Radiance

This morning when I came downstairs in the dark...

...there was a heap of coals still red-hot in the wood stove. Maggie had banked them last night. It made it very easy to get the fire started.

About 10 minutes after she left to take Seth to an early morning soccer practice, there was a call on my cell phone - Maggie again, "You gotta get outside and check out the light - the sun is just coming up and it is fantastic."  I put on my warm things, and decided to go down to the new conservation area along the river on the north end of town.

The light she had said, it is glowing.  That's how I found it.  I followed some snow shoe prints left from the day before down to the river. In the flood plain these plants stood silent, coated with frost as the sun filtered through the trees from the south side of the river.
 

Shhh... I'm Hunting Wabbit

We had a great Thanksgiving celebration

down in Moline, Illinois with Maggie's family this year. My nephew James took one of his late grandfather's old .22 caliber rifles out along the edge of the field and shot this rabbit.

What was most interesting was the group of his cousins who gathered to skin the animal and investigate from a more scientific perspective. 

It was up to James to gut the carcass, I don't think he really enjoyed that part.  Oh well, better to learn now than later.  I'm sure he'll think twice before pulling the trigger so easily next time.
  

November Reflections

What is it about November?

November just seems to bring out the strange melancholy in me.  I was up north at the cabin with Maggie's brother Steve this weekend for some chores and the final shut-down. We had a great time together.

When evening rolled around we went down to the lake, that's when the light began to fade, and the chill ran up my back.  I don't mind too much, in fact I kind of like it.  The reflections on the water echoed our thoughts of winter's approach.

Omnia Sol

Omnia sol temperat, purus et subtilis...

The sun warms all things, pure and gentle,
bids us to rejoice; it shows us paths we know well

     ~ Carl Orff, "Carmina Burana"

                               --------------------

Spring is fast approaching.  Right now the main attraction

is my old friend the sun: stirring, thawing, coaxing me
with hope and urging my brittleness to give way.

Below the surface, invisible things are moving. I'm thinking
of sap and also the tiny rivulets of water under the snow
where meltwater meanders.

How is it that those things we don't see, that we don't
hear, but which we know regardless are often the most
sublime?

~ Hal

New Morning

New Morning

I set my camera down this winter and took a little break from
the photo journal.  Then, a few weeks ago, a friend sent me a
poem which sparked my imagination and it has felt great to get
back in the swing of things.

One of the joys of spring is watching the flowering trees bloom,
and lately I’ve been paying more attention to some of the less
obvious flowers that emerge this time of year.

For example, the sugar maples in our neighborhood have their
light green flowers hanging down, with tiny leaves unfurling
from the stems.  This bunch belongs to a tree down the street
that I encountered while walking the dog.

~ Hal

Running with Stella

Running with Stella

The weather has been perfect this autumn, it seems that just 

about everyone has a smile on their face.

Stella and I have been running on the trails around town.  When 

we enter the woods, it feels like stepping into a dream.  The 

evening sun filters down; the leaves slowly twirl from their 

branches to the forest floor.  It feels so great just to move along 

the trail drinking in the delicious warm air.

On this afternoon, Stella stopped to listen to the sound of a 

squirrel rustling under the dry fallen leaves.  I took a moment 

to soak it in.

~ Hal

Summer Reading

Summer Reading

This summer I’ve been walking to a small neighborhood park 

on the east side of  St. Paul.  Once a week I take my lunch, I sit 

and read, I watch people come and go.

There is an old woman in a wheelchair, and a man some years 

younger who sits beside her, reading aloud from a very long book.  

In the heat of summer, they sat in the shade of the trees on the 

lawn.  As autumn has drawn near, they have moved to a sunny 

bench.

She leans toward him in her chair, head angled so that her ear is 

close to his voice.  His finger is tracing the words on the page.  

I think about the intimacy that comes with reading in that way 

over the course of a summer.  I wonder what world they are sharing 

together in this moment.

I finish my lunch and notice these milkweed seeds quivering in 

the breeze at the edge of the park.  Before heading back to work 

I take a few minutes to consider them as well.

~ Hal

Kinni River Barn Dance

Kinni River Barn Dance

This is the second year I’ve had the pleasure of dancing 

in this barn with friends and a great band.  The occasion?  

A party to celebrate our local river and those who love it.

We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful early autumn 

night.  The stars were out, the dew was on the grass, and 

the barn was fairly pulsing with the energy of the band and 

dancers moving together.

The folks at the Kinnickinnic River Land Trust have done 

a spectacular job this year.  My thanks you, and to everyone 

else who takes the time to care for our river.  

~ Hal

Life’s Unquiet Dream

Life’s Unquiet Dream

“Thy light alone... gives grace and truth to life’s unquiet dream”
     ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Hymn to Intellectual Beauty”

                                --------------------------

I lost my creative rhythm toward the end of this summer.  In mid- 

August I somehow fell out of sync with the regular activity of my 

own life.

Not even our annual canoe trip to the Boundary Waters could bring 

me around.  The photos I wanted to take, among other things, 

seemed just beyond my reach.

It took me the better part of a month to recognize my predicament, 

and then some patience before life’s cadence began to reveal itself 

again.  Up north over the Labor Day weekend, Beauty offered this 

glimpse into the heart of it all.

~ Hal

In the Garden

In the Garden

It’s been a great summer for exploring gardens.  For various 

reasons, our own garden has gone more than a little bit wild 

this year; but one thing I’ve noticed is that even in an untended 

garden, the love that went into the original sewing and planting 

isn’t difficult to discern.

This past weekend we returned from a family vacation, visiting 

with my parents in Asheville, North Carolina.  One of the moments 

I enjoyed most was sitting on their back patio watching the edge 

of evening glide silently across the yard.  Afterward, I stood up to 

take a closer look at the flowers growing in the cool stillness of 

their water garden.  I brought the memory home in this photograph.

~ Hal

The Lilies of the Black Ponds

The Lilies of the Black Ponds

for Susan Deborah King

In a moment between getting dressed
and my morning commute
I sat at the edge of my bed

And for some reason my hand
reached to the bedside table and drew out
Mary Oliver's book from the stack.

The page opened to this verse:

        "Who doesn't love
        roses, and who
        doesn't love the lilies
        of the black ponds"

In an instant my mind flew
open to a place I know
where lilies grow in wild, still water

And several days later, not long after dawn
I sat unhurried, drifting through wild lilies.

Their pads were tethered by slack tapers
to the rich, soft, soil
and all that lies below it.

~ Hal

When the World Comes Alive

When the World Comes Alive

Over this past weekend I was lucky enough to spend the fishing 

season opener with a few friends on a trip in the Boundary Waters.

We put in off the Gunflint Trail in the pouring rain, and after 4 

hours of paddling and portaging we arrived at camp soaked and 

hungry.  Oh well, we survived.  Another day of wet and very cold 

weather followed, but thankfully the sun did eventually reappear.

On Saturday evening we took a break from fishing to spend some 

time hiking just south of Winchell Lake.  This area was burnt in 

2006 by the Redeye Lake fire.  The terrain is terribly charred, and 

aside from my curiosity about how forests regenerate, I was not 

feeling a real connection to the place.

Then as we turned back toward the canoes, the light caught hold 

of the new-grown shrubs and the entire hillside came alive.  I 

stopped to take it in, then captured this moment as I followed my 

friend Jim down the slope.

~ Hal

Spring Ephemeral

Spring Ephemeral

One of the things I love about working in the field of natural 

resources is that my team tries to hold our quarterly meetings 

at various parks around the state.  This spring we decided to go 

down to Big Woods State Park (near Northfield, Minnesota).   

Most of us also ended up camping there and exploring the woods 

in our off-time.

All over the park, we found the forest floor peppered with bunches 

of these trout lilies in bloom.  I had hoped to spot the very rare 

dwarf trout lilly, but it turned out I was a week too late ~ they had 

already bloomed and hidden themselves again.

Nonetheless, this tender beauty brightened my eye after an evening 

run through the woods with my friends Chris, Mike, and Shelly.

~ Hal

Winter's Exhalation

Winter's Exhalation

For the past week the warming temperatures and melting snow have resulted in a string of beautifully foggy mornings.  Their eerie nature drew me to Foster Cemetery, one of the lonely, lovely spots hidden around town.

I found myself high on the hill above the Kinnickinnic River, sitting with my back turned to the old settler’s grave stones.  I listened to geese flying through the gray soup.  Every now and then a pair would emerge from the fog of winter’s final breath, only to disappear again a moment later, headed downstream.

~ Hal

Duck Stamp

Duck Stamp

I was up early on Saturday to drop Garth off at school for his 

choir concert trip.  After saying goodbye, I headed over to Glen 

Park and followed the trail down the hill to the Kinnickinnic River.

If you’ve ever been traveling away from home and stopped into 

a small-town cafe mid-morning, you know the feeling I had as I 

emerged from the woods;   heads turned to eye my entrance when 

I joined these mallard ducks at their regular gathering spot.

After a moment, they went back to stamping their feet and discussing 

their plans for the day.  I took this photo, then wandered further up 

the river.

~ Hal

Barn Bluff

Barn Bluff

On Saturday morning I woke up early to go for a hike on 

Barn Bluff (down in Red Wing, Minnesota).  Over the years 

I’ve rock climbed there and I wondered what it would be like 

to hike along the stone walls in winter.

I don’t usually get excited about “grey” snow days, I tend to 

favor the bright winter sun.  This morning, however, I 

rediscovered a soft, reflective quiet that had me thinking 

about past summer adventures.

I took this photo as I walked along the quarry trail, revisiting 

old familiar haunts cast in a different light.

~ Hal

Running Water

Running Water

One of my favorite spots on our regular running route is the 

small bridge where we cross over the South Fork of the 

Kinnickinnic River.  My anticipation builds as the path curves 

away from the main part of the University campus and bends 

down through a patch of sumac toward the stream.

I love to listen for the exact moment when I first hear the water 

flowing over stones in the stream bed.  The sound of the small 

riffle below the bridge comes just a few gratifying seconds before 

I round the bend and the water comes into view.

On this particular morning we stopped on the bridge to look at 

these exquisite patterns where the ice caught the light. I came 

back later to take this photo.

~ Hal

Kelly Creek

Kelly Creek

Once or twice a year I head over to take a walk at Kelly Creek, 

a beautiful little cold-water feeder stream that flows into the 

upper Kinnickinnic River.

Besides being a wonderful sanctuary for native brook trout, the 

magical thing about this creek is the way it springs wholly from 

a modest rock outcrop beneath an old bur oak tree. I can stare at 

that spot for hours and never come close to plumbing its depths.

This time of year it's just nice to check in on the green watercress, 

and poke around in the brushy alder, watching the birds come to 

the water for a drink.

~ Hal

New Years Day

New Year's Day

The sound of my skis, following a path left years ago. The tall 

hardwood trees move with the wind up high. Every now and 

again one of their trunks makes a brittle, deep cracking sound. 

A winter prayer.

We went up north for the long weekend and spent most of our 

time cross-country skiing and reading around the wood stove. 

The weather was very cold, the snow was perfect.

On New Year’s morning we skied this trail at The Nature 

Conservancy’s Catherine Wolter Wilderness Preserve (near 

Presque Isle, Wisconsin) with our friend Kath who was also 

up for the holiday.

For me, this quiet, nearly silent New Year’s Day felt like the 

perfect bookend to a warm and busy holiday season with all 

of our family and friends.

With thanks, “Happy New Year.”

~ Hal

In the Bleak Midwinter

In the Bleak Midwinter

I love the holiday season, but this year it has thrown some 

of my better habits off-course. There was a period of denial 

after Thanksgiving, then the cold weather arrived, now 

Christmas is imminent.

I would like to blame my not getting out much with my camera 

recently on all of the holiday build-up, and I guess there is a 

grain of truth in that. By last Thursday, however, I started to feel 

cranky, and realized the reason was that I desperately needed to 

get back outdoors.

The next morning I headed to work early, but with my camera on 

the passenger seat. I took a detour toward the upper Kinnickinnic 

River. The temperature was in the very cold range. I paused for a 

while at the Quarry Road crossing and found this ethereal moment 

unfolding.

~ Hal