I stood parallel to the Cloquet goal line cheering on the hometown Lumberjacks football team Friday night under the lights of Bromberg Field. The moon struggled to break through the thick white clouds intermixed with the blue smoke rolling off the B&B wagon. It finally busted free over the visitor's goalposts. I noted the time: 8:30 p.m. on the nose. The Harvest Moon. It only rolls around once a year, so I knew I needed to take full advantage of its presence. (For the record, the Lumberjacks proved victorious.)

Saturday morning I filled the tank in the Suburban in anticipation of putting so...