"Eagle Harbor Web Facebook" viewers have access to occasional Harbor Web editor musings - not journals, let's call them vignettes - that many loyal followers of this web site, those not burdened/blessed with a Facebook account, miss. If you're among this group, you aren't missing much of interest or value. But a few have got wind of my innocent indiscretion, and, for whatver reason, have asked that I post these little Facebook morsels on the Harbor Web as well. So I will, at least those that meet the Harbor Web's literary standards for imaginative, opinionated, not necessarily factual, writing.

Here's a few of the most recent Facebook posts

Here's my 2011 Halloween pumpkin. Shown resting comfortably after obligatory Halloween surgery in my fireside rocker. She's certainly not up to my former Martha Stewart inspired creations, but I ilke her simple and winning ways. She's good company, a happy camper in my cozy space. I might take her for a stroll down to the Eagle Harbor Store pumpkin patch for the Halloween gathering of her brethren, but rwill return her safely to her fireside perch rather than allow her to be hauled to pumpkin heaven, or is it hell - Boggio's deer feed stand. Maybe give her new lfe as a pumpkin pie. "Absolutely stunning." That's the reaction of someone who visited the Keweenaw National Park's new Calumet Visitors Center located in the beautifully renovated Union Building on Fifth Street. I hope to be able to post some photos of the state-of-art exhibits celebrating life and work in the former great metroplis of Red Jacket, but for now I'd encourage you to visit the web site Copper Country Explorer and read the seven part series about the history of the building, enriched with outstanding photos of the renovation. A visit to the new Center will surely be a "must do" on your next visit to the Keweenaw. It's a cold blustery day with low hanging clouds rushing across the ridge tops and intermittent rain showers. A good day to spend in my old rocker at fireside. (Family lore suggests that this most comfortable and wonderfully squeaky rocker was hauled across the Appliachians in the early 1880s from my dad's ancestral home in Virginia and into the new Indiana Territory - of which the UP was a part.) The winds have calmed down now, but they have been horrific over the past weekend. Too bad we don’t have a way to measure aggregate wind, like we do precipitation. Let’s see, if it blows at an average velocity of say 30 mph, as I think was the case for at least the last three days, or 72 hours, (with gusts over 50) would that be an accumulation of 2,100 mile hours of wind? Something to ponder. In any event, this storm littered my camp with shingles torn from the upwind light station structures and drove the big lakers to cover. The Edwin H. Gott, a state-of-the–art thousand footer, sought shelter Friday night deep in Bete Gries, and as I write on Monday eve, she’s still there. (How do I know? Check my favorite ship-tracking site, http://www.marinetraffic.com/a?is/.) I wonder if the mariners of the late 1800s,in sailing vessels of less than a hundred feet, without auxiliary power, nor more than a compass for navigation, making the all important last run to Eagle Harbor with supplies to nourish our Central, Delaware and Copper Falls mining families through the long winter, would have been that cautious. Probably not – that’s why the coasts of Keweenaw are now a shipwreck preserve. I ventured out onto the rocks just off shore from the Lake Breeze to capture an image of the big waves cascading over the harbor’s entry reefs, but, alas, both my legs and the camera battery failed so I leave you with a photo of another such late fall storm – a faithful image of what this storm was like.

Posted a few old Eagle Harbor Halloween punkin patch pics on the mother web site today. www.eagleharborweb.net Our Halloweens are always low key and with many of our best punkin artists trick or treating elsewhere or post peak as night prowlers, both the patch and the celebrants will be slim this year. The Probst kids, our only resident youthful trick or treaters are, of course, in m&m heaven. Grown ups, who once upon a time would throw a sheet over their head and trick or treat for a snort, now seem happier gluded to a Packer game. As for me, well, after a delightful encounter with the Probst parade, perhaps a stroll with my punkin to the town patch and then up the lighthouse to find out what mischief our resident ghost is up to on his night on the town. O'my, the number of folks occasionally stopping by the Harbor Web Facebook page has reached eleven hundred. At least that's the number willing to confess they're Harbor Huggars. I wonder how many thousand more stumbled in for a peek, and left muttering, "I don't get it. What's the big deal?" Ah, that's our secret - there are no "big deals". A crisp fall day, like today, with sunlight sweeping across the golden hills and sparkling like diamonds on the rippling harbor waters, and with clean and invigorating lake air filling our lungs, tinged just a bit with the sweet aroma of firewood burning, goes a long way here. Who needs a "big deal"? Are The Pumpkins Coming Again? Darned if I know. I sure hope so. What once enlivened the pause between color and snow, the Halloween gathering of artistically carved and decorated pumpkins on the steep steps of the former Eagle Harbor Store, seems to have withered in the face of fading and escapee carvers. Some of us, me included, are no longer inclined, or more likely able, to engage in such frivolity, while some of our still youthful, at least in spirit, and highly carver talented brethren have decided to trick-or-treat in far away, mostly warmer, places. To be sure, some of my neighbors still please us by sharing their jack-o-lantern offerings, but the less than a dozen, sometimes only two or three, glowing pumpkins huddled together on the store rampart on Halloween seem forlorn. One is tempted to give them a loving and appreciative hug. Here's what an evening of lake effect rain shower clouds looks like. It's cooling down, so these may soon become lake effect snow clouds. Sure like the dirty bottoms and white tops set against broken patches of day fading blue. Yes, things are pretty placid at Eagle Harbor, but the window view sure beats anything on the TV screen, especially when viewed from alongside a cozy fire .

While you're waiting for something new from the pen of your Harbor journalist, I'll republish a few from the Harbor Journal archives that at least I find interesting to revisit. One of my favorites is Bears, an account of a hike to Baldy, something I'm not likely to do again. So join me for a virtual trek up the hill..
Bears. February 9, 2002. A friend, who I suspect thinks I spend too much time in the bush, loaned me Bill Bryson's, A Walk in the Woods, the author's account of his hike along the length of the Appalachian Trail - some 2200 miles. I'm still in Georgia, he is following spring north, but I get the drift - the bush is a scary place, laden with weirdoes and woollies. He's good humored about it, it's a very funny book, but the message is clear - one enters into natures realm at one's risk. He has a particular fetish about black bears, devoting most of an early chapter to his scrupulous research of bears feasting on unwary wanderers. It seems they are particularly fond of Snicker bar carriers. That got my attention - I almost always tuck an emergency ration Snicker bar in my pocket when I boot up for the bush.

So, yesterday, when I set aside good sense, and yielded to the sirens luring me to snow capped Mt Baldy, I left the Snickers in camp. Of course, the odds of encountering a Keweenaw black bear in February are no better than my fortune in the Packer pools, but with the warmth of this winter, one never knows. Perhaps lured from his or her den by the appearance, or maybe the reality, of winter ending, stomach growling from too much fasting, pa or ma bear might be out looking for someone to eat. The pickings are pretty slim in February - not many tasty bipedals wandering about this time of year. Under these meager circumstances, even an old geezer like me might look pretty tempting.

I think Bryson is a bit paranoid about all this canine chomping, but his research is compelling. I once thought that if accosted by a bear, one could avoid the inevitable by playing dead. Bryson says that only sometimes work with grizzlies (who seemingly are in it for the hunt), never with black bears. Black bears, the kind we have, are harvesters, compulsive nibblers. Of course, no one I know has ever been eaten by a bear, nor is spooky story telling time around late night beach fires laced with bear attack stories, but perhaps the subject is taboo. Would anyone ever confess that a bear had eaten a kin or acquaintance? Such accounts would also surely put a damper on our tourist trade, perhaps resulting in the closing of our beloved Harbor inn. The Gazette is ominously quiet on the subject.

So I properly prepared myself for yesterday's trek. No sweet smelling soap for my morning shower; fresh unscented clothing for warmth; coat pockets and gloves combed for evidence of cookie or old Snicker bar crumbs. I even substituted plain old water for my usual bottle of sugary Coke. I equipped myself with a sturdy and sharp pointed old ski pole, thinking I might, so armed, be a match for an emaciated bear. As a last resort strategy, I tucked a couple of granola bars, laced with my most powerful angina painkillers, into a tightly sealed plastic bag. This might serve as an alternative snack item for the hungry bear, allowing me a few moments of idle chatter with my adversary as the drug took effect - then stealing away as the bear went into the land of Oz.

Well, as is evident by the happy event of my being here to write this account, I managed to spend several hours in the spring-tinged winter bush without becoming an entrée at a bear feast. Whether the result of my careful preparation, or the absence of fuzzy diners, I know not. I suppose one might question the basic premise, the bear's propensity for people snacks. Bryson is careful to note that the incidence of bears dining on their superior specie is rare, but I suppose if I shared that bit of knowledge with a bear about to chomp on my nicely toned pot belly, the bear would simply say, "So this is my lucky day!"

My trek, while uneventful as a dining experience, was not without some misfortune. As I ambled back to camp, my own hunger pains beginning to mount, I absentmindedly reached into my pocket, pulled out a delicious looking granola bar, and chomped it down. Ten minutes later I was bathing in Cedar Creek, unable to keep my balance as I attempted to cross the creek by walking along a downed tree - a trick of little consequence a few hours earlier. I bet the stalking bears thought it funny.