AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES it is the beautiful time of year when still and reflective waters call. Mornings and evenings sing their siren songs, and on a morning like this, wrapped in white blankets of fog, the singing is especially strong. Yesterday evening, with a new paddle, I was able to answer the call, and was rewarded with
MANY OF YOU know about our adopted black kitten Koda and have enjoyed following his adventures. And you know of our/my deep attachment to him. He stole my heart in about the first 30 seconds when he came up to me out of the dark woods on a cold March night this spring, hungry and wet and cold, but full
YESTERDAY A NEW member of the Church O’ The Pines congregation showed up. A social butterfly, you might say, it would barely land long enough for the Parson to get a good look or snap a picture. Finally it paused for a few seconds on one of Kathy’s Impatience blossoms. This splendid creature, almost 5 inches across, is a Spicebush
THIS EVENING from the Church O’ The Pines we gaze east across the river at mountainous thunderheads glowing in the sun’s last light. Beautiful to see, but they are always more beautiful when viewed from safely behind the front. Hoping all is well in eastern Minnesota and Wisconsin.
AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES it is late July, and in the midst of political dysfunction, human ignorance and other annoyances, things are living and growing and blooming as they should. Which is reassuring and, on a Sunday morning, restorative. From its nest tree, the eaglet screams to its parents for more fish. Chipmunks chip. Red squirrels scold. Sparky
THE GREAT MUCKY MUCK said he still wasn’t through. Not after his lynch mob, his riot, his coup. It wasn’t enough–he still needed more, For the crowd to still love him, to chant, to adore. The fact that there wasn’t one brain in the throng Was no sort of problem, it made him feel strong! What brains had once been
MORNING ON THE DECK at the Church O’ The Pines, and our older cat Simon enjoys a few quiet moments among flowers and bonsais, with the music of cardinals, nuthatches, and chickadees for a sound track. We enjoy them, too.
AND SO THE BIG DAY finally arrived at the Church O’The Pines. The day that Junior—the baby Bald Eagle from the nesting tree 150 feet from our Caretakers’ Cabin—after much squawking and debating, and should I or shouldn’t I, and maybe,maybe not—Junior decided. It was time. Time to fledge, to leave the safety and security of the only place he/she
THE GREAT MUCKY MUCK was worse than we thought. His soul–if he had one–had long since been bought. There wasn’t a heart where his heart ought to be, For a brain–just a black hole, screaming me, Me, ME, ME!!! He had some strong points–that surely was true, But none that we’d want–not me and not you. A liar, a cheater,
THIS MORNING AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES… a family of young Flickers has descended upon the services. The parson clears his throat, the deacon pines call for order, but no discernible improvement in behavior is noted. The Blue Jay clan, fresh down from the hills in the back of their pick-up—playing banjos and blowing on jugs—arrives, and will take