A city family's search for refuge --
for a place satisfying to
their instincts,
frugal to their finances,
charming to their senses --
a place where the far end
of the road fades into a hush of supple stems, cushioning leaves,
frosted stones ...
Private lakeshore was too
costly for our means, too small and crowded, also conventional.
I studied lists of tax-forfeited properties. The process involved several
steps:
Locate listed parcels on county maps from the legal descriptions. Examine
aerial photographs of the area from the map library at the University of Minnesota.
Should be accessible from an existing road.
Should be near to a pond, stream, lake. Following the map check, the few remaining prospects were visited by Chris and me on long, tiring auto trips -- chilly, drizzly Saturdays. Only one possibility: 112 miles from home, east of Sandstone. Forty acres within an eighth mile of the Tamarack River on an abandoned but passable Township Road.
We teetered on the weathered remnants of the one-time bridge, worried rotted splinters from the silvery timbers, plopped, grunting, heavy stones into the amber water, sailed flat pieces skippingly across the quiet surface, and dipped the far end of sticks swishingly ... The road ends here.
