JOHN PEPIN

In this part of the world, along this secluded riverbank under a canopy of mixed firs, spruces and hardwoods, there are no doubt countless times of peace, stillness and resounding quiet.

But this, was not one of them.

The skies poured down a tremendous amount of rain in a short period of time, bringing with it the delicious white noise of the showering rain that spattered when it hit the water’s surface.

I was kneeling at the water’s edge tying a fishing hook to my line. It felt to me like I was in the Amazon jungle or some distant monsoon region. The rain didn’t take long to soak my insulated rain jacket through past my shirt to my skin.

Within 15 minutes, the sun was shining brightly on the water. Ten minutes after that, it was raining pitchforks again. The sequence repeated itself several times over the course of the next 90 minutes or so.

In between the powerful rains, I had managed to hook and land a beautiful brown trout. A few nights later, my wife and I would eat it for dinner with some broccoli slaw and an ice-cream cone for dessert.

There were mosquitoes out in the rain, but they seemed to be ducking dragonflies as well as raindrops. Few, if any, bites.

The forests were filled with blooming wildflowers that are just breathtaking. From gorgeous yellow black-eyed Susans to pink wild columbine and the incredibly beautiful blue vervain.

The surface of the water was placid, and the river was about bank full. When the rain showers would come, the river looked like it was boiling, with so many drops hitting the water it was impossible to see them individually.

Throughout the day, mud puddles that had been narrow and hugging the dirt and graveled shoulders of the road when headed in one direction, were swollen to large puddles covering the road on the return trip.

I spied a broad-winged hawk flying over me with what looked like a plump mouse in its talons. I also saw a merlin fly like an arrow across the road about 10 feet above my vehicle.

I know being out in the rain at all, let alone fishing, is not something everyone enjoys. For me, I love the experience. I spend many days in the wintertime missing the summer rain and more specifically, summer thunderstorms.

Even though I was soaked to the bone when I got home, I loved being out there where everything seemed to be happening. It was greatly therapeutic for me.

A couple days later, the rain had returned. I found myself in one of the most beautiful parks in Michigan. By now, the rain had stopped, and the skies were swirling in blues and grays, like a painting by one of the great art masters.

In the in foreground above me, purple martins twirled and twisted as they flew catching insects for newborn chicks they were feeding. The adults were holding numerous bugs in their bills as they kept flying and gathering food before returning to their apartment house nest box in the park.

In all, I probably saw six or eight of these now decidedly rare birds in this part of the state. Just to see and hear them, my entire insides lifted me off the ground. I felt as though I was soaring up there with them.

I love to come to this place and make it a point to do so at least once every summer.

I saw older people walking past and young kids with fishing poles on bikes. I wonder if they are aware of the presence of the martins or whether they come to this beautiful and spacious green place frequently and never notice these incredible creatures.

The next day, the Queen of Shebis and I went into town to get another ice cream cone. This time, we got out of the vehicle in the evening and were immediately met by the sounds of chimney swifts twittering in the sky above us.

These birds that once lived in hollow tree trunks in the woods, and now rely solely on humans for chimneys to nest in, are also insect eaters that gather food on the wing.

Over the past few years, I have been seeing fewer of these birds than I would like. But on this night, there were maybe 30 flying around. Near nightfall, the swifts circle in big groups and then funnel into their communal chimney roosts.

By the time we had picked out our ice-cream flavor and walked out of the shop back into the warm outdoors, every single swift we had seen and heard only a handful of minutes earlier was gone.

With plenty of old chimneys available in the neighborhood for nesting and roosting, we reasoned that we had just missed seeing their nightly return to their red-bricked, square-shaped homes.

Before we returned home, I drove down to a place along the highway where the summer sweet peas were blooming in tremendous numbers. I wanted her to see this lavish display of pinks and white for herself.

We then took a ride down the county road near our home to see if there was anything to see on the lake. There was indeed.

I spotted a loon out the passenger window and pointed it out. When we returned to the spot on the way back, there were now two loons. By the way they swam close to each other and interacted playfully, these birds were clearly a mated pair.

I pulled the car over onto the shoulder of the road and parked. Dogs tied up at a nearby house started barking loudly. One of the loons assumed a distress pose with its wings outstretched.

As the dogs stopped barking, the loon calmed down and continued to join its mate in peering beneath the still waters of the lake looking for fish to eat. We looked hard to try to find fuzzy black loon chicks out there on the water or on the backs of either one of the loons.

We didn’t see any.

The loons were singing softly as they floated over the water. They’d then dive separately and return the same way. They were beautiful to watch.

I read a few days ago that there are only an estimated 2,000 common loons in Michigan, a figure that surprised me as being far lower than I had imagined.

Being able to see two right in front of us made me feel very fortunate. The species has been around for thousands of years. It would be a shockingly grave disappointment if they were to disappear one day.

There were a good number of people on the lake too, including a guy flyfishing from an inflatable raft and, thankfully much farther away from the loons, people waterskiing and Jet skiing across the water.

Back at home, we listened and watched one of two nesting pairs of house wrens we have approach their nest box together, buzzing and chittering in the dense foliage.

In the bushes with them was a pair of cardinals that we also presume to be nesting around our yard. The queen pointed out a nest cradled in the boughs of a cedar tree.

I haven’t seen a cardinal nest before, so I headed to the books on my shelf to learn more about that. The nest we saw had all the characteristics of what we saw – built from sticks and placed about 10 feet off the ground at the edge of our stand of cedar trees.

I will spend some time checking the nest out with my binoculars to see if I can make a confirmation. The male cardinal has spent many days singing outside my study window not far from the nest.

The male and female cardinals were skulking around in the trees and low brush, seemingly interested in keeping the house wrens and a nosey robin, which had its own nest nearby, away from the area.

Though the days on the calendar keep flying by at a dizzying pace, I keep trying to soak up all the days I can with nature adventures and simple pleasures.

I find for me that those things truly do make a huge difference in my mindset and my ability to stomach the less-than-appealing aspects of our world – near and far.

These simple satisfactions and preoccupations have led me to moments of peace, presence and reflection important to my overall wellbeing.

The value in all things provided to me by nature cannot be overestimated.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan’s world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.