TODAY from the Church O’ The Pines, a small outing to the Little Stream. The woods seem dead, but are only resting. The stream is frozen, but only on the surface. Beneath the cold, still ice, everything is still moving, singing, flowing, living. Everything important happens below the surface. One day the ice, too, will move. It will be tossed
THIS SMILING, HANDSOME FELLOW is Bob Heim. We’ll get back to him in just a moment… Here at the Cabin-in-the-Woods, in the grove also known as the Church O’ The Pines, Kathy and I feed the blue jays. And crows. And red squirrels and gray squirrels. And nuthatches and pileated woodpeckers and other feathered friends. And deer. And a whole
AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES, there is a bit more roof work—moss and pine needle removal—to be done. Up on a roof, near a stone chimney-steeple, there is a wonderful change in perspective. One sees the world with something closer to the eye of the chickadee, the crow, the jay, the hawk. The golden carpet of needles is more
AN AUTUMN EVENING walk round the Church O’ The Pines woods. A centering walk. A hopeful walk. A walk of deep breaths and the fragrance of fallen leaves, the last golden carpet from the last maple. It held on so long and steadfastly. A blue canoe in a red sunset, the desire to take it out for one more spin.
AND SO IT IS AUTUMN. At the Church O The Pines, the morning light is different. Things seem to glow with some inherent luminescence of their own. The blue of a blue sky is a little deeper. The angle of the sun makes the river sparkle a bit more brightly. And there is just the beginning of a certain tang
AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES the morning light is soft. The breeze is soft, over the river. The wind chimes tinkle softly. The air is humid, and it is the season when quilts of fog hang over wetlands and fields in the evening. It is in many ways a gentle time of year. No more the blazing heat of
ON THIS BEAUTIFUL late summer morning at the Church O The Pines, I am off to lead one more Road Scholar trip in the North Woods. I love both—the tall, sweet-scented forest of home, and the vast wildlands on the cusp of the Canadian Shield. And I am very fortunate to be able to share that love. So, a few
ON THIS SUNDAY MORNING at the Church O’ The Pines, we are grateful for the rising of the sun. For the songs of small birds and the chipping of chipmunks. For the flowing of a river and the growing of trees. For an old cabin for shelter. For the screaming of jays. For the company of two fine cats. For
AFTER A WEEK of travels and adventures, it is a very bonsai morning here at the Church O The Pines cabin. And I am enjoying a few quiet moments with this little favorite. (Well, they’re all favorites). This one happens to be a white cedar, very similar to the beautiful trees we see along the rocky shores in northern Minnesota
HERE AT THE Church O’ the Pines it is a fine, humid June-Sunday morning. Father’s Day. Not yet too warm. And Simon, our elder cat, is posing on the arm of my grandad’s Adirondack chair. It is a chair that must now be about 60 years old, or more, and in need of another new coat of paint. Simon and