In my daily walks, I hear rushing creeks and roaring waterfalls, along with splashing fountains. The clear, pure water reminds me of the summer of 1968 which I spent as a live-in waitress and housekeeper at Deer Trail Lodge on the shores of sparkling Wood Lake near Ely, Minnesota — a town of 4,900 people that is 100 miles north of Duluth and 117 miles south of the Canadian border. It was once named "Que Quam Chep" which means "land of the berries" in the Chippewa language and is in the Vermilion Range which was historically home to several iron ore mines.
One of my longtime friends, Paula Greenwood, and her mother were acquainted with the owners of the lodge and managed to get us both summer jobs there. We shared a bedroom with another teenager from the Chicago area. The lake that was just steps from our door was so clear that you could see all the way to the bottom. I even lost an earring once and managed to find it on top of a rock underwater. We even used to wash our hair in the lake.
It was only suitable for swimming about one week a year, the rest of the time being too frigid to tolerate for very long. We circumvented that deterrent by learning to water ski on top of the lake, taking off in sweatshirt and jeans by holding onto the diving board on the dock and theoretically gliding into the diving board for our landing. I was the only one who screwed up the landing, bogged down by a sodden sweatshirt in chilly waters until the boat could circle around and pick me up. Brrrr!!!
However, the cold waters of the lake were a perfect pick-me-up after a stint in the homemade sauna. On the wooden bench in its cozy environs, we would steam our bodies to the perfect temperature — roast beef — according to the meat thermometer attached to the wall. Then, we would run and jump into the icy lake, our pores closed tight, our nerve endings at attention. The only problem with this routine were late-night visits. It was much more difficult to fall asleep when every part of your body was wide awake.
Reading the local weekly newspaper did NOT keep me awake. I still remember one of the headlines, “Moose Lodge Installs New Picnic Table.” Much more appealing was the local unofficial news — better known as gossip. The talk was that the town of Ely had been investigated by the authorities because of the vast volume of beer supposedly consumed there. The powers that be thought it was being smuggled over the Canadian border. A scientific study of consumption habits proved them wrong. All beer was being consumed within the city limits.
Deer Trail Lodge did not serve alcohol at its sumptuous nightly dinners, so I assume guests kept some in their cabins for afterwards. Food was served family style. There was steak, ham, turkey and roast beef. Steak night was the most popular with large T-bones going to every guest. My major mistake as a waitress was in setting up tables when I dropped a whole tray of glasses, a reminder of my error as a 14-year-old Oklahoma State University banquet waitress when I accidentally poured coffee down a man’s back. His reaction? “I thought I felt something kind of warm.”
Food cooked at the lodge was one thing, but freshly caught fish cooked on the shore over a campfire by a fishing guide was quite another. It was the most melt-in-your-mouth-wonderful food I have ever had. To eat fish about 20 minutes after it has been caught is an extraordinary delight that everyone should experience.
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