By The Hut (of course)
For many years I sat nestled among the trees overlooking the Saint Croix River enjoying the change of seasons, the occasional canoeist, the mice scampering through cupboards and corners, and infrequent visits by my owner. The Scenic and Wild Rivers Act numbered my days- twenty-five years to be exact. For a while things did not change, but in 1984, a new owner made his presence felt and my life was never the same. Oh, I managed to frustrate him by continually shedding my interior paint and allowing the mice unrestricted access, but none of this deterred him from invading my serenity.
With the transfer of ownership in 1984, I assumed my life would go on as tranquil as it had with the previous owner. The first hint of mistaken impressions came just as winter was starting to make itself known in the Midwest. The canoeists had been gone awhile and hunting season was still days away. All of a sudden, not only did my new owner show up, but he brought with him dozens (or so it seemed) of teenagers.
The annual event became the Grantsburg Hike and its arrival meant people slamming my doors, blocking my view of the river, and keeping me awake with idle chatter. My owner and his partner called it teaching lessons.
About ten years ago, my owner brings another guy to me and this guy has these teenagers learning about all the natural things around them. The problem with having this Mark Warren here was the number of teenagers not only increased but so did the length of their stay. I suspect now my owner was making me appreciate the Grantsburg Hike because of its shorter intrusion into my world. Actually, this Mark Warren had the kids spend an afternoon communicating with each other in Indian sign language, so it was nice to see and not hear people in a wilderness setting.
Just about the time I expected a respite from teenagers after the Grantsburg Hike, my owner starts bringing more kids in on a trip called Winter Activities. Those kids would bring in so much snow sometimes, it makes my sheet metal rattle just to think about it. The best part about this trip was when the kids would build snow shelters and sleep in them and not me. I could not even escape students visiting me in the spring when bike trippers would stop by, and then my owner and that other guy started these summer canoe trips and ended in my front yard and again blocked my view of the river.
This Fall, my owner started to remove those things he brought with him. I noted a different tone to his voice as he and Mark Warren worked with the students. I did not know it then, but I have come to realize it now, that the 1996 Mark Warren Trip was the final Mini-School trip to my door. On November 1, my new owners are the U.S. government, and I will be allowed to spend the rest of my numbered days overlooking the Saint Croix and sharing my emptiness with the mice.
Don’t tell my owner and that other guy and those other people who would come up here, but for twelve years my life was touched by some pretty fine people, and despite my posturing about teenagers, I’ll miss their energy, their inquisitiveness, and their laughter. Adieu, my friends.
Sincerely,
The Quonset Hut