HOPE is the thing with feathers—Emily Dickinson. Every year, a bird rebuilds its nest, ruined by the winds of winter. Every year it travels hundreds, if not thousands of miles, to do so. Every year it raises a brand new family. Every morning it rises to sing the songs of sunrise. Every day it lives its life as best it
WALKING ALONG the stream at dawn, I notice the spider webs—exquisite webs, hundreds of them, every stunted jack pine or ground juniper gilded with a necklace, each necklace hung with lucent pearls of dew. And, whispering in the first breeze, an old question of the night: What of MY webs? What are my choices, my chances; how much effort should
THIS IS MY Great Aunt Mary. Although I only ever knew her as ‘Aunt Mary.’ When she was only 17, my dad Jim and his brother Dick—due to a family trauma—came to live with her and their grandparents on the farm near Douglas, Minnesota. Grandpa Frank died not long after, and Aunt Mary became, in effect, their mother. With everything
THEY COME unexpectedly, unbidden. At night, perhaps. The doubts, the fears, the anxieties and sadness that are a part of living. But they are not all of it, not by a long shot. We are still called to enjoy the present moment. A sunset. A sunrise. The sound of beautiful music. The smell of a rose. The laughter of a
IN THE FOREST, some things glow. Even on a cloudy, drizzly evening, half an hour before dark, they glow. Not so much from the sunlight, of which there is little, but somehow from within. A red maple Kathy and I planted twenty years ago. A redbud tree like the one my grandad and I planted and watered so faithfully, one
I’M SO VERY PLEASED to share the news that my memoir, ‘A Wild Path,’ has been honored as a ‘notable book’ by the Sigurd F. Olson Nature Writing Awards. As you may know, Sig Olson was my author-hero as a young man, a true mentor, and to be included on this very short list of fine books—and those of past
OF ALL THE TEACHERS I have known, I have found none greater than trees. So many teachers and teachings have enriched my life that I wrote a book about them, accompanied by drawings of favorite scenes. A few of the things trees can teach us: Reach for the light. Grow from the bottom up, and from the inside out. Be
I’VE LEARNED THIS LITTLE LESSON before, and I will probably relearn it many times again. You never know when you write a book, when you share some words and thoughts and feelings, where they will go or who they may touch. Even a humble, silly little book. When I received an email from France, from old friend Doug Cushman—artist and
WHEN I WAS A BOY, every summer had a 2 week slice of heaven built into it. That was the time our entire family gathered in a cabin on the shores of a beautiful northern Minnesota lake called Kabetogama. Time away from important jobs and studies and school and stuff that I hated, and close to lakes and loons and
TODAY I SPENT the day at the Twin Cities Young Authors Conference (YAC) on the beautiful campus of Bethel University. About 500 middle school students especially interested in writing are bused from all over the metro area to spend time with professional authors, get tips on the writing process, and simply get inspired. I’ve been invited many times and it’s