Weeknight Cooking:
Salmon with dill carrots and cabbage

The salmon of the year award goes out to that one special salmon recipe that seemed to transcend all the rest of the many attempts throughout the year.  This year's has as much to do with the compliment sides as the salmon itself.  Either way, there is no better fish to cook – salmon is fairly easy to make  perfectly because of its tough strap of skin which tends to protect from any overheating of the meat itself. The inherent taste that salmon holds is as good as it gets.  This recipe calls for four 6 oz skin-on

salmon fillets – to be cooked either by pan method or, as I did this time, oven cook at 425 for somewhere around 20 minutes – but the side portion is what makes this meal.  I cut my salmon in
fairly thin fillets this time around and topped them with thinly cut portobella mushrooms because I had them on hand and wanted to see if seasoned mushrooms would compliment salmon or not. They did very nicely.  As the salmon is cooking, brew up a large pot of boiling water and add 4 sliced

carrots and 6 cups of thinly sliced cabbage. Cook until tender, drain, add butter, salt and some fresh chopped dill.  Meanwhile, for the dipping sauce, stir together 1/4 cup sour cream, 1 tbsp. of whole grain mustard and a pinch of red wine vinegar if desired.  The salmon, covered by light seasoning –

in this case diced mushrooms as well – dipped into the sour cream sauce then scooped along with cabbage salad is a near perfect compliment of textures and seasoning.

Nature Journal

"The ridge was a place the bobcats might well chose for the coming of their young around the middle of April. They would pick a sunny slope below the cliffs, preferably with big rocks and crevices, a windfall, a hollow log, or even the depression under a stump, some place where the den would be protected and the kittens could play undisturbed." Sigurd Olson, from "Bobcat Trail"









28 Feb

When the hiking gods align, the weather cooperates, mother nature surprises, the participants feel like all of those false starts previously encountered are well worthwhile.  The true hiker's dilemma is that you don't really know what you're going to get until you get there; and even then, it's possible that the eyes that behold the natural masterpieces might not much be in the mood to adore.  We made the trip to Devil's Lake yesterday and experienced the profound beauty of the driftless area in a way not yet encountered.

Olson above speaks of the trail that is shared by the mystique of wildlife, the bobcat.  On this particular hike along the East Bluff Trail at Devil's Lake Baraboo, the mystique was a nearly bizarre combination of rising rock and frozen lake.  Devil's Lake is a little bit like landing on the moon: you ask, where did this come from, from what geology, what glaciation brought this to us as if a stage from which to witness history itself?

For those of us who love to play connoisseur of the Wisconsin sandstone ridgeline, Devil's Lake puts us in our place.  Along the soft lines of the coulee region, our footing and instincts still reign supreme. Golden prairies merge with oak savannahs to reveal good farmland history, but here at Devil's there is no farming.  Eruptions and pure rock violence from prehistory turn bluffs to disruptions.  

Below is what looks to be a natural moraine that we only tend to see in the Alpine reaches of the Rockies.  Tough pines line the crevices of the shore or the reaching cliffsides.  Off the backside of the ridges lies a fine and mellow foothills littered with the outcroppings of granite.  The old East Bluff Woods trail holds marks of a large footprint beyond any domesticated pet on a leash.  

A small run off creek gurgles along the trail underneath a thinning sheen of melting ice.  If you're lucky, the sun is out to shine the ripples.  The deciduous stands stark against the silly colorless days of deep February.

Muffin-a-day

Trends in family cooking are ever evolving – one month it is the breakfast egg burrito that might soothe a very brief window for hunger in the morning, another month it is a particular fiber bar that works magic as a daily snack (Fiber One Cookies have filled this role many times, good and...healthy!).

For most of this winter, though, home-made muffins have been the old reliable morning or afternoon option.  Like so many other products at the grocery store right now, the muffin too has been going through a major renaissance. The traditional muffin section in the cooking aisle has come to include any number of mixes that are not necessarily just the new sweet, but also the new healthy.  An apple cinnamon flax mix by 

Hodgson Mill 'gluten free' is a great example of the far end of what is possible when trying to present a tempting muffin that happens to carry more substance than flour, sugar and a fruit.  Frozen sections now offer pre-made gourmet muffins.  The Udi frozen chocolate muffin is just about as good as it gets, with the blueberry not far behind.

Home bakers are resurrecting their muffin tins and finding all kinds of new ways to create little dollops of things inside those little circular muffin receptacles.  An insert in the newest issue of Food Network Magazine – always right on top of the newest home-foodie trends – offers recipes for "50 Things to Make in a Muffin Pan."  Hash brown cups, bacon cinnamon rolls, goat cheese terrines, crab cakes and taco salad cups are just a few of the new and interesting ways to easily cook in clumps.  As a starter, I tried the cranberry oatmeal bites because they seemed to be the closest to what people here in the house eat in the morning: a mix of warm milk, brown sugar, butter, eggs, a pinch of cinnamon, salt, dried cranberries and pepitas (pumpkin seeds), spread out in a 12 muffin tin.  

The obvious thing about this batch is that the healthy ingredients outweigh the sugar content. The dominant taste, then, becomes the cranberry and pepitas, and touch of cinnamon; the brown sugar is there only as a hint of sweet instead of the reversed standard.  These are heavy and fairly healthy muffins, two of them with milk a legitimate breakfast on the go... a homemade prospect that opens up the doors to cooking virtually any dried berry or nut style of choice.  

From the Galley

"Did you know that in the old days the French peasants used to make the famous coq au vin with roosters no longer suitable for breeding?"  It was the man who had been helping chef Nanou from inside, who now stood outside at the front door of the restaurant with a cigarette dangling from the

side of his mouth.  He spoke, Merle could faintly tell, with a slight French accent.  "The whole idea of the dish began as a means to break down that old bird, simmering it for hours in red farm wine.  'Coq,' as you might know, means rooster."  Merle had barely been able to stand through the cooking demo itself, typing on his phone all of the necessaries as they went along, and thinking mostly about his sailboat that was likely right now on its way up the Yahara river without a captain.

"Well, yes, I guess I did know that," Merle said quickly moving away from the entrance.  "We know you are here for the recipe Mr. Merle," the man said, stabbing out his cigarette with the toe of his shoe.  "You see, Mdme. Nanou has guarded this all her life, since she was a small girl growing up on that small farm in Brittany. But, we believe you already know this."  Merle felt to make sure that he could feel the square of his flat phone in his pocket – that is where he kept his notes – and feeling that it was there, merely smiled. "I'm not sure why you think I am after a recipe other than for the possibility to cook it some day in the galley of my own little

sailboat, Mr....?"  He could see that the man, now that his face was out from under the vestibule of the restaurant entrance, did not particularly look like a waiter in training, so to speak.  He had more of a poker card player to his eyes, flat, somewhat droopy, and far too serious for this quick chat about a cooking demo.  "I will tell you what you want to know Mr. Merle, you will just have to give me your phone...so I can delete your notes. Did you know that the French word for the little brown bits at the bottom of a pan of cooked meat is 'suc?'  That is Latin for sap.  Don't be a sap Mr. Merle."  To run for the boat at this point would probably not be the noblest move Merle could make right, but the thought certainly crossed his mind.  Like in the movies, he would take one leap from the beach onto the boat and it would drift off like a flash into the night and that would be the end of it for this recipe caper.  Oh, what the hell, he thought to himself, maybe the movie scene might just work. He looked behind the French accent man who cooks and guards recipes, widened his eyes and yelled out with a question mark "Chef Nanou, yes, this is your man," and pointed at him.  The man too widened his eyes, and bolted to the end of the block and ducked back behind the sight of the side of the building.  Merle dashed the other way, toward, he hoped, BB Clarke beach just a few blocks down the road.  As he was running for Her Bounty, he checked his phone on the run, holding it up to his eyes as steady as possible while the rest of his body did the running:

Modern Coq Au Vin

1 bottle good red wine
2 cups chicken broth
10 springs fresh parsley
2 sprigs thyme
1 bay leaf
4 slices bacon
2 1/2 pounds chicken
5 tbsp. butter
1 cup pearl onions
8 ounces mushrooms
2 garlic cloves
2 tbsp. flour
1 tbsp. tomato paste

As he looked at his notes in reminders on his phone, he thought to himself this was once the possession of one of the real French Musketeers D'Artagnan!  As he approached the beach the only thing he saw floating was an

old red buoy strung by a rope latched to a pole.  Down the east side of the beach, Her Bounty, true to her name, was dancing alone along the rip rap, nobody at the helm but a good stiff breeze.

On Useppa

"Back in the bow he laid the two fillets of fish out on the wood with the flying fish beside them.  After that he settled the line across his shoulders in a new place and held it again with his left hand resting on the gunwale. Then he leaned over the side and washed the flying fish in the water, noting the speed of the water against his hand. His hand was phosphorescent from skinning the fish and he watched the flow of the water against it." Old Man and the Sea




The grandfather had followed the granddaughter across the shallow straits between Caya Costa and Captiva Island, lurching his neck every so often to gesture to her just how close they had been to the origin point of the story of the Captiva Treasure at the Useppa Island sight.  They might have reached the north point of Captiva in only moments at this very easy rate, the smooth skin of the water under the moon light hardly stirring a bubble...except that a pod of dolphins had for whatever reason decided

to circle under them on their short trip back.  One or two might surface just long enough to bare their glowing silvery backs as though signaling something...but what?  "Look out at the beach grandfather" the girl said, just now gaining the full rhythm of the paddle, dragging her small bags of sand dollars along the side of the kayak, "what is that flying across the water?" They watched for a moment at a drift. The dolphins would steam towards the shore and were driving flying fish up on to the sand.  "Aha, they have circled the fish and are chasing them to beach!" he said, only interpreting, not knowing for certain, but he must believe his eyes.  They had been paddling over a school of fish and that is why the dolphins had gathered underneath.  "To finish our story of the treasure, I had failed to mention that it was said the dolphins had led De Madrone

through the straits at Useppa right here to this very shore," he said, still drifting and watching now the dolphins take their self-made bait. "What happened when they heard the voice inside the Trueheart?" she asked.  There was much to be resolved for sure.  The grandfather could see that she had been paying attention.  He would leave out a detail or two, of course, so not to frighten, but this was as good a time as any.  "Well, you see, the pirate De Madrone and his men that night did quickly repair the ship.  This went well for them, but they did not expect to find a woman captive in the captain's quarters.  It is said that she was a daughter of an Incan tribal king, that she was taken for her great beauty and wealth, and that her people had warned that the silver treasure the Spanish had taken was cursed.  She might serve well as a ward against a curse, you see. De Madrone had to think quickly.  As they raised the Trueheart back upright and hauled the silver into cargo, they could see the Calusa Indians returning through the forest with large fishing nets, no doubt to haul the silver back to village themselves.  To the west, it is written, Her Bounty was within sight at the strait at Boca Grande.  De Madrone set sail south through darker blue waters following, for hope and luck, dolphins to the bay at Captiva. Do you know what he did here?"  The grandfather grinned and knew that this would keep the granddaughter well under the spell of the legend tomorrow on island.  "He sailed somewhere to hide from the Calusa and the British pirate ship," she answered.  "Yes, that is eventually what he most

certainly tried to do, although unsuccessful ultimately.  No, he anchored in the deep off of Captiva, and rowed the woman and her treasure right here to the shore, so that one day, hopefully soon, he and his men could return for the girl, the gold and perhaps the island itself.  And yet, as the story goes, they never returned.  The woman was held here captive on a deserted island with the Incan treasure.  Most interesting of all, it has never been found!" The eyes of the girl widened and began to scan

the entirety of the approaching shoreline and could imagine round pots full of glimmering silver somewhere hidden buried under a palmetto. "Some say that one in ten sand dollars found are not sand at all, but silver!" She sunk her hand back over the side of the kayak, lifted her collected sand dollars from Caya Costa quite carefully up over the side of the hull and inspected that they were all there. "I wonder if any of these are silver?"

On Useppa

"Then he was sorry for the great fish that had nothing to eat and his determination to kill him never relaxed in his sorrow for him. How many people will he feed, he thought. But are they worthy to eat him? No, of course not. There is no one worthy of eating him from the manner of his behavior and his great dignity." Old Man and the Sea






There was a narrow but relatively deep strait between what would eventually come to be known as Boca Grande Island and Pine Island, both just north of Captiva Island. For the Spanish Rowboat,

carrying Captain De Madrone of the El Capitan, along with a handful of his officers and mates, it would serve as a perfect entry point into the islands, finally protected from the back breaking chop of the waves which had by now calmed and served them gently past the two small emerald islands.  They could be only several hours lagging behind course of the Trueheart, the very cause of this particularly risky game that De Madrone was playing, the fate not only of his own life, but his crew, his ship, perhaps even the Spanish Crown itself if it came to be understood that one of its very own captains of the Treasure Fleet had turned pirate.  Waters here at the inner passage of the virtual archipelago were shallow; the Trueheart could not have made it much past the initial facade of sea-facing beaches.  "On, dead ahead, two o'clock mates," yelled Savoy, a burly man with robust voice and well swiped mustache but no beard.  "Look on, large timbers fallen at the head of coming bay."

The scene they approached was more than an unusual one – to careen a ship in such quick time meant that the Trueheart had figured out the object of this game. They had been sent out on lead on purpose  skipping around the shoals that surrounded these islands.  And for this, there could only be

one reason: the silver stocks they carried.  De Madrone ordered to approach the ship directly.  He would arouse no suspicion by simply telling the Lord's truth – they had been attacked by the pirate ship and escaped nary by a breath of life.  Not a person sitting that moment on the rowboat, however, could have envisioned the further scene as they moved closer to the teetering ship lit by the haze of the sunken sun and rising moon.  The hull indeed had been damaged by a shoal, revealing a gash the size of a man, yet on the beach, sprawled out over a good fifty feet in length, thin waves lapping upwards towards them, were a small crew of men stuck by arrows and above them on higher ground barrels and chests of what

most certainly must have been the silver load.  They landed the row and began to inspect the grounds.  The marks of many bare feet tangled in the sand and lead up into the dark entries of the forest above.  "Build a fire, take all the arms you can find." The Captain found himself in the unlikely possession of the treasure but not a ship worthy of its transport.  "Two hours we have before Her Bounty has come to see our trick and will be wading through the straits readying to strike."  Just then a single cry sang out from the Trueheart like a muffled birdsong.

On Useppa

"'The fish is my friend too,' he said aloud. 'I have never seen or heard of such a fish. But I must kill him. I am glad we do not have to try to kill the stars.' Imagine if each day a man must try to kill the moon, he thought. The moon runs away. But imagine if a man each day should have to try to kill the sun? We were born lucky, he thought." Old Man and the Sea



De Madrone could see that Her Bounty, the infamous black flag of Hap Rayne, was gaining but in these rough seas looks could be deceiving so he clamored out the order to vice admiral Savoy to send

out the log line in order to test the true speed in knots.  Speed ultimately would not be the deciding factor, he thought, for the war ship in pursuit was not built to carry cargo but to chase and evade. No, the best chance in this particular case would be to sacrifice his post and this ship for dear hope of using her as a decoy and finding for himself Trueheart somewhere inside the tangle of the Ten Thousand islands emerging

very quickly on the horizon.  "Twelve knots," Savoy, vice admiral, shouted to the palm of his raised hand as he stood at the deck reading by hourglass the knotted rope.  To open the sails any further to the gusting, looping wind would most certainly begin to disturb the masts.  He must call out order quickly. The crew stayed busy at the riggings, but all knew secretly the situation without a single word: they had no cargo to pillage, they would be subdued within only a short while, all they had was a potential fight that would most certainly leave the ship either devastated by a dominant gunnery or would leave their small crew dead or captive.  "Lower sails. Ease the knots.  Hang the white!" De Madrone shouted and telescoped the bobbing forecastle of Her Bounty.  He caught the image of Hap Raynes, himself telescoping El Capitan.  He

was a fit man of the Old English Navy, turned pirate.  These men, he knew from experience, were often the worst and most ruthless of the pirates – men who had been turned away from the career of the British Admiralty and who found a taste of pure independence out here on the lawless seas.  De Madrone signaled to his quartermaster to stock a row boat with drinking water and guns.  He barked to the vice admiral to take the helm and prepare for surrender.  In virtually any other circumstance this would be a brazen maneuver of cowardice, yet if the implicit goal was to protect the Trueheart by serving decoy, it could be understood and accepted by the crew without mutiny and rage.  West, as he reversed his telescope toward La Florida, he could no longer see the sister ship, but he knew, with virtually no doubt, that it would be hung soon on a shoal in shallow waters.  He climbed into the row with six others and as the

small craft hit the bubbling ocean it tipped and nearly folded forward onto a roil of scattering waves.  As they rowed long sticks, El Capitan began to look like a dark house full of little else besides ghosts.

On Useppa

"It was dark now as it becomes dark quickly after the sun sets in September.  He lay against the worn wood of the bow and rested all that he could. The first stars were out. He did not know the name of Rigel but he saw it and knew soon they would all be out and he would have all his distant friends." Old Man and the Sea

Captain De Madrone of the Spanish treasure fleet ship El Capitan, on its voyage back from the Americas at Cartegena, stood out on aft deck just to windward side, looked up at the foremast and

could see that the wind of the Gulf storm was letting up now.  He looked up and could see the Rigel star, an old friend, he presumed anyway – since he had been on the fleet, his friends were no longer of the human kind, but he could always count on a star never to mutiny – and thought how easily it would be for the Trueheart to lose its course now and ram against the shoals of the islands of La Florida.  For any sailor new to the sea, this would make for a very unlikely moment to gloat upon the prospect of such a dastardly plan; they were off course, they were bound now for the thousand islands off of the coast, each of which were uncharted and potentially dangerous, and he had been outdone by the Trueheart by its southern conquest of much booty.  Yet for the seasoned captain all of this would weather itself and he could picture the very scene of devastation of Trueheart and its crew, his own heroic rescue of the silver load.  Monuments and court positions were delivered for such things.  What De Madrone had failed to observe was that as the weather had cleared so did their position out at sea – a British pirate warship had sidled up to the El Capitan as if a ghost in the night and had

outflanked the galleon in one bold and violent maneuver.  Her Bounty, now positioned at broadside, held at least sixty canons, the lids to which were flipped, and as the first canonball was masterfully placed just below decks against full-sided timber, De Madrone's dream turned to withering smoke.  Captain Hap Rayne, all knew, ruled these waters from the Bahamas upward into the shelter of the Gulf.  The Spanish fleet paid little concern for such singular piracy because it sailed in teams, yet all knew that such circumstances as these could result in the scene befallen here at this very moment.  Out ahead De Madrone

could see the faint brown speck of the Trueheart vanish in the wavy horizon.  "Ready the guns," De Madrone clamored to a surprised quartermaster and first mate.  They could see in a brief glimpse that their own twenty guns would be no match against such an aggressive approach.  "It is Hap Rayne of Her Bounty, all hands on deck." Her Bounty had strung the black flag by now high up on mast and men three feet deep leaned over the edge roaring to the stab of swords in the sky.  They would find nothing here, De Madrone thought, but if they were alerted to the ship ahead carrying silver....

On Useppa

"I'm learning how to do it, he thought.  This part of it anyway.  Then too, remember he hasn't eaten since he took the bait and he is huge and needs much food.  I have eaten the whole bonito.  Tomorrow I will eat the dolphin.  He called it dorado." Old Man and the Sea





The El Dorado of South America had not quite revealed itself over the many years now of the mission of the expeditionary Spanish treasure fleet.  Nor had the captain of the El Capitan come to his position through the usual channels of the Spanish navy.

He had been nothing more than a low rank midshipman for the Spanish Armada, but he was well known at court, and had an obstinate quality about him that left the perception that he was both an up and comer and one who would prioritize results of these 'Americas' expeditions above all else.  The competition among European powers was so exhaustive at this point in the 16th century and sea trade such an overwhelming investment for businessmen that there were no accolades for mere survival of a returning crew.  Captain de Madrone was wrestling with this very subject on his mind as he watched his sister ship Trueheart sail off from the shores of Cartagena with its supply chambers brimmed full of silver coinage. It was an outrage that the Trueheart, upon its very first sailing, would land the

treasure chests that would most likely propel its crew to fame and further fortune under the greedy influence of the Spanish court. The fleet had now set sail no longer than three days from Cartagena when a stiff Gulf wind had shoved the ships on a more northerly course than anticipated.  De Madrone had given what would eventually become the dastardly signal to the Trueheart that the two ships should now exchange their order in the line.  Trueheart was heavier and sturdier on its center, burdened as it was by the silver tonnage it carried, and would supposedly have better sight lines as it blew upwards along the Gulfo de Mexico off the continent of La Florida.

Although certainly off course, De Madrone had made the risky calculation that he had in fact passed these very waters before, albeit in far better conditions.  As he guessed, there was a hidden reef line that secured the myriad chain of islands off the coast of La Florida.  If a certain galleon ship were to ram directly into such a reef at such and such a rate of speed, there would most certainly be damage done to the hull. This ship would not, of course, sink on the spot, but would have to seek refuge in among the intricate network of the island shores.

On Useppa

"The old man unhooked the fish, re-baited the line with another sardine and tossed it over.  Then he worked his way slowly back to the bow.  He washed his left hand wiped it on his trousers.  Then he shifted the heavy line from his right hand to his left and washed his right hand in the sea while he watched the sun go into the ocean and the slant of the big cord." Old Man and the Sea




The great sun god was falling onto the flat blue line in the horizon which left the careened ship El Capitan inside a bristle of dying light, a great long shadow of the fallen mast a sliver across the beach pointing toward the Calusa, as they peered up over the forty foot ridge which lined Useppa Island.

There were not many men on the beach at this point.  They could not have known this themselves, but there was only a skeleton crew left of the Spanish treasure ship, the rest having been sent off with the accompanying galleon on its way back home to the Iberian peninsula for more sturdy supplies and yet another ship for transport, for the El Capitan had been badly damaged on the shoals of the western Florida coast.  The young Calusa warrior pointed out that now that they were closer they could see an enormous hole that had formed on the direct bottom of hull of the great wooden house on water.  All seafaring peoples – and the Calusa, being born onto the sea from an ancient age, were a pure seafaring people – understood immediately the real crisis of a broken boat.  The thirty-five warriors all noticed one other thing that left them with their eyes widened: piled along the upper shoreline in barrel after barrel were the silver trinkets that they had come to recognize from previous accidents of the

foreigners.  The initial thoughts of the men, because this particular tribe had not come in personal contact with the foreigners in strange hats themselves, was to barter shells for the silver trinkets.  Yet something else had come over them from their perch there in the dying sun – they must approach with caution and with only a partial showing of their numbers in case these men were desperate or if they carried with them some ill-will, as had been heard in distant stories of contact from the past.  The

young Calusa, now feeling himself back in charge, and more willing to convey patience if that was what was being asked, gestured to the eight fiercest of the indian warriors and ducked and weaved inside the shadows now formed by the Cabbage Palm and Saw Palmetto, until, in only a few short moments, they moved in upon the foreign men working diligently at a night fire and stirring what looked like paltry sustenance in a pot.  The first man to see the Calusa reached quickly for sword, but another, his first mate, held his own hand down and nodded toward the spearhead of the indian and said aloud in Spanish "peace." Neither understood one another; they could only dictate their next actions based on the universal body language of fight, flight or come in peace.  The Indian quickly demonstrated his pouch of shells and scooped his hand into the back and let many of the whelks and sand dollars fall to the sand.  Useful and valuable to the Calusa, the shells of course meant nothing to

the Spaniards and a sort of smirk fell over the group of Conquistadors, the very smirk that probably lifted them fairly shortly from their lives.  Another man shot a cross bow into the shoulder of the indian. His bag dropped suddenly to the sand.  "They are after the silver!" the man said and traced another arrow into his bow.  This would be all that it took.  The Spanish were ultimately outnumbered.  The Calusa from behind the ridge were accurate to within an inch of whatever they laid aim upon and within minutes the large dark foreign men lay on the beach.  The ship merely waved back and forth  to the waves.  The sun had sunk but a fire had begun to blaze and threw sparkling stars over the ton of Brazilian silver which sat at the corner of the scene like nothing more than the silent spectator it was.

Nature Journal

"There was no sound, no lapping waves against the rocks, no rustling of leaves or moaning of wind through the trees, one of those times when all seems in suspension and even the birds are hushed." Sigurd Olson, from Listening Point








6 Feb.


One of the great walkable patches of quiet land in the area is tucked between Veteran's Memorial Park hwy. 16 West Salem, and the entry onto the Great River State Trail, which lays parallel to train tracks that cross the backwaters of the La Crosse River.  Here the path is flat and lush either summer or winter.  In summer the red wing blackbirds stand their usual guard at cattail outposts, butterflies flit about the red-stemmed thorn and purple paintbrushes, and the ultimate entertainer, the caterpillar, can't seem to get enough crawl time over the soft warm gravel trail, where children pick them up and inspect nature close up. In winter, the dollops of recent snow that hang on the branches of the basswoods or the milkweed stems melt slowly against the afternoon sun so that when they fall the twigs and branches snap back to place as if for no reason, leaving the walker to look in and around the frozen marsh gulleys in suspicion and wonder. Two hawks, now in hog heaven so to speak, squawk as if in appreciation as they weave in circles across the powder tone sky.