Taken by Surprise

I wasn’t sure I’d like Pulitzer Prize winning author David McCullough's Pioneers when I first began reading it. I'd expected a historical novel and this was a nonfiction historical work. I knew nothing about the work of the courageous and broad-minded people who were instrumental in opening the vast Northwest Territory, ceded to the US by Britain, to veterans of the Revolutionary War and their families for settlement. 

I waded through the opening chapters that dealt with the remarkably talented New England minister Manasseh Cutler's travels throughout the east without realizing why he was meeting with the great men of the era and struggling to convince them of this effort.  

As I read on, I became entranced by the descriptions of the courageous men and open-minded men who must have given up sleeping to accomplish all they did. Creating charter for government known as the Northwest Ordinance which included three remarkable conditions: freedom of religion, free universal education, and most importantly, the prohibition of slavery. 

The stories of the early migration made for some harrowing experiences. They "crossed raging rivers, chopped  down forests, plowed miles of land, suffered incalculable hardships, and braved a lonely frontier to forge a new American ideal” (The Providence Journal). As I read their stories, I felt a surge of joy and inspiration despite the darkness of the times in which we now live.

This is a book for now. One that I think should be in the hands of and on the bookshelves of every politician and citizen of the nation. This is the power of history, well researched and told. what happened then can, and will, happen again. The good and the bad. History is a great wheel that rolls over the same ground of human experience. It can be guided one way or another provided we look to the past even as we hope toward the future.

The cry for water

 Dear Reader,

During the late nineties, I was a member of a small but intense writing group with author Ranae Hanson. Her work while there thrilled me. Her essays were lyric, powerful, personal, and revolved around her experience of growing up in a remote and beautiful area nourished by lakes and rivers. She showed no interest, however, in getting them published.

When I asked why, I recall she said that the places she wrote about were too sacred to share. They needed to be protected. They were vulnerable to man’s predation. Her response puzzled me. Shouldn’t we celebrate the beauties of this world? Share our love of this world with others? Reveal our perceptions?

At the time, I didn’t know how deeply she cared about the earth and the environmental crises it faced. I accepted that it was enough that she share her gifts by teaching immigrants and the underprivileged to write.

When she suddenly became deathly ill with severe Type I diabetes, she began to recognize how closely the planet’s struggle with climate change mirrored her struggle with diabetes. First symptoms: drought, and thirst. The melting of the glaciers and permafrost, her bodily cells malfunctioning. The rising sea and scarcity of potable water, her body overwhelmed by need and so on.

The book's jacket can perhaps best explain how Hanson structured her memoir. Rich shades of green, black, and gold, capture a meandering river that weaves in a southerly direction through a densely wooded landscape.

The contents wander in much the same way. From childhood memories to climate refugees’ experiences. From the violent intersection of devastating personal illness with the trauma nature suffers from mankind’s ignorance and greed. The search to understand what’s happening and taking steps to undo or mitigate the damage. And peppered throughout Hanson meditative reflections and guides to ponder and use in our own journey through the watershed of our lives.

Watershed reminds me of the way sunlight can pierce the evening’s approaching darkness, shimmering through leaves and across pastures and farmland, lighting the joy in a child’s eyes, sharpening shadows, and softening night’s approach.

A Lake Superior Morning

in Roseville

 

There was a time when inspiration leaped at me. Surrounded me, surprised and awed me. Those were Lake Superior Days. I wrote columns about them. I wrote a book about them. Then we moved.

Recently, I woke to find Lake Superior beckoning from our bedroom window in Roseville, where we now live. A band of heavy blue, spanning the horizon to the southwest with no end in sight as it had in Schroeder. The thrill was momentary of course, my rational brain denied the Lake’s presence in south central Minnesota. It was a day of miracles, nonetheless.

A walk in Central Park that afternoon, revealed tiny blue violets carpeting the ground, reminding me of my daily walks on the Superior Hiking Trail, as I followed the birth of a spring landscape from flower to flower: Bloodroot, Dutchman’s britches and marsh marigolds as they pushed their way toward the sun. In Roseville where we now live, spring perennials do not appear in such abundance, but the violets adorn the trails. Miracles too.

During that same walk, I also witnessed what I had never seen on Lake Superior, the touchdown of seven magnificent Trumpeter Swans. With a raucous babble of loud bugles and horns, their arrival shattered the silence. Eight-foot wingspans battled for space, so heavy that they scooped rather than touched the lake as they landed. The first to find balance rocketed after others, necks stretched low and long like glorious white shafts of light.

I imagine that you, like I, have experienced a sense of lightening with the gradual lifting of Covid-19 restrictions. Leaving the apartment without donning my mask feels strange. A feeling of being exposed, the air fresh around my face, my expressions no longer limited to crinkled eyes – Covid’s simulated smiles of greeting and pleasure. While others enjoy a greater sense of freedom, Bill and I find our lives more confined as his increased need for oxygen demands we limit our departures from the residence to less than two hours. Because his health is so at risk, we wear or carry masks wherever we go.

When I returned from my walk in Central Park, I came across these lovely words from Mary Oliver.

But I also say this: that light/ is an invitation to happiness/ and that happiness/ when it’s done right/ is a kind of holiness/ palpable and redemptive.

May your lives be filled with light and happiness. May holiness become a daily experience.

 

 

                                        

                                       

Missing Gather

In an era when the internet spawned networking communities like geysers in a desert, Gather.com was one of the first to appear. When it was launched on the web in 2005, Gather.com was touted as a Myspace of Friendster for a literate audience, with the emphasis on content.  

I first learned about Gather, when Minnesota Public Radio announced it was helping launch an online community focused on the older demographic (users over thirty). I had just signed a contract with Counterpoint NY for my first book, The Scent of God: A Memoir. The publisher suggested I join an online community to help build a platform. I knew nothing about social networking save that it was geared toward younger people. Learning that Gather’s emphasis was on the “older generation” with a focus on content of substance, I viewed it as a Godsend.

The first step to joining was coining a username. But what was a username? I muddled around a bit before hitting the “Contact Gather” link. I heard back that same day from David Cooperstein, Gather’s VP, Editor-in-Chief who gently suggested “Beryl” as my username. And voila! I entered a newly burgeoning network of users, my first “Friend” being David himself.

As my contacts multiplied, I spent an inordinate amount of time linking with Gather. We had no satellite or high-speed cable where we lived and connecting by phone was desperately slow. But I loved Gather from the start. Connecting with thoughtful, creative, and generous “friends” was like finding a family and mentor at the same time. I often worked into the wee hours of the morning, loving every minute spent with Gather members though frustrated with the time it took to load photos.

Beryl at Harvard Bookstore

By the time my book came out in April 2006, I had developed a wonderful community of Gather friends. My very first reading/signing event took place at the Harvard Bookstore in Boston. It seemed such an intellectual place to do a reading and I couldn’t imagine how I would draw an audience for my memoir. Gather, whose headquarters were in Boston invited me to visit and introduced me to staff. That evening Gather staff joined Gather friends who lived in an around Boston and filled the space. Seeing them there, was such a relief I was no longer nervous. We celebrated afterwards with beer and fries at a local Pub.

Later that summer, Cooperstein left a message on my phone, inviting me to Gather’s first anniversary bash: a "Book It To Bermuda Cruise,” as one of their featured speakers. My husband Bill and I spent five days eating in luxury, attending shows, lounging in deck chairs with fancy drinks, and meeting people. 

beryl speaking on cruise

The return leg of the trip featured the author readings. That day, the ship was tossed likea cork on an angry sea, water sloshing from the pools, walkers clinging to the banisters along the halls. As the first speaker, I began to speak behind a podium that rolled from one side of the room to the other until a staff member led me to a comfortable stable chair. Despite the rough seas, no one evacuated their seats during my talk, hands clapped over mouths as I expected. They even waited in line to buy books until there were no more to sell or sign.

As Gather’s membership swelled, we never dreamed that Gather would not be our forever community. In 2014 Kitara Media bought it and though it intended to keep the structure alive, it soon fell apart and took most of our work with it. While some were able to rescue their work before it disappeared into the stratosphere, most of us lost our postings, comments, and lists of our friends.

Facebook offered a possible alternative, but I didn't care for its structure and kept my distance until recently, when I noticed Thomas Spainhour working to link Gatherers with their Facebook identity if they had one.  The sole purpose of this group, Refugees from Gather, is to be a “resource for Facebook users who are former members of Gather to reconnect with others from those years BF (Before Facebook).” This group is growing rapidly as he tracks down and matches possible links.

Inspired by his efforts and warmed to see names appearing that I once knew so well, I needed to refresh those early Gather memories. What were your first experiences in online networking? I imagine you have stories you want share as well. I hope you will. 

Waiting for Snow in Havana

 

While put off at first by the violent dangerous games this boy and his friends indulged in, I became quite fond of him. He had sparkling humor that lightened the dark theme of Fidel Castro's takeover from dictator Baptista and the exodus of thousands of children who were sent from Cuba to Miami in the early 1960s, as part of a U.S. government program called Operation Pedro Pan. I was captured by the brilliant meanderings of his mind as the book progressed, taking him from the insecurity of transition to adulthood and was fascinated with his preoccupation with religion and search for a God he could believe in.

 

The Walls of Lucca by Steve Physioc

This is a beautifully told story of love, war, political upheaval that takes shape in the trenches of world war one, expands into the idyllic Tuscan landscape of vineyards and olive orchards. The lives of loves of three families dominate the story as they wrestle to better their lives and improve their fortunes against the forces of fascism and domination that take root in their midst.

I was drawn into this story by the power of joy and love manifested by Isabella, an orphan raised in a convent who gives herself without limit to healing those around her. At times, I wondered if I was reading about a medieval saint rather than the feisty and frank your woman she was. As I read, I realized that this story must have a sequel to resolve all the questions it raises and situations that the reader knows lie ahead.

The Shortest Day by Colm Toibin

 Too soon, and too intriguing to stop.

Little did I realize when I began reading this book, that it would be so short. No, I groaned. I want to know how and why Professor O’Kelly’s life would change after witnessing the elusive but certain shaft of sunlight that pierces the ancient tomb during the winter solstice. How it might or might not affect the lives of the dead entombed there. Who were not afraid of the unknown but honored and lived with uncertainty? Who were these dead who whispered through the long dark of each year? A tomb older than Stonehenge and the pyramids yet built with exquisite designs, spirals, and other geometric shapes.

The Scent of God Now Available in a New Edition

Originally published by Counterpoint NY in 2006 (hard cover) and in 2007(paper), Beryl Singleton Bissell’s memoir The Scent of God has just returned to print in a newly designed and revised edition.

Bissell was a teenager, when a powerful religious experience led her into a cloister in pursuit of divine, unconditional love.

Fifteen years later, her abbess sends her home to Puerto Rico to care for her ailing parents.  While there, she meets and falls in love with Padre Vittorio, a handsome Italian priest/professor at the University of Puerto Rico.

Moving from cloister to tropical island to romantic Italy, the story traverses a landscape of laughter, rage, and tears as Bissell learns that human longing is a but a prelude to life’s most perplexing questions. 
Purchase the Scent of God

In 2006, the Minneapolis Star Tribune named Beryl a Best of 2006 Minnesota Authors for her first book: The Scent of God: A Memoir (Counterpoint 2006, 2007), and a "Notable" Book Sense selection for April 2006. Her second book, A View of the Lake, (Lake Superior Port Cities Inc. 2011) was named a Best Regional Book for 2011 by the Minneapolis Star Tribune. Meanwhile Beryl is working on her third book, "The Glass Calyx: A Mother's Story" which picks up where The Scent of God leaves off and limns the years leading to her daughter's unresolved violent death at the age of 24 and its aftermath.

ISBN

978-1-7345539-0-1 (print)

978-1-7345539-1-8         

Story Oak Publications, St. Paul, Minnesota

Biography& Autobiography, Personal Memoirs

From The Heart Fall 2019

Dear Reader

For much of this past year my world was saturated with words too heavy to write or speak. During that year, loved ones have died and my husband Bill still bears the scars of his encounters with respiratory failure, diabetic crisis and double pneumonia. Though it was spring, I felt muffled in a winter world. I moved through each day in a strange inner silence, capable only of coping with visits to the ICU and weeks of entire days spent in three different hospitals. Bill returned home in such a frail and weakened condition I moved in a vaporous world of uncertainty. Would today be my last with him? Would I be alone tomorrow? Thanks, however, to the effort of a blessed crew of doctors, nurses, and therapists and courageous efforts of his own, he is growing stronger. Buoyed by hope and filled with gratitude, I can now reach for words with which to reconnect with you, to let you know that though I was silent, you were never far from my mind.

Conscious of the rapid passage of time and my approaching 80^th birthday, I wake each morning with a renewed sense of wonder at the gift of life. Bill is still with me and gratitude floods the entire day. I feel an added sense of responsibility to use this time well.

“We must trust in the small light we are given and to value the light we can shed into the lives of those around us . . . We live in a world alive with holy moments. We need only take the time to bring these moments into the light,” writes Kent Wilburn in his lovely little book Small Graces. I first encountered his writings in 1998 when we moved to Lake Superior’s North Shore. In an environment live with miracles, his quiet reflective words mirrored my desire to live a spiritual life and that is how I’ve tried to live most of my life. To remain open to the light present in every moment. To welcome each day as the miracle it is.

Assisi Heights MN

Our small book club is thriving. Together we delight in discovering the creative world within us. It has renewed my love of writing. While I have still not finished with The Glass Chrysalis, I’ve been working on bringing The Scent of God, which had gone out of print, back to life. I’d hoped to announce the publication of the new edition in this newsletter but life intervened and its rebirth has been delayed. It includes a wonderful new cover, beautiful interior design, the addition of an Introduction and an updated afterword. It should be ready early this fall. I shall keep you informed.

Meanwhile, may you be strong, may you be happy, may you be healthy. May you live your life with gladness. (Prayer of Loving Kindness)

A new presence

I wanted to create a presence of some sort on this very popular blogspot site.

I am a columnist for the Cook County News Herald and a frequent contributor to various regional magazines. My memoir, The Scent of God, was published in hardcover by Counterpoint NY in 2006 and in paperback this April of 2007. The book is basically a love story--love for God and love for a man of God -- and how by opening myself to both I became the woman I am today. It tells of the search for God that led me into a cloistered monastery at the age of 18 and the unraveling of that vocation 15 years later in Puerto Rico when I fell in love with a priest. The book takes the reader from a New Jersey cloister to Puerto Rico to Italy as faith and love collide in a story of love, death, guilt and redemption.

The Minneapolis Star Tribune named me a "Best of 2006 Minnesota Authors," and The Scent of God was a “Notable” Book Sense selection for April 2006 and has been nominated by Booksellers for a Midwest Booksellers Book Award.

My Journey to Publication and Life Thereafter blog is just that -- how an older woman found an agent who loved her manuscript so much that she sold it to a New York publisher in less than a week.

I hope you will come visit me at one or the other--or even better, both of the above blogs.

Into the Fire

In 2013, I attended a writing workshop offered by The Sun, a wonderful literary magazine to which I've subscribed for over 20 years. Titled "Into the Fire," the workshop was held at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California. Perched on a steep hillside overlooking the rugged Pacific coastline, the location boasted a breathtaking view, healing hot springs, acres of environmentally protected landscape and great food, much of it grown in its own organic gardens. The workshops the Sun offered were taught by authors such as Cheryl Strayed, Michael Shapiro, Ellen Haas  (if you haven't read her best-selling Wild, I'd recommend you do so, sooner rather than later

The Sun workshop

Beryl's January 2019 Newsletter

I began this newsletter on a glorious warm day in January and felt the need to reconnect with all of you, not because I had something important to say but simply because I’ve missed you. Today it is 10 ° F. Based on the paucity of my newsletters, it is clear that Inspiration departed and writers block took its place when we moved from our home on Lake Superior. During the nineteen years we lived within that magical landscape, it was easy to write. I’m saddened I’ve done such a poor job finding inspiration here.

Our new home is delightful. A residence for active seniors filled with warm and bright people who have become a family. It is a very busy, lively place. This busy-ness and immediate access to the many amenities offered by Metropolitan living, has given me an abundance of excuses not to write. When I was asked to help form a writers’ group here at RosePointe, I found a way out of my creative lethargy. I can’t sit by and let everyone write but me.

I have several thick red journals packed with years of quotations and notes on lectures and retreats that inspire me. While poking through current gleanings this morning—hoping to be jolted into creativity—I came across this notation from a retreat given by James Finley (one of Thomas Merton’s disciples and a well-known spiritual lecturer).

The task of spirituality is to allow God to love you. To discern God’s will does not mean to take a particular course of action. Whatever you choose is right even when you’re wrong. God is not waiting for you somewhere else because you’ve gone in the wrong direction. God is present to you now wherever you might be. I find this immensely comforting. Wherever I am, God is with me now. Now I can get up and write this newsletter.

Writing updates: My writing life is looking up now that we have a writers’ group. We had a meeting today in which I led a ten-minute writing exercise based on one of my favorite exercises: filling a page with words (action verbs, colors, sounds, objects and places), selecting five spontaneously, and quickly using them into one sentence. What fun.

Meanwhile, the work on the new edition of The Scent of God is nearing completion. It’s got a gorgeous new cover, intro and afterword. I’m getting back into the swing of the craft and believe that Its sequel might just complete its long gestation in the near future.

I hope the holidays brought you many blessings and that your happy days outnumbered the painful days. I pray this new year will be one in which we might work together to restore compassion to our nation and the world.

Beryl

Put Away My Words and Pray

Garden Walk Mosaic Assisi Heights

I know a lot of fancy words.
I tear them from my heart and my tongue.
Then I pray. 
--Mary Oliver “Six Recognitions of the Lord,” Thirst

Dear Reader,

Yes, it has been awhile since you’ve heard from me. While I often meant to write, I kept putting it off, hoping for a time when my words would not muddle my efforts to make a meaningful connection. As a writer, I find it almost impossible right now to find the inner peace to write an uplifting newsletter. Not in the midst of what feels like a war zone. Not without sharing concern about the anger, prejudice, and violence seething throughout this nation and the world. 

The realm of domination, privilege, and power in which we now live is not the realm of love, compassion and mercy in which I believe. What I see happening alarms me. Democracy giving way to autocracy. I am not politically skilled but I can no longer stem the disquiet that erupts within me when I see the indifference of those in power to the suffering of others and when that power is used to mislead the populace, intimidate the weak, suppress rights and censor protest. I believe, however, in the power of compassion to overcome cruelty, justice to counteract injustice, and the ability to effect change at the voting booth. And let’s not forget the potency of prayer to strengthen and sustain us.

Meanwhile, as The Glass Calyx continues to languish in my computer, The Scent of God is reviving as a new edition with an introduction, updated afterword and new cover. It will be available in hardcover and softcover and the new edition e-book will be available through Chapters-Indigo Kobo Kindle and Barnes & Noble Nook. It will be published late this fall.

God be with each of you. May love surround and embrace you. May you flourish and grow even more beautiful than you are now. Thank you for your friendship.

Beryl 

© Beryl Singleton Bissell 2018

You are receiving this because you have connected with Beryl via the internet and been added to her mailing list. To unsubscribe, please reply to this email and enter “unsubscribe” in the subject line. Thank you.

The Minneapolis Star Tribune named Beryl as a "Best of 2006 Minnesota Authors." Her book The Scent of God was a “Notable” Book Sense selection for April 2006. Her second book, A View of the Lake was named a best regional book by the Minneapolis Star Tribune in 2011

Free for Valentine's Day

Just in time for Valentine’s Day--

the e-book version of The Scent of God

by Beryl Singleton Bissell is Free February 9-13,

Ann Patchett called this memoir "A

terrifying, passionate, and exalted

examination of what it means to love with

your whole heart. Impossible to put down.”

Fall 2017 Newsletter

Monet's Water Gardens at Giverny France

October 2, 2017

“All day I try to say nothing but thank you,

breathe the syllables in and out with every step I take” – Jeanne Lohmann, "To Say Nothing But Thank You,"  Shaking the Tree

Joy flooded me the first time I read these words. They resonated within my soul. I have tried to live them even when tragedy strikes and the future appears uncertain and even frightening.  “Thank you” for  the beauty that surrounds us, the wonders of the natural world, the good and compassionate people that surround us, life and death and everything in between. To say “thank you” is to pray. It is hope and belief, courage and healing.

Life picked up speed soon after I last wrote and the dust billowed  up clouding my sight. Serious health issues and the sale of both our homes--one in Florida and the other our dream home on Lake Superior-- exhausted us as we said goodbye to old friends and raced to sort, sell, or give away the too much stuff we’d accumulated throughout the years, especially the thousands of books we’d collected. The state of our nation and conditions throughout the world overwhelmed me I found it impossible to think creatively or communicate with others in a meaningful way. Hence my lengthy silence.

The surgeon told me it could take up to a year to recuperate from heart surgery and I found this true for me. Gradually, light returned to my spirit, and I finally feel myself again. Contrary to my expectations -- how does one leave paradise? -- I discovered I liked our new home. A well-run and lively apartment complex, a spacious  and bright apartment, a welcoming group of seniors, nearby parks, shops, and all the cultural and social amenities the Twin Cities offer, not least of which is easy access to nearby medical care. The latter is one of the primary reasons we moved. During the nineteen years we lived on Lake Superior’s north shore we aged without worry until the day we discovered we were old.

Lifting my spirits were three weeks in Provence and Paris. Sharing one week of that time with my writing group put wind into my sails and now we are settled in our new place I feel the urge to return to writing. The first attempt is this newsletter reconnecting with dear friends like you. I wonder how you are faring. I pray you are safe and in good health, that you find strength in  times of adversity and rejoice in times of abundance. Thank you for your support and belief in me.

“Dialogue with the invisible can go on every minute, and with surprising gaiety I am saying thank you as I remember who I am, a woman learning to praise something as small as dandelion petals floating on the steaming surface of this bowl of vegetable soup, my happy savoring tongue.” Thus ends Lohmann’s poem. I find it delightful. I hope you do, too.

Beryl is the author of  The Scent of God and A View of the Lake. Beryl's Website

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Don't miss this book

Kristin Hannah has given us one of the most powerful stories of heroism and love that I have ever read. The Nightingale captures the often untold stories of the French Resistance movement. The ordinary people who moved beyond terror to protect and save from the Nazi's a nation's honor and the qualities that make humans capable of true greatness.

The Artistry of the Japanese Tattoo in exhibition

In 1993, my sixteen-year-old daughter Francesca acquired a tattoo without telling me. I thought she was simply spending the weekend with a girlfriend when it was actually a mutiny of sorts.  

“Fran, what have you done?” I gasped. 

“I knew you’d never give me permission and Kelly was getting one. So . . .” her voice trailed off but she didn’t drop her eyes. 

“What is it anyway?” She told me it was a rose but it looked more like a dragon to me, smoking its way toward her knee.  

“You realize you’ve marked yourself for life?” Francesca nodded, a smile lurking at the edge of her mouth. 

Not long after, Francesca’s older brother Thomas had both his arms tattooed. At the time it scandalized my relatives, friends, and acquaintances. Twenty years later not a day passes without my noting young people and even elders flaunting tattoos that extended up arms and legs to the neck and ears.

On February 25, 2016 I gained a greater appreciation of tattoos when an exhibition at the Morikami Museum and Gardens in Delray Beach Florida featured a “sold out” Exhibition Preview. of Perseverance: Japanese Tattoo Tradition in a Modern World. Who would attend, I wondered? When a Sold Out sign appeared in the museum lobby I realized lots of people wanted to attend!  The night of the lecture/demonstration, the audience was filled to overflowing with people of all ages. Even a baby was there in attendance (an early introduction perhaps?)

On a blistering hot day a week later, Bill and I viewed the amazing artistry of traditional Japanese tattoos known as Irezumi on exhibit at the museum. Gorgeous life-sized photos of men and women adorned with full body tattoos – front, back, legs, arms – lined the walls. Having watched Horitomo (Kazuaki Kitamura) demonstrate the piercing technique on a slender young man at the exhibition preview, I knew the process was painful and appreciated the exhibition title – Perseverance! 

While there we encountered a beautifully tattooed couple. The woman, a nurse, told me she always wore long sleeves  out of respect for the sensibilities of her patients.This reminded me of the time my son, wearing short sleeves, volunteered to paint a church and was asked to leave. His tattoos were an affront to the other volunteers.

photos from Museum Website

Street Painting in Lake Worth Florida

This past Saturday, my husband and I attended the Street Painting Festival in Lake Worth Florida for the first time. It was crowded and noisy and brilliant. Though many of the artists were still in the process of finishing their works of art, it was fascinating to watch the process. They worked from detailed images, often checking the sidewalk art with the image they already developed. They sat, the  squatted, they lay on their stomachs, careful always to avoid the already finished portions of their work. There were too many to photo all of them but here are some of my favorites. By the way, this was not a competition but a celebration. No prizes just delight.

Snowshoeing on the Superior Hiking Trail

I miss winter. I miss the hush of  winter mornings, the soft lavender shadows the sun casts on a landscape of wind-driven snow. I miss the chickadees that cluster on our deck, awaiting their turn at the feeder. Such polite little fellows they are, hopping on the feeder to fetch a black-oil sunflower seed and immediately flitting away to crack and eat it. 

 Photo by Kathleen Anderson-Gray

I especially miss snowshoeing on Minnesota’s Superior Hiking Trail, a 310 footpath that runs from south of Duluth to the Canadian Border. Easily accessed in any season from our house, the trail in winter was always an adventure, especially when fresh snow offers a glimpse into another world. Then the journey through the deep woods becomes a constant discovery … the tracks of snowshoe rabbits, red squirrels, pine martin, and sometimes moose and wolf the only sign of passage besides the tracks our shoes make. 

Kathleen Anderson-Gray is a North Shore friend who sends a daily photo she’s just taken. I can almost feel the crackling cold of those winter mornings even though I’m here in Florida for the winter. Kathleen recently sent me a photo that reminded me of one winter hike I took when snow and ice clung to branches like crystallized circus animals on parade, a giraffe, a sitting lion, even an elephant. Topped by a soft covering of snow, they resembled lace cookies baked in the woods. 

Free on Kindle, A Perfect Love Story for Valentines Day

The Scent of God by Beryl Singleton Bissell, free download February 13 and 14.
Click the  link.