{"id":186108,"date":"2021-12-16T10:02:00","date_gmt":"2021-12-16T16:02:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/?p=186108"},"modified":"2021-12-17T11:16:30","modified_gmt":"2021-12-17T17:16:30","slug":"saint-croix-state-park-the-parable-of-the-two-wolves","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/featured-home-page\/saint-croix-state-park-the-parable-of-the-two-wolves\/","title":{"rendered":"Saint Croix State Park & the Parable of the Two Wolves"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Day 1. Nature<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Right away, we see a wolf at close range. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve just hopped in with Megan Johnsen, Minnesota State Parks and Trails Exhibit Specialist, to explore her favorite hikes. And around two corners a gray wolf crosses the road like an apparition. Megan and I snap to attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re good luck to me, Andrew,\u201d she says. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The wolf is large, its tail lowered, one of 2,699 (+\/- 700) in the state, according to a 2020 report by the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two more corners and we slow to a stop for an ambivalent ruffed grouse. He cocks his head in our direction, but crosses casually, and then stops altogether. We wait it out. Then, suddenly, he sprints into the brush. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I will think about that wolf later, as I pitch my tent in nearby\u2014and vacant tonight, in the seasonal limbo between peak fall colors and hunting season\u2014Paint Rock Springs Campground. (It should be noted that, although wolves are big, scary apex predators, a report by the International Wolf Center assures that \u201cthere has not been a person killed by wolves in North America during the 20th century.\u201d)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSeeing a wolf is not a normal event,\u201d Saint Croix State Park Manager Rick Dunkley tells me, when I later recount the story, \u201cand many visitors would envy your sighting.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s late October, partly cloudy, 50\u00b0\/30\u00b0. While not winter camping, per se, it\u2019s the coldest camping I\u2019ve ever done. But winter is a popular time here at Saint Croix SP, which offers 80 miles of impeccably groomed snowmobile trails, 11 miles of ski trails, camping for the intrepid (winter lows can reach -16\u00b0), two modern guesthouses accommodating up to 15 people, and an enclosed (and impossibly cozy and nostalgic) shelter with two fireplaces. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

First stop: the 100-foot-tall fire tower built by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) back in 1937. As we climb, Megan tells the story of the park\u2019s family legacy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the early 1900s, Ed and Josie St. John lived and raised their family up on the bluffs of the Yellowbanks. In 1912, the U.S. government relocated the family to a reservation 220 miles north.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A decade later, Ed and Josie\u2019s daughter Katie, longing for home, walked back to the Yellowbanks with her baby and two sons\u2014all 220 miles. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Katie raised her family on the banks where her parents had raised her, and in much the same way\u2014teaching her children to understand and appreciate the land and its gifts. Her sons John and Eugene, employed by the American New Deal\u2019s Works Progress Administration (WPA), built the park\u2019s facilities. And, today, Katie\u2019s great-grandson Rick\u2014the guy I\u2019d told about the wolf\u2014manages the park.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is all preserved on display at the park\u2019s Visitor Center in the main campground complex.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The fire tower is a major attraction at Saint Croix SP, but not for the faint of heart: While the view is spectacular\u2014we can see for miles, columns of sun hitting the valley trees like floodlights\u2014the climb leaves me winded. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

We linger for a while, and then it\u2019s off to the Kettle River Highbanks (an easy hike, and highly recommended) and, finally, the Kettle Overlook, where we hoof it down to a pebble beach on the riverbank. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis,\u201d Megan says, \u201cis my favorite spot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And it\u2019s magical: totally silent but for the play of water and some echoic birdcalls high in the white and red pines. Megan and I spend most of the afternoon hiking around, talking about tree and plant species. The sun then dips below the yellow-leafed maples, and they look lit from within like Chinese lanterns.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s dark by the time I reach my site. I set up camp, build a fire\u2014breathing into my hands, for warmth\u2014and pour myself a drink in a wooden cup. Then, as has been my pattern lately, thoughts descend like a dropped brick. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

When you enter into a union with another person, they welcome you\u2014emotionally, physically\u2014and give you the most valuable thing they\u2019ll ever have in their life: time. What you do with that gift determines the quality of your character.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

What\u2019s wrong with you, anyway? You long for intimacy but fear it at the same time. You\u2019ve held a normal life in your hand more than once, and you\u2019ve crushed it like an egg.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I shake my head. A great horned owl calls out from the frigid dark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Day 2. People<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wake up to warbling Vs of sandhill cranes migrating south against a cloudless blue dome. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then: quick and delicious breakfast at the packed-to-capacity Whistle Stop Caf\u00e9. Waitresses pirouette around each other in the compromised space behind the bar, where I\u2019m sitting, and speak in shorthand with the line cooks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll meat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll meat, sub.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Most of the customers order without referencing the menu, and everybody seems to be on a first-name basis.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood, how are you?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood, how are you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I sign my check, one waitress sort of stumbles against me as the woman beside me grabs a napkin and wipes her whole face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then it\u2019s off to Pine City, where I meet up with Nick and Cassandra Olson at their family brewery, Three Twenty. We sit and chat for an hour, and I sample everything on the menu. The beer is exceptional\u2014complex, multidimensional, delicious\u2014and I\u2019m even swayed by their seasonal Pumpkin Pie Eyed, a style I normally detest. But Three Twenty\u2019s is perfectly spiced and balanced and incredible: the perfect fall beer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For lunch, I cross into Wisconsin and check out a recommendation: Danbury\u2019s Fish Bowl Bar & Grill. Most of the vehicles in the parking lot are side-by-side ATVs, and the rest are militaristic pickups with side-by-side ATVs in their truck beds. Inside, the white noise of a football game. I sit with my back to a large-screen TV, which seems to freak everybody out. There are cookies in the salad bar. The burger I order is as big as my face, and almost as big as my entire head. Afterwards, I feel like curling up on floor and passing out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I decide to check out Hinckley\u2019s Grand Casino, where I lose $40 in about six minutes. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Back in Pine City, I stop into Froggy\u2019s Bar & Grill. I order a light domestic and sit. Eventually, two drunk women and one especially drunk woman enter in a flourish. Shots. More shots. Then a song\u2014AC\/DC\u2019s \u201cYou Shook Me All Night Long\u201d\u2014activates something in the especially drunk woman, and she starts to dance around the bar, orbiting into my personal space. Then Def Leppard\u2019s \u201cPour Some Sugar on Me,\u201d Whitesnake\u2019s \u201cHere I Go Again.\u201d All the hits, unfortunately, and with each subsequent song the especially drunk woman dances ever more spastically, languid in a fitful way\u2014like a whipped bed sheet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you guys wanna dance?\u201d she hollers, and grabs my shoulder. I look at her hand and it disappears. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Back at Three Twenty, I order a Pumpkin Pie Eyed and sit on the patio. The sun is setting. I allow the conversations around me to settle into the background, just vowels, rising and falling like the sounds of nesting birds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The entrance to Saint Croix SP looks vaguely Floridian, and most leaves remaining on the stunted trees have dried to the color of old blood, brittle, about to drop, drawing into themselves like so many cupped hands. The ashen sky is slashed neon to the west\u2014electric, otherworldly in all this oceanic gray, a glimpse of Heaven\u2019s subtropical tip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There are some other campers scattered around tonight, and as I build a fire I find their distant peals of laughter comforting. This sense of comfort eventually warps into loneliness, and, rather than sit with it, I hop into my car and drive to the point where I know I have cell service. I call my parents, and my father answers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s up,\u201d he says. He\u2019s eating something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs mom around?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s at your sister\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pause. I can hear Fox News in the background.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He clears his throat. \u201cWhat\u2019s up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I want to ask, \u201cWas your father present? Was he affectionate? Engaged? Did he encourage you? Or was he, too, violent? What kind of man did you want to be? What kind of father? What happened to you?\u201d But I just sit and gaze into the 160-foot world created by my headlights\u2019 pale sweep, the patchwork of fallen leaves on the road, listening to my father chew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCall your mother tomorrow,\u201d he says, and hangs up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I blink, the phone held to my ear. I wish yesterday\u2019s wolf would wander into that pale sweep before me. I\u2019d get out, cooing and clicking my tongue, and open the back door. He\u2019d hop in, my car beveling under his weight, and make himself comfortable among the blankets. I\u2019d roll him over and rub his belly. I\u2019d kiss his forehead, and he\u2019d lick my face, tentatively. Then we\u2019d drive into town, where I\u2019d feed him hotdogs and tacos\u2014superprocessed foods so rich and caloric his brain would light up, and another reality would open its door. Then, one wolf becomes the other: craving junk, self-destruction, his warrior\u2019s spirit swaddled beneath layers of domestic fat. Not only would he never want to leave, he wouldn\u2019t even know where to go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that wolf would keep me company, forever.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Day 1. Nature Right away, we see a wolf at close range.  I\u2019ve just hopped in with Megan Johnsen, Minnesota State Parks and Trails Exhibit Specialist, to explore her favorite hikes. And around two corners a gray wolf crosses the road like an apparition. Megan and I snap to attention. \u201cYou\u2019re good luck to me,…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":105,"featured_media":186109,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"wds_primary_category":278,"footnotes":""},"categories":[278,141,151],"tags":[17572],"class_list":["post-186108","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-featured-home-page","category-our-scene","category-travel-recreation","tag-issue-693"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/186108","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/105"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=186108"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/186108\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":186548,"href":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/186108\/revisions\/186548"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/186109"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=186108"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=186108"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lavendermagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=186108"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}