A TILT CALLED the Super Bowl will be played today, But I fear I might miss the fine, fearsome fray. A trail in the woods is calling to me, Past three pines and a birch and a balsam fir tree And the chirp of an eagle in the setting sun’s rays; All call my attention, as they do on most
AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES it is a Sunday morn, and the members of our humble woodland congregation—ranging from snow fleas to eagles—strive for even greater levels virtue and moral rectitude than is normally the case. Although in truth I can tell no difference. The sun has arisen in the east, as is its wont, and shines brightly on
AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES the rafters are ringing. Someone got the old furnace working again and the choir and full congregation lift their voices rapturously to the heavens. Chickadees call their names and sing their sweet, two-note song. Goldfinches and pine siskins twitter and gossip while bluejays broadcast the word through all the the neighborhood. Even the old
MOURNING DOVES have always meant Summer to me. Their soft cooing on a warm June morning. The whistling of their wings in the neighborhood during a game of catch or wiffle ball. The nuanced beauty of their feathers in the sun. They were a part of my childhood, especially the two summers I spent in Alton, Illinois with my grandparents,
HERE AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES it is a gray, January day. Some might say gloomy. A layer of winter fog hangs over the frozen Church moat (Mississippi River) and the skies are leaden. But there is no hint of gloom among our congregation. The Blue Jay clan are in fine fettle (whatever a fettle actually is) and as
THESE BUCOLIC SCENES guide a weary traveler down the narrow lanes to the old cabin-in-the-woods. Also known as the Caretakers’ Cabin for the Chuch O The Pines. It is the scene of some Consternation and Commotion over the last few days, as the furnace went out on Friday night—outside temp about minus 5. But with space heaters, a kitchen oven
HERE AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES, the congregation arrives, surrounded by beauties. And, of course, contributing to them. It is a good way to live. And, for our humble members, it does not seem to require extra effort—to live a good and purposeful life—just the normal exertion of being who they are. Winter is often difficult and calls for
AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES CABIN, it has been a cold stretch. The storm door has been frosted over in white. Today, with a change in temp and wind direction, the white frost is transformed into translucent wheat shocks. Lovely. It doesn’t hurt the picture to have black kitten/Koda on the other side of the glass.
AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES someone left the basement freezer open and now we are Narnia. The congregation shivers in their fur coats and feather stoles, and the morning hymns have a bit of a wobble in the high notes. Blue jays holler and shout, nuthatches mutter, chickadees say their names, and pileated woodpeckers, somehow, still laugh uproariously. The
AT THE CHURCH O THE PINES, morning brings a world transformed, as winter lays its snowy hand upon the forest. Everywhere is a scene of beauty and wonder. And under a frosted balsam fir ‘cave,’ a little adopted kitten named Koda—a true outdoorsman—follows picture-taking Dad and absorbs it all.