WE AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES ARE GREATLY SADDENED to learn of the awful fire that has ravaged the Cathedral of Notre Dame. I often feel a parallel between groves of tall trees and the great cathedrals, though I am not entirely sure if it is the tall trees that remind me of the great cathedrals, or the tall
SOMETIMES WRITERS GET UPSTAGED, EVEN AT HOME. OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FATHER OF WATERS, about 100 yards off our shore, the trunk of a great tree has lodged itself in the sand during the spring flood. On that tree, in the midst of our blizzard, now sit about 18 double crested cormorants, snoring and croaking. I remarked to
IT IS A GREAT PLEASURE TO TAKE THE OLD DIAMOND WILLOW WALKING STICK AND TRAIPSE off into the newly thawed and melted Spring woods. There to make the acquaintance of Wood Ducks and Mallards and Goldeneyes and Buffleheads in hidden spots along the riverbanks. The pleasure is intruded upon, somewhat, by the knowledge that another blizzard is bearing down upon
HERE AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES it is a peaceful morning. The tall pine deacons stand with their heads in the mist and the river flows by, one assumes, hidden in quilts of fog. Occasionally a floating Goldeneye decides to take to the air, wings whistling, and leaves a dark trail across the water—proving that there is indeed water
HERE AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES we awaken to another inundation. Limb-sized snow bombs roused us several times during the night, shaking the little cabin—and at least one large limb broke off and fell on the deck. But we arise this morning to sparking sunshine and a barometer that says the storm is past. Yesterday was The Caretaker’s first
HERE AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES IT IS A FINE AND PLEASANT MORNING. In true Minnesota fashion we are grateful that it is 15 degrees below zero in March, and not 35 below. The snow is sparkling in the Churchyard, the stumps all have white, high-top hats on, the tall pines all reach for the heavens just like the
TODAY AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES, all things rest under a quilt of snow. It is a reminder that hardship is often accompanied by beauty. Squirrels bound along, leaving tracks in their wake. The Pileated Woodpecker flashes through the woods, a streak of red and black and white. The Pine Siskins have a one word, hymn, as always–“Sweeeeeet?” The
AS WE PLAN for summer trips and Road Scholar expeditions, we awaken here at the CHURCH O’ THE PINES to below zero temperatures. And news that at Lake Kabetogama—scene of our August National Park boat trip to Kettle Falls—the overnight low was 42 below zero! That’s 42 degrees less than nothing!! I have been at our little cabin on Fawn
HERE AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES a soft quilt of cloud hangs over the forest. It is not an especially pretty morning—no spritely sparkles or brilliant beams of light. But it is a morning full of promise nonetheless. When the boys were little I made up a saying and repeated it often: Every day in a beautiful place is
ON THIS SUNDAY AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES the grounds are wrapped in cotton batting. The sounds of the world all seem soft and far away. Even the brash laughter of the crimson-capped Pileated Woodpecker is muffled. The first real snowstorm of the season has left the forest changed. Some of the big pines here have seen 120 winters,