Grandma’s Wild Rice Pancakes

I walked the three miles to Ranier again today, following the bike trail, now a blanket of snow. My destination was again the snowy woods, but also the warmth of Grandma’s Pantry, the only eating place in Ranier. Here is Grandma, resting after the morning rush, after thirty years in Ranier running this lovely place. Her daughter does most of the work now, but Grandma is clearly the matriarch, and her wild rice pancakes are legendary.

You can make them, but it takes a helper and a canoe. One person paddles or poles into shallows where the wild rice grows. The other bends the stalks into the canoe and knocks the grains off. Back at the rice camp, you roast the grain over an open fire. Now you are ready to remove the hulls by tramping with your bare feet and then tossing into the air where wind carries away the chaff. Or you can get one-third cup of raw wild rice from Grandma. Add a cup of water and simmer for twenty minutes. Pour off the water and add two tablespoons of sour cream, two tablespoons of butter, a cup of milk, and one egg. In another container, mix a cup of flour, a quarter teaspoon of salt, a tablespoon of baking powder and a tablespoon of sugar. Now pour the first mix into the dry ingredients and beat until smooth. Makes about ten pancakes.



Much is covered under this blank page.
I have stood here and seen it.
Most is not remembered,
but one thing pokes through and
casts its shadow on all that might be written here.







Mound of snow or dune of sand
Water wave or mountain range
Last no longer than a seed of tree
A book to read and sprout










I have posted at least one picture from this location before, but then only a small film of ice floated on this water and hugged close to the shore. Now it advances to the mouth of the cove.








Someone has traveled here by bicycle today. See where the pedals have scraped the snowy surface as the tires sunk in. Someone walked here yesterday, tracks half covered with last evening’s snow.










“Minnesotans don’t walk,” I overheard the Salvation Army lady say while ringing her bell. She did not see me coming into K-Mart with an inch of snow on my head. Only as I started shaking, stomping, brushing and taking off layers did she say, “There’s one,” and we both laughed. Here on the bike trail that I walked this morning to Ranier, I step in my tracks going home where no one else has walked today. See the older set of tracks where just one person walked yesterday. Such a lovely walk, but Minnesotans don’t walk.










Snow is beautiful in fields and forests, but here it looks like chocolate ice cream, way too much and in the way. Hungry loaders will eat their fill, dumptrucks too.

more snow
more snowplows
who will tire first?