THINGS ARISE: One of my favorite quotes is, ‘Spring comes, and the grass grows by itself.’ Sometimes attributed to Lao Tsu and sometimes Basho Matsuo. But grass is not the only thing that arises, that ‘grows by itself.’ Here in our piney woods things are beginning to happen underfoot, beneath last year’s leaves and needles. The very first Bloodroots, a
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
AS A WILDERNESS GUIDE, I have known many a storm. They are frightening and unpredictable, and often leave destruction in their wake. But after the passing of the storm—in spite of a changed perspective, or perhaps because of it—there is once more beauty to be found. Once more the sun rises. And once more there is a new day.
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
ONE OF THE GREAT pleasures of being a countryman, or a woodsman-or-woman, is simply going for a walk. And looking for stuff. In the winter this can prominently include tracks. I especially like finding otter ‘slides,’ places where these playful and delightful creatures gallop along, flop onto their bellies, and just glide—sometimes for 20 or 30 feet, on the level
‘ONCE, IN A BEAUTIFUL, FAR AWAY LAND, that was, somehow, not so very far… A land where every stone was a teacher and every breeze a language, where every lake was a mirror and every tree a ladder to the stars…’ (From Old Turtle and the Broken Truth) We are born into this land, into such a world. But oftentimes,
‘THERE SHOULD BE at least a room, or some corner where no one will find you and disturb you and notice you. You should be able to untether yourself from the world and set yourself free, losing all the fine strings and strands of tension that bind you, by sight, by sound, by thought, to the presence of others.’ Thomas