Tag Archives: historical trekking

Too Many Memories…

The brush camp needed work. The humble abode offered shelter for a starry night, but the cedar-bough covering lacked fullness and would never shed even the slightest of showers. The ridge pole and rafters held years of life; the grape … 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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A Dose of Reality

Distant crows hollered and screamed. Geese ke-honked near the River Raisin. A single stinging nettle stem snapped under a damp buckskin moccasin. A dozen footfalls away, the grayed branches of two different cedar trees, each half-submerged in the pond’s clear … Continue reading

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“…eight more yards”

Light snow fell, pushed about by an uncertain, swirling breeze. A button buck wandered downhill from the ridge, followed by a small doe. The scruffy doe looked straight at the toppled cedar tree, perked her ears and canted her head. … 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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Inspired by John Tanner

Moonlight washed over the canvas village. Stars twinkled in the ethereal darkness; fires flickered down in the valley. Candle lanterns glowed in the evening’s pleasant coolness, and once in a while a candle’s light moved from camp to camp. A … Continue reading

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The Wisdom of Our Ancestors

Rain pounded the roof. A thunder clap ended a sound sleep. Outside, big, silver orbs fell earthward, looking like ten thousand spears piercing dawn’s gray abyss. Water splashed everywhere, ending all hopes of covering the wooden crate and canvas-bound bales. … Continue reading

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“Denny’s Been Baptized…”

A bawl-mouthed Walker bayed. Crisy’s distinctive “awoo, awoo, awoo, awoo…” spurred a sense of urgency, tugging my buffalo-hide moccasins due south from the wagon trail. The light, fluffy overnight snow poofed with each footfall; the under layer crunched. A stiff … Continue reading

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