Legends in the Forest Primeval

One day during our recent trip to Minnesota, Rob, his friend Rabbit, and I drove across a bridge that spanned the Mississippi, and entered Wisconsin.  The plan was that we would follow the Mississippi to a town large enough for a restaurant where we could have lunch.

The western part of the Wisconsin is rural, with mile after mile of forests and tall bluffs on one side, and the river on the other side. There wasn’t much traffic and we pretty much moved along at our own pace and drank in the dramatic views.  I don’t recall any synchros, just a beautiful flow of events.

Some of the towns we went through would hardly qualify as towns. They were more like settlements – a few old wooden houses, an antique store and maybe a gas station or small market. I invariably wonder about the lives of the people who live in such small places. What did the kids do during the summers? How far away were their schools?

Rabbit had mentioned a spot that he thought we would enjoy – Maiden Rock, a bluff that is historic primarily because of the legend associated with it. The place is also part of a park and he figured that if the park was open, we could hike out to Maiden Rock.

There seem to be various versions of the Legend of Maiden Rock. Rabbit told us one version, which is also here, but with some significant differences. In the version Rabbit told us, a young Dakota woman, Winona, was in love with a Sioux but her father, Chief Red Wing,  intended to marry her to a brave in the Dakota tribe. Rather than marrying a man she didn’t love, she leaped to her death from the bluff. Another version of the legend, though, doesn’t even mention the Dakotas.

Regardless of which version is true, the different versions agree on the  basics: a young woman’s father was going to marry her off to a man she didn’t love, so she jumped off the bluff- and is now forever remembered in some variation of the legend.

“Can we do Maiden Rock after we eat?” I asked. I was hungry when we’d crossed the bridge and was growing hungrier with every mile that unfolded.

“Sure,” Rabbit replied. “Stockholm is the place to eat. Otherwise, we’ll be doing greasy spoons or eating bar food.”

We pulled off the road to the Maiden Rock overview of the Mississippi. That photo above is from the overview.  The bluff was supposedly on the other side of the road, a formidable outcropping of stone and rock that was probably two hundred feet upward.

From there, we drove on into Stockholm, Wisconsin. As of the 2010 census, the population of this charming town (settlement) was  a resounding 66! The town was settled in 1854 by Swedish immigrants and that ancestry is evident in the faces and countenances of the people with whom we interacted in the shops.

We had a fantastic brunch at a local café, met a friendly dog, and got directions to the Maiden Rock Park from a local. Go up the road to the end of the cornfield, then hang a left and go all the way to the dead end. Nothing too complicated. We arrived at the entrance of the park, the only car within miles, got out, and started walking.

This is Tully, settling in with a bone, in her little home between two shops. She was so friendly I thought she might follow us back to Florida.

Entrance to Maiden Rock Park

The hilly landscape was stunning, breathtakingly green, and we were the only humans in there. I could feel the presence of the past in these woods. As we followed a narrow path that twisted up and down hills, I could easily envision the suicidal young woman tearing along the path to the bluff.

After a mile or two, my ankle started bothering me. I wasn’t wearing the proper shoes for this kind of hiking, and told Rob and Rabbit to go on ahead.

I stood there, snapping photos that I emailed to myself or texted to our daughter, but nothing went through. I didn’t have a cell signal. No means of communication is a Gemini’s worst nightmare.  And while I stood there in what felt like a primeval forest, the wind blew through the trees, strumming the branches, breathing through the leaves. The sound it made was eerie, like something from another world.

Immediately, my imagination slammed into action and spun a number of what if scenarios:

What if something happened to either Rabbit or Rob? I wouldn’t be able to call 911; I would have to get out of the park and walk three or four miles to Stockholm for help.

What if  a wolf suddenly appeared on the path?

What if a UFO landed and an alien walked out?

What if the suicidal woman from so long ago suddenly materialized, racing past me toward her doom?

I wouldn’t be able to call, email, or text anyone. I freaked myself out and spun around and started back toward where we’d left the car.

There is something about legends and the forest primeval that speaks to you on a visceral level. In these places, you can sense the past gathering around you like shadows. You know that with just a small shift in your perceptions, you may be able to draw that past around you tightly, like a cocoon. And then you simply walk out into it.

Is that, perhaps, how time travel might be accomplished?

I didn’t stick around to find out. Next time, though, I will!