EVERY BONSAI, like every person, has its own character and personality. This little boxwood, only nine inches tall, conveys strength and balance; and almost pulls off the illusion of a mighty deciduous tree—an oak perhaps—on a green hilltop.
THE GREAT MUCKY MUCK was down on his luck Besides just being a jerk and a schmuck Besides wearing a poor deceased cat on his head Besides being stupid and mostly brain-dead No, these were all problems of fairly long standing, Part of his schtick and part of his branding, Part of what made him so doggoned adorable To all
ON FAWN ISLAND, we now have a new cabin with running water, shower, and flush toilet. Which is great, and makes Kathy Ann happy. Which makes me happy. But I am still fond of the old outhouse, the Church of Peace, the path through the cedars to the shady bower, a site of solitude and meditation whose charms we have
ON THE CHURCH O THE ISLAND, it is a good Sunday morning, drenched in bird songs. It was the loons along the shore who awakened me, but I was late—far too late to see the sun edge over the horizon. The white-throats and song sparrows had long been lofting their morning arias. The crows were caterwauling, the red squirrels trilling
AND SO, on Fawn Island, it is Silly Saturday, and time to smile at the happy fact of humor in this world. Here you go, from my 9-year-old grandson and me. And you’re welcome! Q: What do you call an elephant that just doesn’t matter? A: An irrelephant. Q: Why can’t you hear a Pterodactyl go to the bathroom? A:
IT IS WONDERFUL to gaze at a sunset, at the palette of colors in the sky. But when we cast our eye away from the setting sun, we sometimes find the world bathed in a glorious golden light. My old friend Sigurd Olson used to call this the Ross Light, named for a Life magazine photographer who first pointed it
AS LONG AS they have water, and dappled afternoon shade, my bonsais do not seem to mind the extreme heat. Wish I could say the same…
THE GREAT MUCKY MUCK was circling the drain, How could this happen with his Great Genius Brain? How could this be, how COULD he be caught? This just should not happen, it should not, Not, NOT, NOT!!! More charges, indictments, indictments, more charges, Like a river jammed up with barges and barges Filled with Grand Juries and lawyers and judges,
THIS HUNCHED OLD JACK PINE has greeted every dawn here on Fawn Island for—well, for a long time. Not much left of it now, as a summer storm took its top a couple of years ago. Only a few gnarled boughs still retain their greenery. But the little tree holds firmly to its place on the bedrock as it has
AT THE CHURCH O THE ISLAND, green things grow. A mama merganser clucks from the shoreline. Birds sing from leafy bowers. A light wind ruffles the lake and wavelets chuckle among the rocks. Pine bows nod and aspens shiver. The sun charts its course across the morning sky. And one notices, absentmindedly at first, how many things are good and