AT THE OLD FAWN ISLAND CABIN, a century next year, we have many photos, mementos and keepsakes adorning the log walls. Sometimes, when it is quiet, or when I am here alone, I wander around and look at them. And remember. And ponder. One item is different from all the others. It is a framed poem, written and given to me by my brother, Bruce. He is not by training or occupation a poet, but rather a musician. But it is one of my favorite poems in the world. Because it is very good. And poignant. Perhaps, though, I am biased, for it is—at least partially—about me. Yet it is really about the two of us (three years apart, I the older) and our shared childhood. And memories. And what the North Country, and ‘the lake,’ and deep family connections, mean to us. I think it is beautiful, and I wonder, why should I be the only one to see it? For I suspect it may strike a resonant chord among others, as well. Thank you, Bruce.