We do not have many oaks so far north. These are red oaks and look surprisingly like a maple this time of year, at least from a distance. The sap begins to run as soon as I drill the holes. I boil coffee over a small fire and thank the Creator for his kindness to me. The view from here is fine.
Many large birch grow on the sides of the ridge.
This is an Ojibwe word, but I don't know what it means. It is one of the few rivers locally which retained its Ojibwe name. It occurs to me as I stand and enjoy the brisk spring breeze, that I am in one of those historical Deja-vu moments. Close by where I stand it dips to the Cloquet River where the old fur post stood, then north and west again toward the St. Louis River and beyond that to the Mississippi. On the far side of this grove, looking through the birches, I see what appears to be another grove of maples further along the same ridge.