This is another post from Anne. Last week, she and some of her relatives drove to Canada, for a hike to Betty’s Cove. This cove is on Lake Superior. Near the cove is a large wind farm, several hundred wind turbines large.

Here are six pix from the hike to Betty’s Cove with the Soo Naturalists. Betty’s Cove was named for Betty, my dearly beloved aunt, in the 1980’s. The Naturalists have been going there for a long time, and aren’t about to let the arrival of the wind farm stand in their way. We parked our cars before the road turned private, then hiked in. Bushwhacked might have been a better word. Arriving at the cove, we quickly decided that with the wind and waves it was not a swimming day. It was a gorgeous spot for a picnic, with sparkling wine raised in toast to Betty, followed by a poem by Ron, our ringleader, and Betty’s favorite chocolate from Aimee.

Traditions were followed, such as flinging banana peels over one’s shoulder. (If your peel landed in a tree, you were declared to be “well hung”. We could almost hear Betty chortling along with us.) Another tradition was skipping rocks, but instead of picking flat rocks and skipping them off the water, you chose round rocks, about fist-sized, and you bounced them off the bigger cobbles. A good toss could result in seven or eight bounces.

We finally pulled ourselves away from the cove. Returning, we took a different route back, which was not as steep and rocky as the way down. With only a bit of backtracking, we came out on the road between three of the wind turbines. The breeze they generated was welcome after climbing the hill. The noise was not as loud as I expected, although one was squeaking, as if it needed some WD-40.

When we crossed back into the good ol’ US of A, the Customs Agent asked, “So, are you all from Missouri?” Anne answered, “No, Sir, I’m the only one from Missouri, and we have two from Washington, and two from Michigan.” He looked at the passports, then says, “None of the last names are the same, are you related?” “Well, we three are cousins, and he’s my brother-in-law, and…” “He’s my husband”, says the other Anne from the back seat. Ask a silly question, get a silly answer! He’s lucky, we didn’t do all the begets.