LAST EVENING’S STORMS sweeping across Minnesota caused us some problems here at Pine Point. Hiding in the basement for half an hour with kitties Simon and Koda; upon emergence some limbs and branches down, but no big trees! No power for about 14 hours. (Now back). But after the passing of the storms, we were treated to a fantastic sky
TODAY WE MADE the drive up from Pine Point to Rainy Lake, a trip we’ve made many, many times. Fawn Island was calling, but nature was calling too, if you get my drift. So we stopped at a lttle gas station on a country corner in west-central Minnesota, about 35 miles from anywhere. Except the next-door bar. Never stopped there
AFTER a busy, busy, busy winter and spring, just finished with a second Road Scholar trip and Kathy’s end-of-year piano recital, it feels wonderful to be back at Fawn Island, our retreat on Rainy Lake. Here in what one friend describes as the Dear Old Cabin (100 years old next year) we snuggle in and hide after crossing the big
IT IS A FINE DAY in the Pine Point woods, as two of our favorite migrants among the passeriformes—perching birds—have returned. The little yellow-rumped (Myrtle) warblers have traveled from the southern US and Mexico, on their way to the North Woods of northeastern Minnesota and Canada. They are usually the first of the warbler tribe to push the boundaries of
GOOD FRIDAY OR HOLY FRIDAY is remembered and honored as a reminder of many things. Of the universality of suffering, and the ubiquity of death. Of the power yet stupidity of evil. Of the feeing of hopes and expectations dashed. Of the pain of mourning. But it is also the day for Christians that symbolizes the Divine taking human form,
YESTERDAY WAS a banner day for mid-March in Minnesota. So after the day’s chores I decided to take the motorcycle out for the first spin of the year. I stopped on a bluff across the river and was immediately struck by the view. Through the bare deciduous branches of shrubs and oaks, I was able to look straight down the
THIS MORNING the Pine Point Woods and the old cabin are coated with a strange substance. It appears to have fallen from the sky, although that is uncertain. In any case, the fluffy coating—not seen much this winter—is lovely, and makes it possible to track some of our friends of the forest. This morning we see evidence of the nighttime
LAST NIGHT it rained here on Pine Point. In February! Despite the misplaced timing there was a certain satisfaction in awakening at 3:00am and hearing the soft moaning of trees and the steady rhythm of raindrops on the old cabin roof. As I lay there I was reminded of the many nights I have fallen asleep to the lullaby of
WHEN WE FIRST CAME TO PINE POINT and the old cabin, the forest was choked with buckthorn. Had to literally fight and chop my way through it. Bought a machete! Along with chain saws, brush cutters, weed wrenches, etc. Even the main lot under the century white pines was bad, and the red pine lots nearly impenetrable. Better now. These
WHEN I WAS a little boy, I spent a lot of time with my grandmother and grandad. And loved every minute of it. They lived in a small house in a deep but narrow lot, on a green and leafy street in Alton, Illinois. It was my favorite place in the world. And my favorite part of my favorite place