WindCradle Rocking

Finding a new waterfall

2011-06-10T07:14:00.000-07:00

Last week some friends told us about a waterfall they'd wanted to visit. I had heard about this waterfall, or actually seen it at the Art Colony show: Biophilia--Sacred and Inner Outer Landscapes. One painter had mentioned a waterfall just off the Arrowhead. "I wonder where that it?" I thought.

When some friends told me someone had mentioned a waterfall they'd never heard of, we went looking....we figured out where it might be and started fighting our way through undergrowth near a creek....at one point we could actually hear a waterfall, but couldn't see how to get to it.

Just when we had given up, gone back to the car and started to go we saw a faint trail going into some woods. We re-parked and followed the trail and there we found it.

What an amazing thing to live somewhere where you might meet a new waterfall...so many places I've lived a waterfall would be crawling with people.

Come to WindCradle and I'll take you to the falls!

watery spring

2011-05-04T08:27:00.001-07:00

Water everywhere. Lake Superior doesn't really freeze very often, and so we see her moving all winter....some fabulous storms and then calm days.

Then the rivers taking all the snow melt and bringing it down to Mother Superior. Here's the falls on the Brule and above a beach near where the river comes into the big lake.

And so it's time to put away snowshoes and get out hiking boots, put away cross country skis and get out our canoes. This picture is from our last snowshoe on the Crow Creek near our house...that day you could hear the river bubbling and roaring under our feet.

It's an amazing privilege to live so near water like this...the light seems to be everywhere. Watch the world come alive!

Advent in the Northland

2010-12-20T04:49:00.001-08:00

Advent is meant to be a time of watching and waiting, and in the northland, it is.

The stillness of a frozen lake or a ski trail through the woods permeates our lives. Can you sense the deep silence of Clearwater Lake?

Snow muffles sound, but also this time of year feels like one in which all of nature is hunkering down, pulling into its roots.

Cross country skiing, snow showing, hiking--these are all meditative sports--one foot in front of the other--deepening life.

We see beautiful sunrises over the big lake (and the sun comes up so late you don't need to worry about sleeping through them!) Watching day come in reds and pinks...

Town is very quiet...no problem getting parking places...or with the hype of a city before Christmas.

My daughter said to me yesterday that she was going to the Mall of America...and I found myself thinking...there could hardly be anything further from what we live in Advent in Grand Marais, than a mall before Christmas.

On this, the longest night of the year, the sun sets early and gives us another lovely painting of blood red good-byes, and the welcome of a deep, starry night.

I'm ready for Christ to be born anew this year.

First lovely snowfall...

2010-11-29T10:30:00.000-08:00

The big storms of the season have been bringing us big waves and precipitation. Near the big lake where it's warmer, we often get rain, when up the hill and inland they have snow.

On Thanksgiving Eve, we had wind and real blizzard like conditions coming out of our church service up at Maple Hill. We could hardly see the road coming down the Gunflint Trail.....

And then near the big lake, it was rain.

Still, we can go up the hill for snow. Great snowshoeing on Thanksgiving, skiing, the day after and snowshoeing again the next day.

It's amazing to live in a place where seasons are so different and it's almost always possible to get out and be in the beautiful woods.

Thankful!!

2010-11-23T09:39:00.000-08:00

I have so much to be thankful for this year! Our little Episcopal church--Spirit of the Wilderness has been growing in a most wonderful way! We are not officially part of the Episcopal Church in Minnesota. What a privilege to help guide this wonderful group! Here we at the little church where we meet at Maple Hill Cemetary.

I am constantly thankful for the opporunity to live near such beauty!.. Lake Superior is always changing--sometimes smooth as glass, sometimes crashing and roaring. This is the beach in front of WindCradle, looking west.

I'm thankful too for great memories from

Mother/Daughter trips last summer. What a

wonderful opportunity to taket people into the

BWCAW. In this picture, Stella and Mallory are learning to paddle on Missing Link Lake.

But of course the best gift is little Esme, my wonderful grand-daughter who has been living in Grand Marais (with her mother and father, of course.) I count it such a gift to be watching her grow, taking her paddling, teaching her to bake, allowing her to rescue me from frequent shark infestations in our living room (!).

Indeed I have much to be thankful for.

Learning from the animals...

2010-08-27T05:06:00.001-07:00

"Is that a rock?" A first time Boundary Waters visitor pointed her paddle. "Or a moose?"

"A rock..." I squinted. "No it's moving. A moose!" We paddled closer as the large female buried her head in the lake, bringing up a mouthful of weeds. She looked at us and put her head under water again.

"Listen!" another paddler whispered. "There's another..." We listened to twigs breaking in the woods nearby. "Must be her little one," I said. "We should stay back; mother moose are very protective." For half an hour we watched the cow making a fine feast of the water plants, occasionally glancing at us. Several times she looked toward the woods where we could still hear her baby. Our canoe slowly drifted toward the trees where we could hear the little one. Suddenly the mother moose looked at us with alarm and clambered out the water into the woods.

That's when we heard the sound. It was a call like no other I'd ever heard--a cross between a moo, a trumpet and a groan. Her appeal to her little one carried all the longing and love in a mother's heart. Her desire--no, her desperation--to protect her baby echoed over the lake and shook us. We looked at each other as she called again, louder, more insistent: "where are you?"

As the mother moose called again, we heard twigs snapping from her baby moving toward her. We saw their profiled noses touch before they headed away from the lake, deeper into the woods.

That mama moose's cry resonated in me as I slept in my tent that night. Even now I can hear it. Longing, love, desire to protect--why did her voice haunt me?

And then I realized: that moose was voicing the longing that echoes through the universe. Her love is the warp on which our lives are woven. The cry, "Where are you my love?" Is the sound we desire and fear, year in, year out. Sometimes we try to dull our hearing with busy-ness, noise, consumerism. Or we're tempted by substitutes--movies make big bucks offering us cheap "happy ending" versions of love; glossy magazines promise us that this make up, that diet, this exercise program--will somehow make us worthy of that kind of love. But of course neither the "happily ever after version"offered by the movies nor all the make-overs in the world can prepare us for the intensity and strength of the love we heard in that moose's cry.

That cry is the call of the divine--"Where are you? I love you." We may "hear" it in many different places--the laughter of a grandchild, a sense of being "held" when life is tough, an encounter with a work of art, voices joined in songs of praise, the loving lean of a great dog, an amazing sunrise, or the joy of serving someone who is helpless.

The time I heard that call most clearly was in a pre-surgical ICU room. I was with a man and his wife who had been hurt by relgion and not gone to church for forty years. After we talked I asked If I could pray with them. He said, "How could I, when I've rejected God all these years? Just because I might die..." As we prayed, the sense of God's presence in that room was palpable: "Where are you? I love you," like the moose call. All three of us wept.

The cry we heard on Deer Lake is the voice of God. What I heard was an epiphany, a miracle, a heart to heart encounter. In all my expreince, it is this kind of connection that may change and touch us. After all Christian faith is not about God sending a proposition, a list of commands, or even a book our way; it is about an encounter with a person. No one I've ever know was converted through arguments. But I know many people who would say they've heard--somehow, somewhere--that voice of love, and that it still rings throught their lives.

What you can learn from a two year old.

2010-06-10T12:51:00.000-07:00

1. Go paddling even if it's not the best of days... On Saturday
it was pretty foggy and cool but out we went on a moose hunt with little Esme saying, "Here Moosey, Moosey." Didn't see any moose but some otters playing on a memorable paddle.

Esme teaches me to go out expectantly, looking for life!

2. Dress up for rhubarb picking! Today somehow seemed to be a pink floofy dress day, so there we were wading through high grass, trying to find the over grown rhubarb patch...we were successful!

What an occasion, when you wear what you want to do some fairly outdoorsy things!

3. Take time to go and see and cuddle a puppy. Friends of ours have sled dog pups and we had to go see them and take time to cuddle and smell their puppy breath and pet their puppy tummies.

Esme is teaching me to live in now, to pay attention, to not rush from here to there.

I'm thankful for her two year old perspective!

What if I really believed in the love of God?

2010-04-26T07:43:00.001-07:00

When we look deeply at our God images, we may begin to realize that they have been shaped at a very deep level--way deeper than we even are aware of--by the desire to manipulate of relgious or parental authority.

So it makes sense that we may struggle to believe that we are really loved--fully and unconditionally. It's much easier to scare someone who believes they're loved only if they are well behaved and sweet.

My book DOGSPELL: THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO DOG is an exploration of that idea.

But in May we will be holding a retreat here at WindCradle to invite people to take time to explore their God images and then to push beyond to some more helpful ones. There are literally dozens of God metaphors in scripture that are seldom if ever used. And then there are those, like "dog" that might give us whole new ways of knowing ourselves in relation to the sacred.

What would I be like, what would the world be like
if we knew ourselves to be beloved?

Around WindCradle, Lucy sure shows lots of love to us, not to mention the way she and the cat express their love for each other.

But Lucy is not only loving; she pushes me to go on adventures. Every day those eyes force me to say, "Okay, okay, I will take you for a w-a-l-k, if you insist. And I'm always glad I did.

Lucy is open to new adventures herself. Last September I decided she was ready to become a canoe dog, like her predecessor Cluny. She did very well, sitting when she was meant to. Her only mistake was when she lept to her feet when a beaver thumped its tail to warn us off at a distance of about five feet.

If you would like to consider your god images and find some new ways of thinking of and relating to God, we have a retreat coming up--Dogged--Renewing our God Images--May 14-16th at WindCradle. Four footed friends are welcome! Check out our website.....

First Paddle of the Season!!!!!

2010-04-22T10:39:00.000-07:00

Sunday after church we went up the Gunflint Trail--that's not unusual--but this time, for the first time this season, we went up with a canoe on the car. It felt so good to have that canoe there, leading us into the adventures of the lakes and woods.

The weather was perfect, around 70 degrees, and of course there are no bugs yet because it's so early in the season.

The lakes were flat calm, and chilly. It would not have been a good idea to fall in!

We sat and had a picnic at a campsite on Gull lake and looked out over the water as Lucy ran down and threw herself in and chased squirrels.

Then we did a bit of hiking to wear her out. So that we could do what we most wanted to do: take the canoe off the car and put it into the water.

Lucy hopped into the boat and we headed out on Gull Lake. Sometimes I worry that this year I will have forgotten how to paddle...that it will be all gone, but as usual, it comes right back. The motion, the feeling of paddle in hand and water underneath, the almost unearthly silence......

Lucy (who only started canoeing late last season did very well) and we had a lovely time out on the water.

This first paddle of the season reminded me of how much I love being out on the water in these wild places. The reflection of sun from water onto trees and rocks, the soft motion of water.

I'm thankful that I get to go canoeing and introduce others to this great joy. Do check out WindCradle's website if you'd like to sign up for a canoe retreat this summer: I'm leading trips for families, for mother/daughter pairs, and for women.

A whole summer/fall worth of paddling beckons!

Away from WindCradle

2010-04-15T10:55:00.001-07:00

I was fortunate to be away with some dear friends and their children for a week last week. North Carolina was looking good, flowers and trees out, etc.

Living in Grand Marais, I find being away from here odd: traffic, shoppping malls, passing people who I don't know--these are some things that surprise me.

But there are things I miss. Of course the big lake and light over the big lake is one.

Another is the sense of space, of vast tracts of forest and of lake that are empty, that simply ARE, without needing someone to look at them, check on them, monitor their progress.

I noticed that the night sky seemed strange--though it was clear there was so much ambient light that I could hardly see stars. I lost as I sometimes do, my sense of the phase of the moon.

The easy access to wild rivers is another thing. We went to a fine state park, but I realize I've gotten used to wild parks with roaring rivers.

What an amazing thing to be able to get to these places
in just a few minutes: I'm reminded that I want to keep up those daily hikes!

Finally, the slow process of watching spring emerge. To fly to another climate plunked me into spring/summer, which was a treat. But what deep joy in watching that emergence day by day, as familiar mosses, ferns, flowers begin to show up.

In many ways I think these differences in some way epitomize what it is to live in the great north--the slow process of spring, the paying attention to sky and plant, the joy of space, light, water.

It feels as if the deep silence of the north has sunk into my soul and lives there, bringing me peace and perspective as well as gratitude.

I guess that means I am at home.

The ice disappearing from the big lake

2010-03-15T09:36:00.000-07:00

The lake has been so lovely the last few weeks,

with a layer of ice forming at night and then breaking up and drifting in. The ice sounds like a trillion tiny wind chimes as the water ripples through it and around it.

For the last week it hasn't frozen at night, so now the ice is gone. We walk the beach daily, picking up rocks and enjoying the warmth of the sun.

Lucy the dog thinks it's swim season and in she goes for one swim after another.

So much water and light; from pink in the morning to blue and back to pink at night.

Some ravens are nesting behind the house. We are watching them bring materials to the nest. We have the binocs in the bathroom so we can look out the window and see them at work. Their babies are very noisy, so we should be in for some fun.

I feel so thankful to live somewhere where we see so much beauty.

The glory of God: spotted in the woods and over the lake

2010-03-01T07:18:00.000-08:00

We were staying in our guest house this last weekend because some folks were retreating in the main house. When we stay there, in that smaller space, it feels like a retreat for us too....since there's a limit to the number of chores we can do.

So instead we did lots of hiking in the afternoons. We went to one of our favorite Boundary Waters Lakes--Clearwater, and hiked across it, looking down at the beautiful palisades.

Then we hiked along the path to Caribou Rock, and looked east and west as the sun was sinking

low in the sky. The birds are just beginning to sing some springier songs, as if they are thinking that mating days are not far off. Afterwards we stopped at The Trail Center for supper and met some friends and had great conversation about the unepected joys in our lives.

On Saturday we went to another favorite area--Grand Portage. We hiked up Mt. Josephine which is quite a hike, up, up and up. The view is out over the big lake and you can see Isle Royale and the Suzy Islands in the glittering distance.

The Last Sunday of Epihpany the readings were about Christ's Transfiguration, I asked people where they had seen the glory of God. Some talked about the birth of a baby, others about times of experiencing the divine. Many of us talked about being out in nature.

So many wonderful opportunities to see and give thanks for the glory of God.

The Colors of Winter

2010-02-23T10:12:00.001-08:00

I used to think that winter was long because there was so little color in it. I realize now that it might have been because I was living in a city, where winter can be wearying because it seems to be characterized by slumping snow, dirty black or brown from sand, gravel, traffic. Little brown clumps of dog poop on sidewalks. Pavement where the snow has been cleared--all seems to be gray and brown on dirty white.

It's different living in the north. The sunrises and sunsets are often spectacular....here's one from an early morning this weekend, looking out over the big lake.

But when you start to pay attention, there is color everywhere--it's just subtle. These rocks are part of a cliff from a hike up Kimball Creek--about a mile away from us. I love how they echo the colors of the sky over Superior.

And then when I collect twigs for my crafting of frames and baskets, the colors are lovely--red osier dogwood, willow of various colors, birch.

Why didn't I see the colors of winter before?

It helps to be able to see so much sky, and to be able to hike through river canyons, to have twig shrubs growing everywhere.

I guess I must have been blind to these colors before--I find myself wondering whether I perhaps was so busy looking at the piles of dirty snow that I couldn't see the colors around me.

No longer! I'm loving all the colors of winter, though they are often softer than the colors of

summer. And I'm bringing them in--for frames and here for a room divider we've been needing.

All the colors of the rainbow...blessings in the winter months.

Great fun for a great cause!

2010-02-16T07:17:00.000-08:00

A number of wonderful musicians donated their time and talents last night for our Haiti Party....here they are playing and singing! Lots of great eating, conversation and dancing.

I loved the way the children danced and played in the middle of the scene...made me think "how great to raise kids in the middle of this kind of community!"

Dancing and a wood burning stove kept us toasty throughout the evening. Young and old, differently abled--with a wheel chair and crutches out on the floor--agile and less so....a great time was had by all!

We don't know yet how much money we took in for Haiti, but we're thinking this kind of evening may become a regular part of our "ministry" here--bringing the community together to kick up their heels for a good cause.

Dancing in the north woods!

2010-02-08T06:08:00.000-08:00

Next Monday our little chuch is hosting a party to raise funds for Haitian relief. Funds will go to Episcopal Relief and Development and Habitat for Humanity.

A number of local musicians have dontated their time and talents to play and sing. Just the time of year to kick up our heels!

This party will be different from some......we're inviting folks to dig out those fancy clothes they have tucked away from times when they were mother of the bride or bridesmaid, the tux they never get to wear in the north woods. Plus mukluks of course--the latest in formal footwear...

Great music and hotdishes shared, for a good cause. A true northwoods occasion!

Color inside and out

2010-02-01T10:57:00.000-08:00

Last weekend we had a "Peace Fibres" retreat
here at WindCradle. It was wonderful to work together--creating fiber art like needle felting and string work as we shared our lives. Bright colors--of fabrics crafted all over the world; hunks of roving and yarn and spirals of embroidery thread:These spread out on the banisters, the floor, the table.

We ate and chatted and danced and shared--all the while going deeper. Some participants were old friends, others we'd never met before. But by the end of the weekend we knew each other well, and could see that no matter what our exteriors, we each sported bright inner colors.

Color throughout the house. Colorful lives shared.

Like the sky outside, bright pinks and reds, reflected on the lake....color everywhere if we stop to see it.

That darn lake!

2010-01-25T07:46:00.001-08:00

Of course, one hates to complain about Lake
Superior, this beautiful sea on our doorstep. But she has this habit of moderating all our temperatures!

People sometimes ask if we have air conditioning here at WindCradle and we laugh! "Yes, and her name is Lake Superior." In the summer it's never hot with all that cool water right there.

But in the winter it's almost never super cold either. Often people will say when they hear I live north, "It must be ten or twenty degrees colder up there than here in the cities." But it's not. Most mornings it's warmer because of the big lake.

Take this morning for example: it's twenty degrees (just heard it on the radio) in the Twin Cities, but here it's 35. That means we're getting rain and they're getting snow.

Yesterday we drove out of the rain up the Gunflint Trail five miles to our little church on Maple Hill. We found ourselves in a major winter storm with blowing and drifting snow. We drove back down toward the lake into rain.

This is a problem? you may ask. Well it is if you like snow, and I do. If you pictured yourself in the drama of blizzards, it's a disappointment.

When I was a girl growing up in Western Washington State, we'd sometimes get snow and it would be so exciting and then the wind would turn and I'd wake up in the night to the sound of a Chinook wind, blowing warm air and turning our snow to slush.

Lake Superior is so big and so lovely and so moderating. Maybe it's about time for me to accept her moderating influence, to not need the drama of blizzards. At least I can drive ten minutes to fine snow...

Maybe that's a gift of aging: we can lose our need for drama, and enjoy moderation and everyday beauty around us.

Hidden Places

2010-01-20T07:19:00.001-08:00

The North Shore has many hidden places--deep caverns dug by rivers running from the higher places down to Lake Superior. Many of them are really only accessible in the winter, when the ice freezes and snow covers. I'd never been on the Onion River before last Thursday, when we went with some friends. Karen led the way, and Ellen (the reason for these great pix) brought up the photographic rear.

The walls of these caverns reach high above our heads; small frozen waterfalls come out of rock faces. The colors are subtle but beautiful, reds, browns in the rocks; the ice ranging from smokey colored to bluish green.

Perhaps because we can only hike these places in winter, or because they are invisible from the road or even from the Superior Hiking Trail--or maybe because they are so deep and mysterious--they seem like lovely mystery tucked away. So much of our spiritual life is like that--mystery hidden that we encounter from time to time and can only relish for a short time. Ephemeral is the word for something fleeting--as spring blossoms, fall color on trees, and hikes on rivers in canyons.

Rooted!

2010-01-11T08:23:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, we went snow shoeing up the Devil Track River. Eighteen months ago there was a torrential rain storm which washed many trees down this river and down various creeks into this river. The bridge crossing Highway 61 was nearly pushed out by the debri.

So the trees that are left standing along the edge of the river are ones that have hung on. I was fascinated with their roots as I passed them, curling down around rocks and into any little crevasse they could find.

This root seems to have sought so hard for any

place to hold on and to find nourishment, straining and struggling over hard stone.
It's curved around so long past this rock that it slmost looks like it's is rock itself.

Our spiritual quest is like this: like our putting roots down seeking nourishment, stability

and meaning. We have something to learn from trees--as they send out roots seeking, always seeking.

Ibelieve that there is something in each of us that longs for meaning and depth, that we, despite the ways we may have used distractions, are seeking, always seeking God.

Walking on water

2010-01-04T13:44:00.001-08:00

One of the best parts of winter here is the hiking we can do on rivers and creeks. In the summer these would be almost impassable, but with a layer of ice and snow, they become paths going through steep, rocky cliffs.

Suzanne's son Steve is visiting from California

and so we hiked today on deer trails through the woods. When we got to Crow Creek we hiked up it. At first there were some other tracks but then there were only animal tracks and ours. It felt like maybe we were the first people to go there.

Some places had very steep sides and others lots of trees and moss. We could see blue sky above, but during the winter the sun never hits these deep places.

Lucy the dog loves hiking up the river. When we can hear the water bubbling under the ice, she sometimes sniffs around looking for it.

This feels like a winter gift--surprises folded into the landscape, smooth ways where there were heaps of rocks and brush.

Here is a water fall that seems to have frozen almost instantly.

What gift this is--walking on water--exploring God's good earth.

Christmas Storm!!

2009-12-28T12:38:00.000-08:00

I still find it unnerving to wake in the night to a thundering roar. It sounds like a freight train has been re-routed five feet away from my bed or that a 747 has landed on the roof. "What!?!?!" I think.

And then I remember that I live near a most amazing lake who will sometimes come up and roar for a couple days at a time.

Early on Thursday she was very loud. Several times I went down to the beach just to look at the enormous waves and see how far up they came. During the afternoon you could hardly walk on the beach because the waves came all the way up to the tree line.

Cozy in front of the fire, knitting, sewing listening to A Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols from Kings College Cambridge, but always with this roar underneath it all. Forty eight hours and no let up at all.

Christmas, snowed in, pondering the mystery of such a great lake, and pondering the great mystery of God choosing to live amongst us.

Peace on Earth...

2009-12-21T13:05:00.000-08:00

I think back to years of holiday frenzy--parties,

shopping, making and wrapping presents. Oh and cooking, baking, taking kids to plays, concerts and pageants. Not to mention getting cards out and presents for anyone vaguely associated with the family. And then there was the mall and traffic. By the time we were within a week of Christmas, I felt frantic.

Which may help explain why I love living in Grand Marais during this season. We did have some folks over for dinner the other night and we sang for awhile. A group of women chatted about Christmas past and that pressure. I went to join some women I've come to admire for a holiday gathering. But mainly, I've been slowly making some presents, walking in the fresh snow, and watching the big lake. I listen to some seasonal music on the radio.

I find myself thinking, "Yes, this is how it was meant to be: a time of pondering, of slow beauty, and deep dark nights. Of stitching and praying for someone as I knit or sew. This is how Christmas is meant to be."

I've got to wonder how society has taken such a season and made it so painful and frenetic for so many.

I'm so thankful to be in a place which invites this pace, this waiting, this silent expectancy.

Brooklyn Bridge: Sort of different from Grand Marais

2009-12-15T07:10:00.000-08:00

Last week I got to go visit my little granddaughter Esme in Phillie. We decided to take an overnight jaunt to New York City on the bus. We walked a lot: over to see Uncle Steve's office and have lunch with him, to Macy's for a look at the windows, and then down to NYU to meet up with Auntie Anna.

Then we decided since it was such a lovely evening, to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. We saw all kinds of wonderful views of the skyline. But my eyes were really for my little Esme, watching her watch all those things--pointing out boats that are not canoes, sparkly lights in the buildings on the skyline.

Here we are: Auntie Anna, Esme and I
on the bridge. I find myself feeling so grateful: Esme and Anna are new in my life and yet I love them so much.

Brooklyn Bridge and Grand Marais are similar inasmuch as both are filled with wonders for eyes that can see. Love is everywhere!

light intoxication

2009-11-23T09:42:00.000-08:00

In these winter months on the North Shore, the sun never climbs very high in the sky. We watch it rise out of the big lake (later each day). In these pictures above, it has just risent. By the winter solstice in December, it rises just to the right of the big tree.

It moves across the sky, pouring into our windows, hitting the lake and bouncing in. We have to turn the heat off first thing in the morning because of the sheer solar energy.

This picture (right) shows the sun near noon. Notice how low it is since we are so far north.

The light seems so present, bouncing off the lake and pouring into the house, I found myself last week feeling "drunk" on the light--overwhelmed by all of it.

The first Christians were accused of being drunk on the Spirit. Maybe this is something of how they felt!

Twig Table!

2009-11-16T09:54:00.000-08:00

Last weekend, I had some unexpected free time
and so I decided to take a class at the North House Folk School.
I'd been wanting to learn how to make Twig Furniture,
also called Rustic Furniture. This kind of furniture making
has a long history--since it uses materials that are
all around us, and prunes instead of cutting down trees.

First you make the twig base by hammering
wood pieces together.

Then you make the top, something like making a mosaic. On my top I used mainly different colored willows and some red osier dogwood. I also used some beach rocks that blended in to the colors.

Igot a real kick out of making this, watching the design emerge, using the subtle tones of nature. Since this first project I've made a picture frame as well.

The satisfaction of working with wood, with nails, with color--it's very meditative. I think of my father who often did woodworking for relaxation and creativity. I've decided to keep doing this kind of folk craft as part of my life--to connect with the tangible, to create from nature, and also to sell.

Superior goes wild

2009-11-09T07:24:00.001-08:00

I awaken to a roar: like a freight train going by the window. And then I realize--Lake Superior is at it again! The beach that held us sitting on the edge, the quiet lapping of the little waves--taken over by fury!

On Friday, November 6th, there was no wind to speak of, and yet huge waves crashed onto the beach, over the breakwaters in town, over the second layer of breakwaters. We sat in the sun stuffing envelopes at the Folk School as the waves lept like geysers.

Someone told me there must be a storm somewhere else on Superior, and because

she has a smaller surface area than an ocean, those waves will be felt up here on the northern edge.

Just as the poet and essayist John Donne wrote that "no man is an island unto himself," Superior reminds us that a storm somewhere on this lake makes waves on other parts.

May that be true for us: may we be aware of the fact of our connectedness--in matters like health care reform, hunger, global climate change--so that the waves that crash are reminders of our oneness.

Seeing with new eyes

2009-09-17T13:10:00.000-07:00

Some friends are making their second annual visit to WindCradle and the northshore. It's wonderful to see them and to have a good excuse to hike and paddle more than usual!

But they are artists....

As I hike or paddle with Lisa and Bernard, I see the world anew. I catch just a bit of what an artist sees. Their view of the beauty of surroundings makes me begin to see the familiar in new ways.

It seems remarkable to me that with the same eyes we can see the same things, and yet they notice light or lines in rocks or ferns in ways I've never seen them.

The gift: helping someone to see more fully, bringing added dimensions to the world. I wonder if that's something we can all do for others as we stand aside another and bring our perspective to them.

The Gift of joy and wonder

2009-08-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

When we baptize in the Episcopal Church we ask God to give the one being baptized "the gift of joy and wonder in all your works." So it was with much joy that I (along with a bit of help from her parents) introduced my little granddaughter Esme to some of my favorite spots in the great north. She LOVED the Kadunce River, wading and preliminary sliding on some of the tiny waterfalls.

And what could be better than sitting by the big lake throwing rocks into it. We are pleased to say that there are still a number of rocks left on our beach, even after her best efforts to throw them all in!

And of course she had to try out a little canoe ride.......we poked the nose of the canoe into the Boundary Waters, so we'd know she'd had her first BWCAW trip.....It'll be a few years before we get to the first overnight one I'm afraid.

And while I know she's unlikely to remember all of this...I'm glad to be a part of helping to instill "the gift of joy and wonder" in all God's works. And seeing someone else's joy deepens mine--what a gift.

nature--big, little and funky

2009-07-20T09:52:00.001-07:00

The beauty of the great north takes many forms. The lakes reflect light onto the trees and the ancient rocks glow in the setting sun. Clearwater Lake is one that stretches into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness and makes for great paddling.

And then there is the beauty of different plants and animals: ladyslippers hiding in the woods on a summer hike (this is the South Lake trail off the Gunflint Trail.)

We've seen so many beautiful birds here-orioles, rose-breasted gross beaks, indigo bunting, pelicans, eagles, osprey. Ravens seemed mainly annoying, until we started reading about them in a book called THE MIND OF THE RAVEN. We began to be fascinated by them: these are a few of our local friends, who like to look in the window or pick up bright stones.

Nature captures attention, intrigues in a number of ways: the prayer from the baptismal service, "give this child the gift of joy and wonder in all God's works" worked for me!

Building a Labyrinth

2009-06-30T13:50:00.001-07:00

Okay you've got to admit it--most people don't have one of these in their front yard. It's about 45-50 feet across and is called a "Modifed Chartres" labyrinth. In other words, it's in the style of the one in Chartres Cathedral in France, which was built around 1200 or so.

Why a labyrinth? The idea is this: many of us struggle to sit down and pray or meditate--involving the body can help us center. As you walk toward the center you empty yourself of some concerns. In the center you pause to pnder before making your way out.

This is not a maze! You don't have to make any decisions except the one to enter and walk it.

The Love of Dog!

2009-06-13T07:21:00.000-07:00

In the last couple weeks I've had the chance to talk about my book, Dogspell: The Gospel According to Dog. Here I'm reading at Drury Lane Books in Grand Marais; I also did a talk related to the book and our god images at the Sacred Ground Center in St. Paul.

As I read from the book, and see

people's reactions,

I remember how hard it is for us to

remember that we are beloved.

Or as one person said at this salon

at Drury Lane Books, "How different would the world be, if we believed, really

believed, we were loved?!"

Water reflecting,dancing, flying

2009-05-26T14:38:00.001-07:00

Water seems to dominate

our world up in the great north.

We sit on the beach looking at

all this liquid space. Often our retreats begin on the beach.

Sometimes the lake roars;

sometimes it reflects light.

Sometimes we paddle on it;

rarely we swim in it.

Or we go to the inland lakes to paddle or hike. This is Daniels Lake in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. Light there reflects off the water onto tree trunks and rocks, which the native peoples called "dancing spirits."

At WindCradle, from the deck, the living room or the dining room we see the light of the lake dancing, reflecting.

And sometimes it seems that some

of the light gets caught on a bird's

wings as with this Indigo Bunting.

All this light, reflected, dancing, winged...speaks to me of God.

Spring in the Northland

2009-05-15T07:24:00.000-07:00

Spring comes late here. But we sure appreciate it. Living in Cape Town with its Mediterranean climate, spring was nothing, since winter was nothing. Minnesotans joke that our weather builds character, and that may be true. Or as one friend put it, "No one moves to Minnesota for the climate!" But....this week I went to see some members of Spirit of the Wilderness Church up on Seagull lake, and of course we had to go paddling! (My kind of pastoral visit!) The water was still very cold, but calm, and a loon broke the surface of the water right next to us, water drops on her head. Lovely.

Since this is a fly-way, there are also lots of migrating birds passing through. The other day I was bowled over by the bright orange of an oriole, the bright scarlet of a rose breasted gros beak, the intense yellow of a goldfinch, and then along came an indigo bunting. Such exuberant color after months of muted tones.The world is also alive with water, snowmelt feeding streams, rushing down ravines that will be dry in a month or two. And the waterfalls are stunning, roaring, spraying, making rainbows here and there. And those baby green leaves on the trees; plants poking out of the ground.

As we hike, it's hard to tell what is poking through--what this little funnel of green or this tiny leaf will be. Some will be the spring ephemerals which only last very briefly; some are the beginnings of ferns that will become waist high.

I'm thinking about the new life in each of us, and how it's hard to know early on exactly what that life will look like later. I'm hoping for lush green growth as I cooperate with the great spirit.

WindCradle and how she got her name.

2009-04-27T12:33:00.000-07:00

WindCradle is the name of the retreat center I'm starting on Lake Superior's north shore.

The rocky beach is almost always empty and wild. Sometimes the lake is so glassy smooth, you can't see the horizon. Other times, huge waves crash so far in, Lake Superior looks like an ocean in a big storm.

If you were standing on the beach looking out, there are points of land on either side, and they look to me like enormous arms that hold and rock. Windy and yet cradled.

That paradox--wind tearing at your hair and clothes and large arms cradling, holding safe--they speak to me of God and of the way we learn. In my years as a teacher, I could see that students needed the balance of challenge and support. Too much challenge, not enough support and it's too stressful to really learn. Too much support and not enough challenge and it's BORING.

As a retreat leader, canoe guide, writer, priest (as well as teacher) I am for that balance of support and challenge. And my hope is that WindCradle will be a place that allows people to find comfort as they grow, grow as they find comfort.