Tag Archives: historical trekking

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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North of Laughery Creek

The Laughery Valley tortures flintlocks. The summer heat and high humidity are mostly to blame. The same conditions that foster a gorgeous array of lush spring vegetation humble the flint and steel ignition of my beloved “Old Turkey Feathers.” Spent … Continue reading

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A Thousand Birds

“Old Turkey Feathers’” muzzle parted the prairie grass. A circle of white droppings, not more than a day or two old, stared back. Another roost ring, a few steps to the left betrayed the covey’s habit. My thumb eased the … Continue reading

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A First Outing

A good-sized black ant ran along my bare thigh, then took refuge inside my buckskin leggin. Its pace slowed, tickling its way to the left, then to the right, just above my knee. Three times it tried to move farther … Continue reading

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Plus or Minus Three-Tenths

Few options remained. Daylight dwindled. Longer strides struck a balance between due care and a swift advance. With each footfall, the day’s tensions eased. The hasty still-hunt followed a well-used doe trail through a small stand of aromatic red cedar … Continue reading

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If I Bargain Hard

The smell of blooming lilacs filled the air. Now and again the fluffy clouds hid the mid-afternoon sun. When it shone, the spring rays warmed my back to the point of sweating. The propane burner uttered a constant, dull, whooshing … 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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Who Are You?

Tiny waves raced to the puddle’s shore. A southwest wind dislodged another drop from a nearby maple branch. More waves followed the little splash in a puddle no bigger than a nice buck’s bed. Catkins hung from a poplar tree. … Continue reading

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