Category Archives: Living History

“…it’s not traditional”

Crows cawed to the west; Sandhill cranes chortled to the east. A robin sang “Cheeri-leee, cheeri-leee,” near where the cedar grove meets the meadow grasses. Not long after first-light a wild turkey hen clucked to the north and a bit … Continue reading

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A Time Traveler of Sorts

A hint of brown moved behind a red cedar tree. Brittle leaves clattered overhead. Arteries throbbed. A cool breeze carried the aroma of rotting duff as doubt festered. A dark foreleg stepped, then paused. Heartbeats stacked up like wood corded … Continue reading

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The Swirling Waters of Uncertainty

A small white spider ran over my moccasin. Canada geese ke-honked off to the east. Witch hazel leaves with pale yellow outer edges and soft green inner hearts fluttered in a cool northwesterly breeze. The air smelled damp and plain … Continue reading

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My Mouth Watered…

A wild apple thumped the ground. A blue jay perched, a few cedar trees distant, but kept its tongue. Somewhere down by the big cottonwood a fox squirrel chattered. A gentle breeze swayed the tree tops and brought the first … Continue reading

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At the Little Bend

Abundant spring rains brought lush summer growth. A warm July night, in the Year of our Lord, 1795, produced a dense morning fog. Moisture dripped from every leaf, every bough, every sprig and sprout. My linen trade shirt felt damp, … Continue reading

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“Never Been Outdoors!”

Stars sparkled in a moonless heaven. Wool-lined moccasins whisked through the fluffy snow. Years ago an ice storm tipped a good-sized cedar tree to the south, just shy of the ridge crest. I paused there to adjust the four-point scarlet … Continue reading

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Forting Up

The hand-hewed stair seemed steeper, the uneven steps higher. Progress proved slow, the staircase being narrow and confining. Trepidation marked each moccasined footfall. A knowing silence fell upon the twenty-five souls, each pondering the fort’s fate, and his or hers, … Continue reading

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“Wait a while…”

The River Raisin beckons. To the south, the flooded ribbon looks silvery blue, to the north a dull, brownish gray. The broad lily-pad flats seem the dividing line. The air smells of spring’s greening, fresh, clean and leafy. A red-tailed … Continue reading

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