AT THE OLD FAWN ISLAND CABIN, a century next year, we have many photos, mementos and keepsakes adorning the log walls. Sometimes, when it is quiet, or when I am here alone, I wander around and look at them. And remember. And ponder. One item is different from all the others. It is a framed poem, written and given to
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
WITH THE KIDS and grandkids gone, the white throated sparrows and many of the loons gone, and Kathy at home, it is up to me to drive north and drop by the island one last time. To check and double check locks and latches and odds and ends, to say a last goodbye to the ‘dear old cabin’ (99 years
LAKE LIVING is a privilege, and one that is not as accessible to many as it once was in Minnesota. The days of the modest cabin by the lake where the family could summer, or the small mom and pop resorts where everyone could gather for a week or two, are nearly a thing of the past. Each time we
ON FAWN ISLAND, we now have a new cabin with running water, shower, and flush toilet. Which is great, and makes Kathy Ann happy. Which makes me happy. But I am still fond of the old outhouse, the Church of Peace, the path through the cedars to the shady bower, a site of solitude and meditation whose charms we have
AT THE CHURCH O’THE PINES on this Christmas Day it was cold. Below zero as it has been for 147 days and nights without relief. But in the old cabin, near the Christmas tree, it was warm, as Grandma Kathy served up a lovely feast including traditional favorites, perogees and ham and both strawberry and chocolate trifle. Our outdoor congregation