AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES it is the time of year when the pines decide to gild all the earth with gold. It is the type of gold that’s not worth much, except for those of us who love pines. All in this church fit that description. Red and gray squirrels bawl and chatter from overhanging limbs, announcing the
I MADE MY BROTHER laugh yesterday, and in the process came up with a universal organizing principle for human behavior. Not a bad day’s work, I think.
I AM NOW ABOUT 85% done with my next memoir, entitled “A Wild Path.” As the word memoir implies, it is a look back at a lifetime of experiences, many of them marvelous and wonderful and leading to a good place from which to write a memoir. But not all of them.
AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES it is a beautiful autumn day. And adding to the beauty, by the cabin wall, is a glorious plant. Every year it waits until fall to bloom. And every year Kathy hopes that the frosts will not come too soon. It is called the Angel Trumpet, and it drenches the night air with fragrance
MY GREAT FRIEND Mike Link, on one of his river boat expeditions, has been spending the day traipsing around river town Alton, Illinois. Knowing my history of living there with my grandad and grandmother during childhood summers, he called to ask the address. Then sent these photos of my grandparents’ house—the house and yard and street I remember and love
MY UNCLE WILBUR, whom I adored, used to love to tell me—whenever I was sad or upset—“Dougie, into each life a little rain must fall.” And then he would chuckle delightedly as if he had made up the saying himself, just at that moment. He was right, of course. But we also need sunshine. We need peace and harmony, as
AS A LOVER OF TREES and grower of bonsais, I have a special fondness tor the hardy, stunted trees of northern shorelines. Like this little cedar, holding fast to its rocky home and the meager sustenance it provides, they are a testament to toughness and perseverance, to being who you are and belonging where you are. This wonderful tree has
AND SO, WITH THE BLESSINGS of Kathy’s cardiologist, we arrived at Fawn Island, through rain and wind squalls, and now have a cozy fire going in the wood stove. But before the fire could be laid, there was a small adventure… An athletic and inquisitive red squirrel decided to come down the stove pipe (opening 8 feet above the cabin
