THERE IS A POINT. A still, small point deep inside. Where you are tied to the universe and all its powers. To the rock, the river, the flower, the tree, the star. Remember that point. Return to it and focus on it as often as you need to. Every day. At any time of day. It is not a belief.
LET US WANDER THROUGH THE FOREST, AND LISTEN TO THE STORIES THE PINES WHISPER, AND SEEK THE WISE COUNSEL OF BIRDS AND WILDFLOWERS… Dear Friends: It has been a little while since I have posted about our 2025 ‘Forest Therapy Retreats.’ But they remain on track, and I am greatly looking forward to them! The first: May 29–June 1. The
IT IS THE FIRST day of Spring under the great old pines. And probably where you are, too. And the early-bird returning robins are cheerio-ing, and the very first skein of Sandhill cranes are flying over with their raucous, timeless trumpeting. And the river is wide open and the geese are gabbling. And the eagles are chirping in their nest-tree.
A PEACEFUL AND QUIET early spring evening at the old cabin under the big pines. With the sun spreading gold over the far shore. Quiet, except for last year’s young eagle attempting to barge into the old, familiar nest tree. With much screaming and flapping of wings and similar commotion as the parents/proprietors, busy housekeeping for a new family, attempted
AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES, the congregation is over the moon about Kathy Ann’s return. Sparky the Cardinal is singing his head off. And Kathy is feeling quite well today—nowhere near normal strength, but pretty good! But something else interesting is going on here in the pines by the river. We have a new visitor who’s never stopped by
FRIENDS: THERE IS A DIFFICULT PATH before us at this time. And when one walks a hard path, there’s something important remember: to try to keep your balance. Rocks, roots, bogs, seeps, mud holes, drop-offs, steep climbs, deadfalls… anyone who’s traveled a wilderness trail has encountered them all. So, you take your time. You pause and rest when you need
THE STRANGEST THING happens here at our bird feeding operation at the little cabin-in-the-woods. Sometimes—as this morning—when it is very cold—no one is here. I go out, in all my impedimenta, with seeds and corn and sunflower hearts and water, and brave the beastly cold, and… nothing. And I get a little worried. For more often when I go out
I DECIDED to go out for a country walk, for as John Muir said, “Going out is really going in.” It would be the sort of walk much favored by me, with no identifiable goal or ambition. Just to see things and think about them, or not think about them as the case may be. Immediately after stepping out the
TODAY I came to the banks of a little stream, a place I like to go for repose and reflection. And to hear the song of flowing water. As I arrived, I came upon a woman bundled up in a big parka, and with her a small boy in an equally fluffy parka. On his back was a good sized
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