Places to See | Stavkirk

Posted on October 8, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

A wonderful local attraction a little off the beaten trail – by that, I mean not exactly your average tourist outing – is the Stavkirke in Rapid City. This Chapel in the Hills is an historic replica of a church in Norway, the Borgund stavkirke in Laerdal, which was built in the 12th century.

The word stavkirke refers to the construction of the building, using staves or pillars made of Douglas fir, the closest possible substitution for the fir trees used by the Norwegians in the 12th century. The church is constructed entirely of wood, except for the iron used in the door knockers and locks. Instead of nails, wooden dowels are used. Some speculate that this is what has allowed churches like the Borgund stavkirk to survive to the modern day – Wooden dowels would give a literal flexibility to the building that might not be had with rigid nails.

Up until a few weeks ago, I had never seen the Stavkirke. I had heard of it and seen pictures, and always had wanted to visit – I wasn’t in the least disappointed. It looked a little like the chapel in Frozen, just smaller. The heavy door knockers and huge locks, the covered walkway around the outside of the church, the vaulting rooftops, and the towering doorways with intricate carving – It all seemed like something straight out of a fairytale.

The visitors’ center has a flyer with a history of the building, including a narrative explaining the use of pagan symbolism in the construction of the church, because of the remnants of mythologies and the deeply-held traditions of pagan religions to which people clung, even after the embracing of Christianity by Norwegians.

The Chapel in the Hills was built in the 1960s according to blueprints supplied by the Norwegian Department of Antiquities, a plan pieced together by Drs. Gregerson and Thompson, and financed by Arndt Dahl, a local banker who was himself a first-generation American of Norwegian heritage.

The church is active during the summer months – Lutheran Vespers happen nightly, weddings are hosted, and countless people worldwide stop to see this relic of our heritage. What an oddity! And what a gem! They have an informative website, too, if you want more information on the Chapel in the Hills.

The girls and I visited while Jess was here, but I went back a few days later over my lunch break – The sky was piercingly blue. I retook a few shots and added a few more. There was a couple from Illinois also there – I heard them talking to the gal managing the visitors’ center – and I struck up a conversation with them. They had gone to college in Champaign, my Illinois hometown! What a small world. Turned out the wife was wearing the same shirt I was wearing, just a different color. She said she got hers from some clothing store – I don’t know brand names, so I didn’t know the store. I had gotten mine from Goodwill. We had a chuckle over that one. It was a fun conversation. And I’m pretty sure they found the Stavkirk well worth seeing, too, in spite of all of the louder, snappier tourist attractions there are to see in the Hills.

Off the beaten path is always a good place to look for the real sights in the Hills.

September | In Hindsight

Posted on October 8, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

September was a month I knew I would be glad to leave behind, before it even started. Now, it wasn’t bad, mind you – It was just busy. Way too busy. I was working six days a week through most of September, on one occasion seven days a week, and I knew it would be unsustainable before it had even become unsustainable. Either way, September is over, taking with it the last of my summer jobs, the last of the summer, the last of the tourists, and leaving behind memories of family outings, photography excursions, time spent with my church community, and the first few weeks at a brand-new job in a brand new field.

The scribing is going well – I have to be honest, after a week doing it I was getting worried. The amount to learn was daunting and, as I alluded to, I don’t thrive in bustle and busyness. There was a period of about two weeks where I had one day off, maybe two, since I was still working at the Mercantile. Let’s just say that that isn’t conducive to feeling good about a brand new job. However, as I got more familiar at the clinic, I started to enjoy it – to really enjoy it. There’s so much to learn, which is both a little daunting and a lot exciting. Looking forward to seeing what the next year looks like.

September is the perfect place on the summer calendar, as far as weather is concerned – Great weather for hiking and walks, for exploring and spending time outdoors. I was (and still am!) getting to know my new camera, which I bought right at the beginning of September – It comes with me just about everywhere! Somehow in the craziness of September, I was blessed to have time for garnet hunts, scenic drives, photography, hiking with friends, picking rose hips, going to Little Falls, visiting the Stavkirk, driving Spearfish Canyon, going to the Rock Maze out on Nemo Road, and spending the evening up at Grandma’s watching “Little House on the Prairie.”

I taught my first Sunday school class at church, played preludes for the month of September, AND now have an electric piano. I have to admit, I turned up my nose at having one for a very long time–But not having any piano finally became motivation enough to accept an electric one. I have the best dad–He bought the piano, and I know we’ll be using it a lot in the future for hymn-sings and making music up at Grandma’s! It isn’t a real piano, but it actually sounds amazingly good.

And finally, Jess visited at the end of the month, along with our Uncle Scott. We monopolized his time as much as we were able – I never get the feeling that he minds being monopolized. Although we didn’t have a lot of time off while Jess was here, we made the most of what free time we did have – Already looking forward to seeing her next month, and at Christmas time.

Even in the midst of the busyness, September had lovely moments of family time, adventures, and just plain fun–They were just a little fewer and farther between this month, or a little more meticulously stitched in to the fabric of the month. But it made them all the more appreciated.

Sisters

Posted on September 28, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Jess was here to visit this past week – We kept her busy, scurrying her around from one adventure to another, relishing having all four of us together again. That may sound sappy to some, but if you grew up as we did in a close-knit homeschooling household, you’ll understand what I mean when I say, “My sisters are my bestest friends. They are all I need.” When you grow up spending all of your waking hours with your family, there is a closeness that is inevitable. And it is hard having one of those siblings 1000 miles away. So glad she got to come to the Hills for a week, short as it was.

On Saturday, the 19th, we took a jaunt over to Little Falls – The girls wanted to swim, which was a firm no for me, but they managed to talk me into getting in up to my knees. I don’t handle cold water very well, so I was whining the whole time about my feet hurting (they did. The water was cold.), but we managed to get a couple of cute pictures on Jess’s phone.

Anna spent most of her time garnet hunting. As I’ve written about once or twice before, garnets are plentiful in the streams here and, while we mostly hunt them in the dry creek beds, we like to hunt them whenever we go to Little or Big Falls. Some good garnets can be found in those places…

Jess, Sarah, and the Dog scrambled around on the rocks – I followed behind slowly, enjoying my time through the lens of a camera, and simply enjoying the presence of all three of my sisters.

God has blessed me with wonderful friends in my sisters. When I was younger, I don’t think I appreciated them nearly enough, but they grow more dear to me with each passing year. They are the lights of my life. Not sure what I’d do without them. While siblings are so close that you know one another’s foibles, quirks, and annoying habits, they also are the friends who have the potential to be the closest friends on earth.

Who else shares the same history, the same upbringing, the same genetics or legal heritage? My youngest sister, Anna, is adopted, but even though she doesn’t share my genes, she shares a heritage by virtue of us being children of the same parents. She participates in the legacy that our parents are building for us.

We’ve all spent all of our childhoods together. We’ve been homeschooled together, we’ve argued together, shared beds, brushed teeth together, owned pets together, accidentally killed pets together, shared silverware, shared secrets, shared deodorant, spent all our best memories together. We’ve shared mishaps, successes, and failures. We share facial expressions, complexions, and quirks. We compare tans in the summer. We fight over snow boots in the winter. We all try to get out of dishes, and then enjoy doing the dishes together.

Who else can boast or blush at the mention of each of those things? Who else can claim the closeness that siblings have? We share a past, a present, and a future. A friend can walk away without a part of you going with them. Your siblings, no matter how rocky the relationship, are always going to be part of who you are.

When God created families, he wasn’t just creating an institution – He was creating companions, opportunities to experience closeness probably only surpassed by a spouse. That’s a pretty special relationship. And I’ve got three of them.

Sunday walks and spiderwebs

Posted on August 31, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Sundays always go too quickly–The fellowship, the family time, the blessed enjoyment of the outdoors. We live in such a fast-paced culture, but I’ve been discovering a peace that comes with a quieter life. Sometimes life gets busy and schedules get hectic, but coming home to a quiet life at the end of the day is unbelievably restful and calming. Regrettably, the last week sped by with hardly enough time to breathe deep of the clear, piney air or to ponder flowers in shady corners of the Hills. I tried to make up for it today.

A quiet, solitary walk to scout some good photography locations was restorative, even with temperatures in the 90s. I explored a beautiful little ravine branching off our jeep trail to Hole-in-the-Wall, and enjoyed the sight of birch trees glinting in the 5:00 sunlight. Deadfall and rocks, mossy soil and sandy creekbed–The ravine was like something straight out of a western novel. I love not being able to see what is around the corner–Where might it go? What is just out of sight, waiting to be discovered?

Another ravine, the grass bent from flooding, was scattered with ancient, sun-bleached bones. Some of them were mossy and green, all of them porous with time. Life is so short, so transient. Like the “flower of the grass”, the Bible says, life comes and life fades, just like that. Human life, animal life, plant life. But unlike the flower of the grass, we have a soul that will not die! And God is good to His children. So good.

On the way back through the corrals to get home, which are built with the bare rock as the fourth wall, I nearly walked right through this beauty’s web. I watched as she snagged herself a grasshopper, then scurried back to the center to watch and wait. Ants are examples of industry. Spiders are examples of vigilance.

We were graced with a little thundershower this afternoon, just enough to wet the deck and scare the Dog. She’s a bit of a coward. The clouds rolled up so gradually, they looked like smoke and haze, but soon took command of the whole horizon and the sky above. A little thunder, a little rain, a little wind in the whispering pines. The moisture was pleasant.

Tomorrow is the start of a new day, a new week, and a new job! Off to new adventures.

Spring-on-Hill

Posted on August 10, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Within minutes of scrambling out of the pickup trucks at stage stop Spring-on-Hill, we were suddenly treading very carefully at the sight of a rattlesnake retreating into the old dugout stage stop, and the warning rattle of at least one other in the grass nearby. We tread carefully and put a safe distance between ourselves and the hidden snakes, but we also tossed small stones gingerly in their general direction, just to hear the fascinating sound of the rattle. Finally, it was clear that Mr. Rattlesnake inoffensively wanted to be left alone, so we very obligingly left the serpents to their lair. There was more to see.

This particular stage stop has its own legend of lost gold, and Custer himself in crossing this land wrote of it as a desolate, barren wasteland. Hardly flattering, but barren as it may be in some regards, it is simply teeming with life in others. While drier than the more northerly Hills, there was still water in the ravines and canyons, and Spring-on-Hill itself, the Spring, was actually feeding a small creek, instead of simply soaking into the dry, thirsty gumbo.

We scrambled up the ravine towards the Spring, up and down the bank, over rock ledges, through briars and a stand of juniper, and came to the source, which bubbles up out of a concrete housing. Pipes used to run from the Spring, carrying the water further than it could flow itself, dry as it is out here. Now, it just pours from a crack in the housing, feeding a muddy, mossy pool. Some of the water makes it further down, due to the wet spring and summer we’ve had.

The grass, rented by a local rancher woman, is sufficient to support a small herd of cattle. The cattle were skittish and suspicious, but the heifer calves were beautiful. So delicate. When we marched through part of the herd, one of the cows, probably a younger mama, couldn’t get far enough away from us. As we approached, she’d move away, watching us, and move away again as we moved closer. Finally, with a frisk and a snort, she took off, taking with her a couple of calves and a spotted old steer. Off they ran, not content to just move out of our way, but with a need to be once-for-all out of our sight. Never saw them again.

We stopped for a few minutes by a little piece of red, muddy stream and watched the tadpoles. The sun was warm, and the air was quiet. On the other side of the trees and up a bank, we could hear the cows munching on the grass.

Out on the Spring-on-Hill ranch, the grass is scrubby and sparse, but the low-growing scrub was fragrant in the warm summer air. From time to time, the heady perfume would make me stand up and look around for the source of the perfume. It was a minty fragrance, and we finally figured out which of the scrubby plants it was coming from. It must be some sort of a sage, but I haven’t yet identified it.

Growing fast to the gumbo, lichen clung, flourishing in the barren region. I read once that lichen growth is a sign of a healthy climate or ecosystem. It must be a healthy region out here, then, because lichen grows in subtle abundance. The low-growing, rootless things are almost invisible against the rock and red soil. If you didn’t stop to crouch down and just look, you’d miss them altogether. But they are there, in their reds and greens and whites, defying the harshest of weather.

After our fill of hiking, rock hunting, and exploring, the men brought out the guns and did some target shooting. The women got in on it, too, but it was fun just watching the enthusiasm and expertise of the men in the group. Always eager to learn more, to improve their marksmanship, and to exercise our 2nd Amendment rights. Don’t mess with this crew, I’m tellin’ you!

It was hard to leave–Such a beautiful place, so much to marvel at, to wonder at, to revel in, to savor. God is a God of beauty, goodness, and creativity. Who can look at this landscape and think it happened by chance? I can’t. Someone high and wonderful must have thought out this landscape and planned the intricate details. They’re too exquisite to have been a mere accident. And I’m glad He gave us the chance to enjoy and experience His handiwork. He could have landed us in a colorless, shapeless world. He could have made us see in black-and-white. But He didn’t.

Sunday Adventures

Posted on June 9, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

The express purpose of our adventure was to see the water gushing through Hole-in-the-Wall. That may seem a little drab, as far as an evening excursion goes, but if you could see Hole-in-the-Wall with water gushing through it, you would make a spontaneous trip there to see it, too. Guarantee it. In spite of mosquitoes, ticks, and a trail partly underwater. You’d go. So with this goal in mind, Sarah and I and a family from church set out to explore Hole-in-the-Wall.

Because of all the rain we’ve gotten, Battle Creek is, for the time being, no longer a dry creek bed on our place or the neighbor’s place. In fact, it is a rushing, roaring river, with intimidating rapids, an unfordable current (we discovered this yesterday), and the loveliest scent of damp earth and rocks.

The road to Hole-in-the-Wall is nothing more than a jeep trail, two well-worn ruts wending their way between hills and through gullies, following a dry creek bed for most of the way to the Battle Creek crossing. Right now, the grass is pretty short, but this summer the grass will be shoulder-height and singing with insects. In dry weather, the trail goes over two dry forks of Battle Creek and continues on up the other side of the canyon or gully, along the top and down the other side into a lovely, open, tree-bound meadow. Looking across the meadow, the miner’s cabin is barely visible in the treeline on the far side, tucked under the protective shadow of Hole-in-the-Wall. Hole-in-the-Wall is a man-made tunnel cut straight through this ridge, when miners for mining purposes took it upon themselves to redirect Battle Creek, about 100 years ago.

But I get ahead of myself. In dry weather, we cross Battle Creek at the crossing. However, yesterday, at Battle Creek crossing we followed Battle Creek downstream, finally climbing a ridge and following the ridge until it crossed over Hole-in-the-Wall. The ridge above Hole-in-the-Wall afforded a lovely view of Battle Creek, the meadow, and a distant glimpse of what is left of the mining camp. We followed the ridge over, took a scramble down the other side, and reveled in the mist and coolness of downstream Hole-in-the-Wall. When we came to the back of the ridge, we left the sunlight behind–I wonder if there would have been rainbows in the mist during the day. We kicked off our shoes and waded in the rushing water, watching the foam churn and froth in the pool under the ridge.

When we had had enough of that delight, we continued on, following the ridge further and assuming it would eventually slope into a gentle enough hill that we could scramble down it into the meadow and have a look at the miner’s cabin. We had never been to the meadow by the back way before, and found another mining pit with the remnants of mining equipment and some things that looked like rockers or sluice boxes. Remnants of a bygone era.

Sure enough, the ridge met the ground and we came out into the meadow, not far from the miner’s cabin. This old shack enchants me. The glassless windows, the doorless doorframes, the leaking roof, and old whitewashed walls, the weathered wood and the rusted nails–I wonder what the miners thought each day as they looked out on the beauty around them. Perhaps the beauty was marred by the hardship, or perhaps their young, supple bodies took to their tasks gladly. Perhaps some of both.

Phlox was flowering deep and purple in the shadows by the cabin. Mounds and mounds of it, spread in a rich carpet around the dilapidated cabin. I had never seen phlox there before, since this is my first spring here. The sun was almost gone behind the hills, but the light lasts a long time, a diffuse, ethereal sort of light. I couldn’t resist a few more pictures of the same interior of the same cabin. So enchanting. People lived here, worked here, slept here–Back when the roof was whole and the doors were on their hinges. And it is interesting to me that there is beauty, even in fragmented, decayed relics of yesterday.

Our hike took us through the meadow and down to the Battle Creek crossing from the other side. We were so close, we though we might as well see if it was possible to cross the creek on the underwater jeep trail. We attempted to cross it–or rather, the two men did– but when they were up to their waists in rushing water and not even halfway across the first of the two forks, we decided to backtrack. We looked for another place to cross, but no luck. Back we went through the meadow, up one side of the ridge, over Hole-in-the-Wall, and down the other side, back down the jeep trail to home, tired and sweaty, bug-bitten and thirsty. And we would have done it again in a heartbeat.