THERE IS A LITTLE ISLAND in the North Country that is the center of gravity for me, for my family. White throated sparrows and loons fill the air with music in the warm months. Ravens and eagles chart their courses through the skies and fish, turtles, and otters haunt the waters. We cherish every moment spent there. Several days ago
THIS BEAUTIFUL photograph is of a chickadee, of course. The small print, on canvas, hangs on the log wall just above my bed, and is pretty much the first thing I see most days. Which is good, because it reminds me of important things. It is a winter scene, and if you look very closely, you can see the tiny,
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
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
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
YES, they are still out, my little trees. Thriving, surviving, adapting, hardening their roots for the season to come. They will survive that season as well. And spring will come, with new light, new life, and new growth.
AN AUTUMN EVENING walk round the Church O’ The Pines woods. A centering walk. A hopeful walk. A walk of deep breaths and the fragrance of fallen leaves, the last golden carpet from the last maple. It held on so long and steadfastly. A blue canoe in a red sunset, the desire to take it out for one more spin.
IMPORTANT NEWS: Beautiful Osprey Wilds Environmental Learning Center, one of my favorite places on Earth (and where my son Bryan Wood happens to be Executive Director) is asking for support. They need help in their vital work of connecting kids to nature. And grown-ups, too. They are in the midst of their annual Benefit Week, raising funds for scholarships, classes,
‘A MAN’S GOT TO believe in something. I believe I’ll go fishing.’ So says the inscription on one of my coffee mugs. It’s a good inscription. So today my young friend Kent dropped by to take me fishing. I told him this is probably the first time in 5 decades someone has taken ME fishing! But this was Muskie fishing—a
YESTERDAY I TOOK KATHY for a walk in the St. John’s University woods, full of big oaks and maples and one of our favorite fall destinations. It was, as always, a tonic. The glorious colors and the stately trees, the crunch of leaves and fragrance of the forest, simply the chance to be outdoors beside a blue lake under a