THERE’S A BLUE JAY In The Pines; And Other Little Things: Many of us know from experience how important it can be to take daily care of our mental health, our wellness and well-being. Personally, I have dealt with a couple major bouts of depression, and lingering issues from ADHD, dyslexia and frequent failures as a child and young person.
MANY OF YOU campfire friends have followed the story of Paddy, the frightened, injured, and bedraggled little waif who came to our cabin door a year ago. The day after St. Patrick’s Day, to be exact. Thought you might like a ‘birthday’ update. The first picture below was taken today. The other two a week after Paddy came to us,
HERE AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES, a late winter storm has blown through. Snow covers the cabin and the boughs of the trees. More strong winds are predicted, and we hope that our eagle-nest tree, and all the rest, hold fast. In our (almost) weekly reports from our woodsy sanctuary, we often tell of the comings and goings, the
I’M OLD FASHIONED. I live in a log cabin. I paddle a canoe and camp in the wilderness. I ride an old motorcycle. I read old books. I’ve written a bunch of books with just a yellow legal tablet and a pen. I was raised in an old fashioned way. Lying was a bad thing. A really bad thing. So
SOMETIMES you just feel like sharing. Especially around a campfire. (Even a virtual one.) Feelings, impressions, a good story. Especially on a long and arduous journey. And most especially when you find a really good place to stop, and rest, and share what needs sharing. So… I’m feeling that way now. Perhaps you are, too. And I know just the
WORDS FROM THE CAMPFIRE: On this site, we daily (almost) endeavor to strike a balance. A balance between what and what, exactly? Well, on the one hand a hard-edged, clear-eyed anger and outrage at what is being done in this country, in our name. At words and actions that tear at the very fabric of our democracy–our 250-year-old constitutional republic–that
MARCH HAS COME to the cabin-in-the-woods, and with it open ground. The whistle of duck wings over the frozen river—indicating there is open water downstream, near the island. The pileated woodpecker has been hammering a hollow tree all afternoon. The little lane has given up most of its snow and ice, in favor of pond-size puddles. At an hour where
FROM THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES: A Little Peace…. It is not always a peaceful world. In fact, it seems it seldom is. And sometimes it gets worse. Sometimes, a force comes along, a storm, a movement, a person, that upsets the delicate equilibrium needed for peace to thrive–the delicate equilibrium required for even life itself to exist, on a
LIFE–real life–is small. Intimate. Personal. As close as a cat’s purr, a hug, a cup of tea, the blooming of a flower. It is not, and never will be, defined by the grand ambitions of fools, lunatics, and tyrants. They live their own small and mortal lives, less authentic and decent than our own, and in their ignorance and pretension
HELPING TO HOLD EACH OTHER UP: Sometimes, much more often than I would like, some terrible new bit of news comes over the airwaves or though the internet. About the regime protecting pedophiles or attacking innocents or building concentration camps or intensifying efforts to corrupt and steal the next election (and therefore all ‘elections’ into the future) or something equally