The first wheat was taken from the fields last Sunday, and now semi-trucks loaded with grain travel the county roads to the elevator in Hazel. Sandhill cranes grazed the shorn field south of our place Monday. I parked my bike on the shoulder of the road to photograph them in the early morning light. […]Read more "You Might Ask"
It is the height of summer. Days begin with an edge of cool but quickly heat up. “Too hot,” I say as I cross the yard to the garden. Too hot by 9:30 am to weed. Too hot to hoe. Too hot to pick beans. It is green bean season. We’ll harvest green beans every-other-day […]Read more "Summer Update — Too Hot"
It was a long time ago, perhaps thirty-five years, perhaps thirty-six. I was in the Twin Cities, single, living in a house in the Loring Park area of Minneapolis. It was an old sandstone home whose bedrooms were rented individually. Renters shared a common kitchen, bathroom and living room, but were otherwise unknown to each […]Read more "A Long Time Ago"
If I could hold time in place, if I could freeze-frame a moment in time, I would sit across from my father at the dining room table and simply watch him. I would watch him as he read the newspaper or made his to-do list, cigarette poised between the fingers of his left hand, coffee […]Read more "To Hold Time"
There is a man who tends his garden. In early-April he plants his seeds indoors in small pots. He plants indoors, for although the sun’s rays are strengthening, spring is still long to come. In late-April he places his seedlings in a south-facing window and climbs into his tractor to dig the fields where wheat […]Read more "Journeywork of the Stars"
We have come to the end of May, and as is often the case in late spring-early summer, the weather has turned cold. Today, as yesterday, rain-tinged winds gust out of the northeast. I sit chilled in the 9:00am dark of my study dressed in sweatshirt, jeans and heavy socks. Outside my study window, unaffected by the […]Read more "None Other"
Declaration – I tell you this with some urgency. Life is short, and we must make large of it. We must wake each day conscious to its possibilities. We must wake expectant. We must wake ready. We must participate. This is my declaration. Walt Whitman began his poem Leaves of Grass — I celebrate myself, […]Read more "We Must Make Large of It"
I smelled deeply the aspen leaves this morning. Holding the cluster of leaves to my face, I smelled their sweetness. I smelled new life determined to express itself. I felt the coming fullness of the new season. Peering up at the changing canopy, I saw the promise of spring delivered. Searching out wood […]Read more "Chronicling The Changes"
The chipmunk sat upon its branch, posing perhaps, or so it seemed. He or she gave me all the time in the world to kneel in the dry grass and focus my camera. She stayed in place as if asking me to see only her and not the tumult of competing thoughts thrashing about in […]Read more "Transformation"
Great skeins of geese flew across the sky last weekend before the temperatures plummeted. Where do returning geese hide when the thermometer goes subzero? The wind blew horrendously on Monday and Tuesday. Tornadoes wreaked havoc in Illinois and Missouri. The earliest tornadoes in state record destroyed property in central Minnesota. The tussles between winter and […]Read more "Winter Recedes"