Forest on a misty, foggy day

THERE’S NOTHING like the smell of a forest on a misty, foggy day. Be it the Coast Redwoods or the Olympic Peninsula or the humble Church O’ The Pines. It’s a fragrance that reaches inside of you and reminds you that you are a part of everything and everything is a part of you. On a gray, monochrome day, not

All is calm and rather bright AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES

AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES, all is calm and rather bright. The blue jays holler and the squirrels scold. The chickadees gently gossip and the local deer herd drops by for a visit. The deacon pines reach their arms toward heaven. And the whole congregation seems to be at peace with the world, sharing the general feeling that it’s

Koda the Forest Kitten has a secret friend

OUR PET/WILD THING Koda the Forest Kitten has a secret friend. His/her name is Bunny Rabbit. Bunny Rabbit lives under the deck. B-rab is not really secret, because we know about him. We sometimes see him hopping around the cabin at night, and this time of year find the familiar tracks in the snow. But what transpires between Koda and

THIS SMILING, HANDSOME FELLOW is Bob Heim

THIS SMILING, HANDSOME FELLOW is Bob Heim. We’ll get back to him in just a moment… Here at the Cabin-in-the-Woods, in the grove also known as the Church O’ The Pines, Kathy and I feed the blue jays. And crows. And red squirrels and gray squirrels. And nuthatches and pileated woodpeckers and other feathered friends. And deer. And a whole

Roof Work at Church O’ the Pines

AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES, there is a bit more roof work—moss and pine needle removal—to be done. Up on a roof, near a stone chimney-steeple, there is a wonderful change in perspective. One sees the world with something closer to the eye of the chickadee, the crow, the jay, the hawk. The golden carpet of needles is more

HOPE

HOPE is the thing with feathers—Emily Dickinson. Every year, a bird rebuilds its nest, ruined by the winds of winter. Every year it travels hundreds, if not thousands of miles, to do so. Every year it raises a brand new family. Every morning it rises to sing the songs of sunrise. Every day it lives its life as best it

WALKING ALONG the stream at dawn

WALKING ALONG the stream at dawn, I notice the spider webs—exquisite webs, hundreds of them, every stunted jack pine or ground juniper gilded with a necklace, each necklace hung with lucent pearls of dew. And, whispering in the first breeze, an old question of the night: What of MY webs? What are my choices, my chances; how much effort should

THE OLD KNIFE

THE OLD KNIFE: When I was ten, my Grandad, my hero, bought me a souvenir Royal Canadian Mounted Police sheath knife. With this trusty implement on my belt, I could roam the North Woods of Lake Kabetogama with no fear of bears, wolves, lynx, or whatever other fierce citizens might haunt the forest. I wore it constantly (see pix below,

Balsam Bough

IT IS, OF COURSE, altogether amazing how the entire moon can balance on the tip of a balsam bough. How is it there are so many extraordinary things in this ordinary old world? The world we think we know. There are, as Uncle Bill Shakespeare once said, more things in Heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our poor

MY Great Aunt Mary

THIS IS MY Great Aunt Mary. Although I only ever knew her as ‘Aunt Mary.’ When she was only 17, my dad Jim and his brother Dick—due to a family trauma—came to live with her and their grandparents on the farm near Douglas, Minnesota. Grandpa Frank died not long after, and Aunt Mary became, in effect, their mother. With everything