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m e north Country THE NORTH COUNTRYis a siren. Who can resist her song of intricate and rich counterpoint -the soaring harmonies of bird melodies against an accompaniment of lapping waters, roaring cataracts,and the soft, sad overtonesof pine boughs? She wears about her throat a necklace of pearls-Saganaga, La Croix, Basswood, and the other border lakes-strung on the international boundary line. Her flowing garments are forever green, the rich velvet verdure of pine needles. In autumn she pricks out the green background with embroidery of gold here and scarletthere. Winter adds a regal touch, with gleaming diamondsin her hair and erminebillowing from her shoulders . Those who have ever seen her in her beauty or listened to her vibrant melodies can never quite forget her nor lose the urge to return to her. The North Country seemsso young -and is so old. Many who paddle their canoes over Basswood Lake, portage at the Staircase, or pitch their tents at Curtain Falls, will be surprised to learn that these names, and most of the others used on the boundary, are centuries old, older by far than Minneapolis, Indiana, Missouri, and other regions and cities from which hundreds of visitors come to canoe on northern Minnesota lakes. The region was well known and its topographical features had famousnames very early in American history. Over the waters of Gunflint, Sagnnaga,Basswood,and the other bor1 7he :JVorth Country THE NORTH CoUNTRY is a siren. Who can resist her song of intricate and rich counterpoint - the soaring hannonies of bird melodies against an accompaniment of lapping waters, roaring cataracts, and the soft, sad overtones of pine boughs? She wears about her throat a necklace of pearls - Saganaga, La Croix, Basswood, and the other border lakes - strung on the international boundary line. Her flowing gannents are forever green, the rich velvet verdure of pine needles. In autumn she pricks out the green background with embroidery of gold here and scarlet there. Winter adds a regal touch, with gleaming diamonds in her hair and ennine billowing from her shoulders . Those who have ever seen her in her beauty or listened to her vibrant melodies can never quite forget her nor lose the urge to return to her. The North Country seems so young - and is so old. Many who paddle their canoes over Basswood Lake, portage at the Staircase, or pitch their tents at Curtain Falls, will be surprised to learn that these names, and most of the others used on the boundary, are centuries old, older by far than Minneapolis, Indiana, Missouri, and other regions and cities from which hundreds of visitors come to canoe on northern Minnesota lakes. The region was well known and its topographical features had famous names very early in American history. Over the waters of Gunflint, Sag:maga, Basswood, and the other bor- ?he Voyageur’sHkhway der lakes since the beginning of recorded American history has passed a succession of picturesque figures-Sioux, Cree, and Chippewa Indians; dashing French explorers; humble but vivacious voyageurs in gay sashes, singing chansons from medieval France; dour Scotsmen; scions of old English houses; canny Yankees; and men whose names are known throughout the world -the Sieur de la VCrendrye, Sir Alexander Mackenzie, Peter Pond, and David Thompson. No secluded backwaters were the boundary lakes, but part of a busy thoroughfare to empire, teeming with life and incident as long as the fur trade flourished. The men who opened up this area made history and lived lives that still fascinate. Only a few of them can be discussed here, but readers who find an appeal in the knightly character of La VCrendrye, whose blood stirs on reading of Alexander Henry’s perilous trips and John Tanner’s years of Indian captivity in the border country, or who long to envision this region in its pristine beauty will find at the end of this book references to more detailed books and manuscripts. Peter Pond’s quaint Yankee-ese amuses even in modern print, and David Thompson’s matter-of-fact diaries and narrative are good companions for a winter’s evening. Then take a book of voyageur songs and let some gifted friend play and sing them in French. Better still, let the accompaniment be the violin, as it was in picketed forts on Rainy, Vermilion, and Basswood lakes while voyageurs made merry on long winter evenings. Nowhere can one find folk songs of finer content and musical expression. The reader has not listened...

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