YES: As the title of this newsletter, ‘Notes From The Campfire,’ would indicate, a significant part of my life is a deep connection to the natural world. We live in a cabin-in-the-woods, and as I write these words I hear an ovenbird, a catbird, a Baltimore oriole, a pine warbler, a common yellowthroat, and our resident bald eagle, all chirping,
THE HUMAN PSYCHE was never designed to confront a global crisis before the first cup of coffee in the morning. To parry threats to family, home and nation over lunch, and to try to fall asleep after scrolling through an endless parade of corruption, cruelty, chaos, and stupidity. We still need to walk a forest path. To sit by a
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
RAPIDS AHEAD: In my life I’ve led many a journey through the Canoe Country wilderness, some expeditions of 500 miles or more through the bush, over the rugged Canadian Shield. Each trip is full of joys and beauties, but each is laced with challenges and fears as well. There are languorous days when all seems peaceful, horizons are clear, waters
HERE AT THE CABIN-IN-THE-WOODS, I am waiting. And watching. I’m watching the old rock wall I built long ago. I’m watching the sides of the gravel lane, and along the paths I like to wander. And sometime soon I will see what I’m looking for. The first little hints of white. The first tightly clasped blossom around a green stem,
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