to wait along the long funnel of traffic for a yellow arterial light every fourteen seconds.

As La Crosse becomes more and more the small city with big city problems, we can now claim that the yellow light is as common to see as the red or green.  If you are a main driving thoroughfare along the guts of the city, you had better prepare for the long slow violence of improvement, as city drivers now find it a sport and a pastime to rush yellows like waving race flags.

We duck and weave (past the yellow lights now, rushing toward the next yellow then red), in and under a forest of cranes noodling the noses of our cars like preying cats, hopeful that the deep and expected tolerance of fellow citizens will hold until winter time when, just as snow falls, the roads might open up so the plows can then begin the process of taking off the freshest layer of asphalt. 

For many, the logic goes that it's certainly a good sign to see orange in your city as it indicates improvement and not just wasted or idle funds.  In La Crosse, however, given the green light, so to speak, means that the entire map is open for simultaneous transformation, barely leaving room on any given sidewalk to move about freely.  I think we always thought there was somebody watching blueprints of it all happening at once and that some brave soul might bark out loud "hey, let's leave them a road or two open at the same time so that they can move around the city a little."  Maybe it's time for the horse and buggy to re-appear and start this experiment all over again.