The World's Best...

vacation? Pretty darn close. Not in the Vegas-glitz sense, not in the Vatican-Sistine chapel mode, it was just a cabin for two, all the woods and lakes and streams you'd ever care to explore, fresh fish to eat, a few bottles of wine, etc., etc.,... we were joined by our eldest son and his girlfriend who had gone DEEP into the BWCAW, returning to our cabin by the lake ("just look for the dock with the red cooler on it!") for an evening out at a nearby lodge, spying a moose and her offspring on the trip back (my second spotting of the trip) and then home, via Grand Marais, a tourist-artist colony-lumber town. We went to "The World's Best Donuts" (they were ok, I guess) listened to radio station WTIP, ("The World's Best Radio Station") if they did say so themselves. The DJ was a burnt-out hippie named "Rainbow Trout" who giggled a lot a said "oboy" about every other sentence.

But of course, dominating all of this was THE LAKE. Lake Superior, the world's best. If not the best, the greatest in terms of volume of fresh water. A lake deserving respect (many an ore ship lies broken on the frigid bottom) holder of secrets (100-year-old logs are dredged up and made into expensive veneer) and legends (the Indians called it Gitchee-Gumee, the Voyageurs plied its waters, even the Vikings may have traveled there.) Further south, in Duluth, ocean going vessels arrive and depart, an international seaport.

One out of three isn't a bad percentage. (Or was it two out of four?)