My wife, Nedra and I took off for a couple of days, staying at the House on the Hill and eating at the Rowe Inn in Ellsworth, Michigan.

Ginger, our GPS, almost had a fit. She wanted us to move west from US 127 on Military Road near Houghton Lake. We kept going north taking US 75 to Gaylord, because we like a more scenic route than what she had in mind. She pouted “Recalculating,” with every missed opportunity.

The House on the Hill is a fabulous bed and breakfast, 9661 Lake Street, Ellsworth, Michigan. The owners and innkeepers are Phillip and Marcie Palajac, and they provide wonderful service. Phil was working out of town when we visited this time. It is located in Northern Lower Michigan’s Chain of Lakes resort area. Traverse City and Mackinac are an hour’s drive away. It is close to skiing, golf, water sports, hiking, and other activities that vary with the season.

Each newly redecorated guest room is quiet and comfortable and has its own bath. There is a lovely large front porch with wicker furniture overlooking St. Clair Lake. The inn's grounds offer extensive lake frontage as well as groomed walking trails for hiking, snow-shoeing, and cross-country skiing. We prefer the Maple Room, with its own fireplace and air conditioning. It is in a building separated from the house and has a back porch overlooking gardens, a brook that serenaded us constantly, and a sweeping hill leading to the wooded expanse with footpaths that disappear among the trees. The first night was absolutely beautiful. With no light pollution, we could see the whole northern sky, the Big Dipper almost horizontal to the northwest, the Little Dipper straight up in the center displaying Polaris perfectly. Ringing the two were Draco, Cephus, Cassiopia, Camelopardalis, Lynx, Leo Minor, Canes Venatica, and Bootes. The tree frogs added a chorus to the murmuring brook.

The Rowe Inn is only four tenths of a mile down the road from the House. It provides fine dining in a casual atmosphere. Seasonal menus make it difficult to choose, and the wine menu is brought to you in a three ring binder, which Wes Westoven, the owner, says is updated daily. We selected the sautéed foie gras and morel stuffed veal medallions, with a Pinot noir the first night. We had the fantastic asiago Dijon crusted mussels as an appetizer the second night. Nedra had the morel stuffed pierogi, Polish dumplings, and I had the duck confit, accompanied by a Haut-Médoc. We finished with a dark chocolate mousse (Nedra), crème brulée (Ed) and a fine port.

Wes Westoven was a chef by age 16. In the early 1970s he and his wife bought the Rowe, changing it from a chicken and burger place to a restaurant with the ambience of a French country inn, fresh local ingredients, French dishes, and fine wine.

These two spots are on our “favorites” list in a beautiful part of the state. We had a wonderful time and came home refreshed and happy.

I am posting pages from my latest book, available at the Book Shelf, on Mission St., Mt. Pleasant. For more information click HERE.








The second traveler, one Hoist Petard, a metal smith, told of a far-off land where all the days were clear and sunny, the nights were spangled with stars, and everyone ate cake and honey. Unfortunately, this diet caused them all to suffer from gout, and the doctors made a fortune. Petard swore it was true.

Alley Openhiemer, a wheelwright, told the third story also set in a faraway place where it was always winter. The penguins were very fussy about raising their chicks. When a mother wanted to feed, she slid her egg onto the feet of the father. When she returned, the father rolled the egg onto her feet, and he went to feed. Unfortunately, an orca convention met in that very faraway place and ate the eggs and the fathers; and when they returned, the mothers as well. Orcas always leave best for last.

Shiraz Merlot, a wine merchant, told the next tale about a great stone through which an ornate sword protruded. Many men tried to pull the sword from the stone, but none could accomplish the task. One day, a mawkish oaf came by and, seeing the stone with the sword in it, pulled out the sword as if from taffy. Throwing the sword to one side, he said, “I’ve been looking for a stone like this forever so long a time.” Merlot admitted he was the oaf. Reaching in his vest pocket, he took out a chip of the stone to verify his story.

Shellby Baksoon, a puppeteer, promised an absolutely true story—he had witnessed it. The fifth story involved a wizard who claimed to be able to break any spell cast by a witch. People flocked to him, paying any price, to break this or that curse. He made the lame walk, the blind see, the crooked straight, the silent speak again. All were cured except the last to visit him—a child claimed to be an eighty-year-old man upon whom a spell was cast that made him into a child. “Why would you want to be old again?” puzzled the wizard. “Because I learned that life is meant to be suffered through, and now I must go through it all again.” The wizard offered, “The witch who cast this spell on you would cast it on me if I help you. Be gone. Play with the boys in the fields of youth.”

Elysium Magpie, a court reporter, ordered another round of stout. She began the sixth tale involving a fly that had been swallowed by a spider, which had,
in turn, been swallowed by a bird. The bird had been swallowed by a cat, which then was swallowed by a dog. The dog had been swallowed by a tiger, and the tiger had been swallowed by a whale. Now deep inside the spider, the fly began to buzz, causing the spider to laugh so hard it spit out the fly. The spider shuddered while evicting the fly, which caused the bird to regurgitate the spider and flutter its wings. The fluttering wings made the cat upset, so it cast out the bird and extended its claws, scratching the dog’s stomach. Yelping in pain, the dog released the cat. Doing so made it bark and bite. The tiger did not enjoy being bitten, so it released the dog. The tiger was so moody it started running in circles inside the whale. All this commotion was too much for the whale, who beached the fly, the spider, the bird, the cat, the dog, and the tiger upon the yellow ochre sand at the edge of the restless sea, each then going its own way. The moral, children, is to chew your food thoroughly before you swallow.

John Narrowpath would not be outdone by these tall tale tellers. He ordered up another round of stout and began, “When I was very young, I lived near the Mystic Carousel. It had mythical creatures one could ride on as the Carousel spun. This was on a world within another world, which revolved about a single sun. The stars there were bright and made curious pictures in the sky. If the storm outside were not so fearsome, we could go outside and look at the stars. They have changed since I was young, and we live on a world within a world circling two suns.”

Everyone laughed. “All right, John Narrowpath,” Fiesta chortled, “yours is the tallest tale of the lot. Gentlemen, please finish your drinks. The bar is closed.”

The next morning after a pleasant breakfast, John and his jackalopes continued south. As he crested a small hill late in the afternoon, he saw in the distance a monastery, bathed by the slanting rays of the twin stars of Sirius. The rays highlighted the towers, steeple, ramparts, and a small village clustered by the outer walls as if seeking for warmth against the drifting snow.



For earlier pages go to PAGES.

I have posted pages from my new book, available at the Book Shelf, Mission St., Mt. Pleasant. For more information click MORE.



The year in this place was 959 ASD, and when he asked about the Carousel, people looked at him suspiciously and gestured with their hands to ward off evil.

He and his lopes kept on the move.

He worked at odd jobs: a field hand, a fruit picker, a bank guard (itself with moments in which his dexterity was quite useful), a pipe fitter—anything that would keep him and his lopes from becoming too uncomfortable. The attachment between the three grew strong.

A Last Name

He encountered a local war between farmers and uniformed troops. He told the lopes to stay out of sight. Sizing up the imbalance, he fought for those defending their territory from the invaders. The battle had reached high intensity. He was good with a bow or a sword or a knife and helped drive back the enemy. His energy and accuracy inspired the others to fight harder. The soldiers decided hurriedly to abandon the attack.

The leader of the defenders was Hiram Goodthistle, a farmer as were most of the defenders. Goodthistle was a large man, built like a bulldog. His was the largest farm in the county with three barns, a large house, a wife his equal in every way, and four children, all learning the ways of farm life. He was mayor of the county seat. More though, he was a man who could get things done. Though none asked, all knew he was a Brother of the Pentagon with connections throughout the land. He bore the tattooed emblem of a pentagon with many curved lines within on the underside of his left wrist. When he spoke, others listened carefully.

That evening Goodthistle threw an old fashioned all-you-can-eat puppy roast. He was not a man to waste anything. His champion bulldog bitch had delivered a litter of six. (Her name was Cinnamon; she was as large as George and heavier than George and Gracie put together.) A buyer from Pierian Spring, capital of West Centralia, had purchased all but the runt that even the mother refused. Riding bulldogs was a sport for the wealthy. He paid five silver coins for each puppy. On a farm anything edible that is no longer needed becomes food. Mrs. Goodthistle prepared seventeen varieties of vegetables for the guests.

John was treated by the victors as a hero. When they saw that John ate only the vegetables they gave him a last name, Narrowpath. Then everyone clinked tankards of boot rear and drank to his good health.

Addressing John, Goodthistle said, “Those were Myrmidon soldiers from Sudlandt. They send squads out to lonely corners of Nordlandt and Eestlandt trying to steal grain. Their own farmers can’t grow enough because their sons are all put in one of King Fugal’s legions or the reserves.”

John asked if there was any place without war or conflict. “Not outside the monastery,” was the reply.

He conferred with his jackalopes, and they agreed. “Then I shall seek it out.” One of the farmers whose land had been spared drew a map for him.
The next morning, as John, the lopes, and the wagon turned the corner of the country road, a farmer asked Goodthistle what he really thought of John.

Goodthistle replied, “I don’t trust him. He’s a foreigner and may be an Appearer.” He went home and sent encoded messages by way of the network, a means for sending information around the world.


The Flying Pig

There was early snow, and as it deepened, the pace slowed. John Narrowpath led his little group to a shelter, a wayside inn called the Flying Pig with a good barn and as good a bar. The sign above the door indicated that the proprietor was Fiesta Rohling-Boyle. He took his wagon into the sturdy barn, unhitched his lopes, brushed the snow from their backs, and led them to a food trough and water basin. Fiesta was a jolly ample woman. Had she been twenty years younger, she’d still be more than twice John’s age. That did not matter to her. When he asked for accommodations, she threw her ample arms around him and gathered him into the globe of pheromones that surrounded her. There were seven guests that night including John.

As a friendly gesture, he bought a round of stout for everyone including Fiesta. To while away the evening, each guest told a story, telling not whether it was fact or fiction.

The first to volunteer was Hans Vashre, a soap salesman. He told of a sad maiden whose father, after the death of his wife, married again. The stepmother was jealous of the beautiful child. When the father went on a long journey, the stepmother locked the girl in the tallest tower of the house and fed her only crusts and water. This put the girl in a snit. The next time the stepmother came to bring the crusts and water, the girl kicked her down the stairs—thump, thump, thump. When the father came home, he called out that he had made a fortune during his trip. The sweet girl kissed him fondly. When he asked for his new wife, she told him of her “accident.” “Ah, well,” he responded. “She was getting a bit crabby, don’t you think?”




For other pages click HERE.

I am posting pages from my recent book, available at the Book Shelf, Mission Street, Mt. Pleasant. For more information click MORE.

John rested the ladder against the roof of the hall. Up he went to the roof. From there, he climbed the tower with its big bell and scrambled to the very top. On his shingle, he drew some lines. He took some string and made a few measurements. Retracing his steps and returning the ladder, he showed the smith his design for the base.

The smith smiled, revealing a missing tooth. “Well, get going on it!”
For the next two weeks, John was very busy. He completed the base he had designed and fastened it to the tower with sturdy bolts. There was a pipe brazed to the base. The smith watched approvingly at every step John took. Four brass rods formed the cardinal points, each welded to a bronze collar with a hole large enough to slip over the pipe at the tower’s top. He fastened the letters E, W, N, and S at the ends of the rods and, assuring his bearings were correct, mounted the crossed bars to the pipe with screws. “What do you want the vane to be?” John asked. The smith asked, “What would you like since you’re the artist on this job?”

John smiled, “A jackalope.” And so it was done. From brass, he trimmed the profile of George and soldered it to the top of a rod. He greased the inside of the pipe so the vane would rotate freely. He had filed a notch near the bottom of the rod. When he placed the vane into the pipe, he tightened several screws at the height of the notch, short of choking the rod. He was praised by the townsfolk at the dedication and was paid handsomely.

On the last day at the mill, his language proficiency having improved greatly, he asked Mr. Seltzer, the foreman, how much he wanted for the jackalopes.

Seltzer rubbed his bristled chin for a moment and said, “You’ve been a good worker, and I know you won’t be harsh on them. They are a nice pair. Well, I couldn’t use them until the thaw anyway, so how much are you willing to pay for the two of them?” John looked in his string purse and peered inside and pulled out two brass coins. Mr. Seltzer took John as a simple person, not knowledgeable about buying and selling. “That would get you one of them.”

John returned the coins to the purse and brought out a bronze coin. Seltzer’s eyes sparkled and reached for the tempting coin. Jack closed his fist on it, saying, “I’d like six brass coins in change.” Seltzer smiled; this John was no one’s fool.
Excitedly, John returned to the shed and told George and Gracie the news. They were very grateful. He gave them each a roll and a carrot stick from his grocery bag.

They all slept well. In the morning, John had several chores. He visited the barber for a haircut and shave, and the general store for some clothes. He then completed his last chore. He went to the house from which he had taken the clothing on that first night in town. He had cleaned them and quietly placed the items on the clothesline in the backyard, slipping a brass coin in the pocket of the jacket.

In the spring, John found much work, plowing fields for farmers. George and Gracie pulled steadily and never complained. The hours were long, but the pay was reasonable. He bought them sacks of oats and carrots (which were their favorite). Soon, he had saved enough to buy a used wagon with sides and a roof to be his home and well-fitting harnesses for the jackalopes. The three became good friends. When the work was done they would chat along the way.

One sweet spring evening, the stars shimmered in the clear blue sky. Work had gone well, and they were returning to their small patch of grass in the glen.

Three large men with scarves over their mouths and wearing long black coats stood in the road blocking the way. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” asked John amiably.

“You can give us your cash, and you won’t get hurt,” said the tallest of the three.
John looked them over and replied, “I don’t intend to give you that satisfaction.” Before the men could react, John sprang from the driver’s seat, feet first, crushing the breath out of the largest marauder. Somersaulting forward, he caught the second man in the chin with his boots, sending him sprawling into the ditch beside the road.

“That’s enough out of you, acrobat!” shouted the third man, holding a hunting knife in his fist, his back to the jackalopes. George took him by complete surprise, rearing up with Gracie rising to her rear paws to give him leverage. Down he crashed, breaking the thief’s right arm and sending the knife into the darkened bushes. The first man was back on his feet, and he too had a knife. He lunged at John who turned away from the thrust of the blade. Completing his turn, John smashed his fist into the other’s jaw. Down he went. The second man had come out of the ditch and jumped on John’s back.

“You never learn, do you?” cried Gracie tauntingly. John used his attacker’s forward momentum by crouching until the man flew over his head. He stood, catching the man’s knees and pushed them up. The man landed on his head and did not get up. John picked up the knife before him and turned to the three beaten men. “Any more from you, gentlemen?” There was no reply.

Spring turned to summer, and summer to fall. John learned he was in a country named Nordlandt, and terrible things were occurring.


For previous pages click PAGES.

Has anyone else noticed that price tags are already disappearing at one (maybe more) of our large grocery retailers? The new law that our thoughtless Governor erased when he took offcie does't take effect until September 1st but when grocery shopping I've noticed for a month now a serious lack of tags when shopping. It is against current law to totally skip placing tags on groceries but appears to me that they know that law enforcement isn't looking.

Anyway, almost as disappointing as the new law itself!

Thanks!

For New (and old) Drivers: Top 10 Driving Mistakes

1) Use your turn signal (3-parts)
a) You’re getting ready to pull onto a road like Mission while patiently waiting for the on-coming car to pass. It suddenly turns onto the same street you’re waiting to exit without using their turn signal and is extremely annoying. Don’t do this – It’s very rude!
b) You’re in the left lane and approaching an intersection with a stop light and there isn’t a left turn lane. The light turns red and you slow to a stop. Sometime after that, the driver directly ahead of you decides to put their turn signal on – too late for you to switch lanes so you’re stuck. This annoyance also applies to a green light and a driver turning on their left turn signal right when they hit the intersection. This happens frequently on Isabella Road. Don’t do this – It’s very rude!
c) Always put your turn signal on before you hit your breaks. So many times I’ve driven on Mission and the driver ahead of me for seemingly no reason, hits their breaks and I have to guess what their plans are. Don’t do this – It’s very rude!

2) Understand how to use a round-about. I am talking about the only true round-about in Mt. Pleasant, located downtown – not the one on Bellows near campus, which should be dismantled. The concept of a round-about is not difficult, but appears many drivers still don’t have a clue as to how they work. On many occasions, I have to come to a complete stop while approaching the round-about while following another car. I’m only talking about the times where there are absolutely no other vehicles in the round-about and no vehicles even approaching the round-about from one of the other 3 entry points. The beauty of a round-about is the use of yield signs which means that you should rarely need to stop. For those who believe a yield sign and a stop sign are the same thing, please get yourself a bicycle and ditch your car! This especially goes for the young man I followed just a few days ago that put his left turn signal on and almost went the wrong way into the round-about.

3) Follow the speed limits. Speed limits are put in place for a reason – well, maybe a few reasons. First of all, traffic flow. If every vehicle drove exactly the posted speed limit, we would all have so much less stress when trying to get from one place to another, and we’d get their faster! Occasionally, I have been in a hurry and exceeded the limit slightly – maybe 5 or 6 mph over the limit. Conversely, I rarely drive 5 or 6 mph below the speed limit. On Mission Street, the speed limit is 40 mph and has been for a few years now. I am amazed at how many still drive at the old speed limit of 30 mph. It’s really frustrating for me and many others to get to the other end of town. Don’t do this – It’s very rude!

4) Stop at stop signs. We all do rolling-stops at stop signs on occasion and it is a bad habit to even start. My biggest complaint is when people approach a 4-way stop thinking that the rule is whatever car gets to the crosswalk first, goes first, regardless of if they ever come to a complete stop. I believe the law as well as common courtesy, is for the car that stops at the crosswalk first is the first vehicle to proceed! Don’t do this – It’s very rude!

5) Learn the difference between, red, yellow and green lights. We’ve all ran through “orange” lights on occasion, but that slightly illegal distinction is being pushed well past the limits of common sense! I see so many people continue into the intersection at full speed well past the appearance of the red light. Technically speaking, if the light is yellow, and you are able to safely come to a stop, it is illegal to enter an intersection, although this is a technicality and mostly just an annoyance. The scary thing is that when drivers run through red lights at full speed, someone will get hurt! Don’t do this – It’s very dangerous!

6) Consider others when playing music annoyingly loud. I grew up in Royal Oak, and when I started driving the original “Dream Cruse” on Woodward avenue back in the 70’s, it was fun playing my music loud with the windows down and the wind blowing through my long blond hair. Of course, my hair is now long gone along with much of my hearing. Believe me when I say this, you are the only one enjoying the loud music and absolutely nobody thinks much of your music. I know, it feels good and the music seems so great, but again, you’re alone on this, and you will definitely have hearing issues some day! Don’t do this – It’s very rude!

7) Chatting on your cell phone. I know you all have important friends that can’t afford to miss more than 10 minutes without talking to you but really, put yourself in the shoes of us casual observers. We see you as moving through town and life in general without observing anything going on around you or the world in general. This especially applies to driving a car. I have sat in my car behind you at lights or stop signs more than a few times, chatting on your cell phone and not paying attention to breaks in traffic while a long line of cars are parked behind you waiting for you to make your move. Don’t do this – It’s very rude!

8) When you have a small fender-bender in a parking lot, stop and leave contact information. Last winter, my wife and I enjoyed a good movie at the Celebration Cinema. It had snowed while we were inside and when we came to our car, I couldn’t open the driver side door. It was wedged against the front fender because of a big dent that wasn’t there earlier when we parked. We had just bought the car about a month earlier and it made me sick to see the damage. I understand that accidents happen and this is how we learn and as time goes on, we get better. However, the decent response would be to leave some sort of contact information under the windshield wiper as well as an apology. It’s also a serious violation to leave an accident without notifying anyone. Don’t ever hit and run – It’s very rude!

9) Pay attention to traffic behind you almost as much as the traffic in front of you. Many years ago while driving late at night with my family on an expressway down state, we found ourselves sliding on black ice. The car ahead of me decided to drastically slow down from about 70 mph to about 20 mph and they also stayed in the left lane. I focused on my rearview mirror and saw a car fast approaching not realizing that black-ice was present. I immediately moved to the right lane and then to the side of the road and watched the approaching car smash into the slow moving car and missed me by inches. Always pay attention to things happening behind you as well as in front.

10) There are many ways to let other drivers know your intentions. When I took drivers-ed in 1973, my teacher said that we should always look to our left when approaching an intersection. It didn’t occur to me why this simple instruction was so important until a few years later. Now that I’ve been driving for many years, I get nervous if the driver approaching my roadway from a side street and isn’t looking in my direction. I’m not certain what his or her intentions are and I’ll slow down and keep my foot near the brake pedal to be prepared for the oncoming driver to pull out in front of me.

I am posting pages from my recent book available at the Book Shelf, on Mission Street, Mt. Pleasant. For more information click HERE.


He approached a village carefully. From the brush, he could see people in warm coats bustling from there to here and back, carrying bundles and baskets full of groceries. Their dress was most unusual to him. The cut, fit, and colors seemed bizarre. That night, he “borrowed” some clothes hung out to dry behind a house. He made a mental note to himself to pay for what he took when he could. He was no thief!

There was a flour mill at the edge of the town. He went to the person who seemed in charge. As best he could imitate the language, he inquired, “Vork todaze?”

The frosty foreman looked at him, noting he was unshaven but brawny. “Jes,” the foreman replied, “Vork filling sacks.”

The work was hard for he still had not eaten well, but he kept after it. The gristmill was in the center of the building. There were four spouts, and four burly workers filled empty sacks and took them to the scales. The foreman would look at the weight and add or take out enough to satisfy the label on each bag, a quarter kilogram. Three other men had taken their place filling sacks. As their sacks were full, the original four would take over with an empty sack. He became the fourth member of the small crew. This went on until the afternoon suns were low in the sky. The foreman blew a whistle, and the workers stopped the mill. Each came, hand open, to the foreman who gave each a few coins. As the newcomer approached, the foreman looked at him carefully. “Vork morrow?” he asked. The drifter nodded and was given five small coins.

He hurried from the mill, hoping to catch a store still open. The bakery’s door stood wide open, and in he went. The fragrance of freshly baked bread and cakes caused his knees to weaken, and he quivered as he went to the counter. “Vun bred und vun roll?” he asked, holding out his coins.
The woman behind the counter looked at him strangely as she placed his order in a bag. “Ver you from?” she asked, leaving him three coins.

“My hom east,” he replied slowly. “I vork in mill.” This seemed to satisfy her curiosity. “You sell fresh milk?” he asked, holding the three coins out to her. She took a coin and gave him a container of cold pure milk. He smiled and nodded his thanks.

He went back to the mill and entered what he took to be an empty shed. There was straw on the floor and two animals, a feeding trough, and a basin of water. He recognized them as jackalopes, amiable creatures. They were used for pulling wagons and plows. They looked at him shrewdly.

A jackalope has the general shape of what we call a rabbit, with large acute ears and a set of antlers. It is a sentient mammal and with schooling can learn to understand and speak two or three languages. It is a beast of burden as long as it is well cared for. As a steed, few animals could keep up with a good lope. In anger, however, it can be very dangerous. If one bonds to a person, it is determined to protect him or her, regardless of the danger. This male was very large and quite strong. From his chin to his tail, his underside was solid white while the rest of him was tawny brown with black hair scattered well amongst the rest of his coat. The female, a bit smaller, was dappled throughout like the autumn sun casting shadows through dry leaves about to fall.

The male said, “My name is George, and my lady friend is called Gracie.”
She nodded amiably and asked, “What is your name?”

Strangely, he understood her to a greater degree than he could the people in town. “I don’t have a name. Not one I can remember,” he responded.

“How about Jack? That’s a nice name and easy to remember. What’s in the bag?” Gracie asked curiously.

George interrupted, “Jack is all right for a child’s name, but he is an adult. Perhaps John would be more suitable.”

John smiled and shared his bread, roll, and milk with his new friends.



The Weather Vane

The job at the mill only lasted a few weeks as the winter store of grain had been ground. John had saved his money carefully and slept each night in the shed with George and Gracie. The foreman asked John if he knew anything about blacksmithing. “Yes,” he replied. “Well, if you’re up to two jobs a day, the village blacksmith broke his leg and needs some help. He pays pretty well.”

At lunch, John visited the smith at his shop. He was brawny as a bear and sat with his bandaged leg awkwardly out and up on a stool. “I’m very sorry to hear of your accident,” John began. “Could you use some help?”

The smith looked at him shrewdly. “Can you cut?”
“Yes, with shears on soft metal or a saw on tougher.”
“Shape?”
“With a hammer and an anvil.”
“Braze?”
“I can join pieces of metal together. Yes, I can, sir.”
“Okay. Do you see the town hall on the other side of the street?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Well, the mayor wants a weather vane for the top of the bell tower. Give me a design, and I’ll consider it.”
“If you can lend me a ladder, a shingle, and some charcoal, I can.”

To see earlier pages click PAGES.

Before the sign could be erected thanking George Douglass for the conservation easement he made on Marl Lake it had to be made. Don Stearns is watching carefully as Karen Stearns and Dianne Wilson hold the sign for Stan Lilley, Executive Director of the CWC, to fit it into the grooves made for the sign. The Stearn's family and Dianne Wilson are both supporters of the Chippewa Watershed Conservancy and have donated conservation easements to the conservancy.

On Tuesday afternoon, August 16, 2011 the George Douglass family gathered at the Cedar Lake Rest Area on M46 to dedicate a sign thanking Mr. Douglass for the conservation easement he put on Marl Lake. Due to the generous donation this beautiful property will be preserved for everyone passing by on M46 to enjoy. The Chippewa Watershed Conservancy is pleased and honored that Mr. Douglass, 94 years old, could come and let us thank him in person for this gift of beauty.

I am posting pages from my recent book avasilable at the Book Shelf on Mission Street, Mt. Pleasant. For more information click HERE.


MAP OF CENTRAL GONDWANALAND

He vacated the palace gracefully, knowing it would become a grand center for the new government. He promised his people that he would look out for their well-being as an interim governor until an election could be held to name the province’s legal governor. What had been West Centralia was now the Nordlandt’s Centralian Province. Owltufts would seek statehood by meeting the conditions set out in the constitution. He had changed the course of history, and there was no undoing it.

The complete text was broadcast over the network, which connected the known countries of Inchoate. West Centralia and all its lands and peoples were now made part of Nordlandt. The long train had brought soldiers and weapons that were moved to the southwestern frontier. When a courier brought Fugal an officially sealed copy, there was a cover letter indicating that any attack of any portion of West Centralia would be considered as a state of war with Nordlandt. People throughout the capital city, Gaingull, claimed they could hear Fugal’s shriek of rage.



CHAPTER 2
JOHN NARROWPATH

He awoke from a terrible dream and found himself in the middle of a field covered with stubble. The stubble had pierced his hands and face, and he was bleeding. A bell somewhere far away solemnly toned the hour: one, two, three. Dawn was still to the distant east, rushing toward him.

As he tried to pick himself up, he realized the field was covered in light snow, even the ground under him. This indicated he had landed here recently, or the snow beneath would have melted, and his back would be covered with it. It was so hard to concentrate. His mind was swirling in a clockwise fashion; so, he concluded, he must be in the southern hemisphere. How did he get here? He rolled over more stubble and sat up. Why was he so tired and disoriented? Next to him was a hat. It must be his, so he put it on. It fit and warmed his ringing ears. As he put on the hat, however, he felt his hair. It had grown long. He felt his face; he had a great mustache and a long beard! But he had shaved this morning. Or had he?

He rested a few moments and tried to stand. No, down he went, on his face again in the stubble. Once again, he sat and brushed the snow from his jacket and pants. He melted some snow in his mouth and swallowed. It felt good as the coolness slid down his throat, seeking his stomach. He repeated the process several times until his thirst was quenched. By now, the ringing was much fainter; and his mind was slowing down, coming to rest as it should between and just behind his eyes.

He stood and waited for his body to complete its wake-up call. To his left was a wooded glen. Where was the Mystic Carousel? He decided to shield himself behind the brush in the glen until he figured things out.

Jackalopes

In the days that followed, he had seen workers going to and from the fields, speaking in a language he barely understood. Many of the words were familiar, but the pronunciations were different. He watched animals bury nuts and seeds. He dug them up and ate what he could, washing them down with melted snow. He approached a village carefully.

For previous pages click HERE.

I am posting pages from my new book, available at the Book Shelf on Mission St. in Mt. Pleasant. If you want more information click HERE.





Oh yes, the inside walls of the car were armored.

The steam locomotive, far ahead, braced itself against the blowing and drifting snow. Its pistons pushed and pulled mightily on the rods and links that made the drivers go round. Its great headlight pushed a cone of light ahead, revealing a chaos of snow, yet its beam was bright enough to allow the engineer only a hint of what lay ahead. The train itself was but a snow snake twisting and turning in the blackness and in the howling, relentless snow.

The timetable insisted that the arrival time would be at dawn. The storm had other plans, and it was near noon when the train pulled into the sprawling terminal in Dolphene. Great clots of ice and snow splashed from the cars unto the platform and melted rapidly, making large black steamy patches on the concrete.

There was a metal barrier on the platform that protected the last car from the rest of the train. Two guards emerged from the car, weapons drawn. When they were sure all was in order, the minister and the remaining guards came forth. They were met by an official cluster of important-looking people. Ms. Phyllis Inownit, the vice president of Nordlandt, stepped forward briskly and shook the minister’s cold hand. She looked accustomed to welcoming important guests.

She had a set face caught in what might be a smile. The group moved quickly to one of the side exits of the terminal where vehicles awaited.
The Palace of Peace, which housed the government was modern, grand, and by its sweep, intimidating. The vice president took the visitors from Centralia to a suite of rooms where they could freshen up before meeting the president.


A New Beginning

The somber and determined Maelstrom had brought an idea from his king so startling the visit turned into a diplomatic conference lasting three days. Arthur Pholde, president of Nordlandt, and his staff looked at every detail covered in the draft document. At last, they weighed the costs and the benefits and found adoption beneficial to both sides.

The presidential train was quite splendid; a sleek, polished streamlined locomotive with matching tender pulled twelve passenger cars, a kitchen car, ten freight cars, and the armored car that had brought the Centralian contingent north coupled on the end.

It sped swiftly south and west, the glittering snow brushed aside by the locomotive sparkled past the windows. The presidential car was magnificent, divided in two major sections: the sleeping quarters for the president and a conference room with an intricately carved table with matching armchairs, which while attached to the floor could be maneuvered back and forth, right and left. Most convenient and very comfortable. The cars were so well suspended one could hardly feel that the train was moving.

The train arrived at Pierian Spring and coasted to a gentle stop in a well-guarded fenced siding. King Drosophila and his ministers waited at the platform. When the door of the president’s car opened, a band struck up the Nordlandtic national anthem. Pholde, in perfect protocol, clicked his heels, removed his hat, and bowed his head. The king responded by touching his crown and extending his hand. As they shook hands, the president commented that it was cold here and escorted His Highness to the car’s conference room. Both sides introduced their various officers and sat down. At each place, there was a small teapot, cup, and saucer.

Pholde began, “Your Highness has surprised us with this offer, but we find it most appealing. It would certainly stop Sudlandt’s marauding ventures, at least for awhile.”

The next morning was New Year’s Day of 959 AST. At the royal palace, stewards opened the doors to the many citizens eager to hear the king’s New Year address. He then announced to all present what was to happen, “My loyal subjects, it is with your greatest interest in mind that I have asked aid from Nordlandt. King Fugal and his legions will regroup and attack us again, given the chance. I am about to reduce that chance to nearly nothing. This document that President Pholde and I are about to ratify unites West Centralia and Nordlandt. Our mutual forces can withstand the Myrmidons. Better, you all shall become free subjects of Nordlandt. Our heritage, our language, and our beliefs are nearly identical. You shall elect those you wish to govern you and abide by the Nordlandtic Constitution that makes the governed the masters of their fate. I leave the throne with a happy heart, knowing you shall all benefit from this action.”

Then with a stroke of his pen, he signed the official treaty. As he set each letter of his name on the page, he hoped the poet who wrote “The hand that signed the paper felled a city” was wrong. Without a word, Pholde followed, signing the pact with a flourish.


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I am posting pages from my latest book, available at the Book Shelf on Mission Street in Mt. Pleasant. If you want more information click HERE.



At once, the Myrmidon cavalry charged to the left and right of the marching men, bypassed the wall, and moved into the forest, sending flares into the trees. It being almost autumn, the leaves were dusty dry, and the braches were as brittle as kindling. Each tree burst into a ball of flame, encapsulating the defending archers with withering heat and fire. The Centralian cavalry sprang forward, led by Prince Blendenpeal Owltufts, Garrulous’s courageous son, to engage the enemy.

There beneath a sky of flame and falling branches, the foes entwined as two deadly snakes. Ringing this battle, the foot soldiers and archers of both forces surrounded the molten core of combat, running and striking at what they could. The trees dropped burnt offerings, indifferent as to who might be struck. Round and round the attackers and defenders swirled, like a great wheel, in a clockwise direction. Would they run so fast as to turn into butter?

Not unless butter is blood red.

Only Fugal held back on the wall, contemplating the scene before him, infatuated with the fury and balance of it all. Allium joined him. “SEND IN THE RESERVES!” the king blared. Ten thousand had been stationed south of the wall. They went left, right, and over the berm, surrounding the turning wheel.

On command, they thrust their spears into the rim of the rotating mass of warriors, not caring who were struck. The wheel slowed and fell apart. And so it was that the army of Centralia was overcome. By nightfall, each side offered up their corpses in two blazing pyres, designating the end of battle.

King Garrulous was dead among his men, sword still in hand. When all the niceties of the two armies cremating their dead and the flourishes of the opposing ministers were done, the treaty was harsh. Fugal took the central provinces to become part of Sudlandt. What remained, the mountains and valleys of the west, became West Centralia. Fugal might have taken that portion as well, but Garrulous had the foresight to withhold his reserves to create a strong, fresh line of defense blocking access in that direction. The splendid course he took saved the western portion of Centralia. Fugal’s forces were too weak to attack again.


The Broken Kingdom

And thus it was that Prince Owltufts became King Drosophila III and was good to his loving family, his efficient administrators, his dedicated army; and most importantly, he was good to the fine people of West Centralia. The remainder of Garrulous’s army acknowledged Drosophila’s sovereignty over them as did the citizens. The tin and zinc mines still provided a steady income because everyone in the world needed it. In the valleys, the farmers turned to growing grapes to make exquisite wines, which soon became a major export.

As soon as he and his army had returned to Gaingull, the capital of Sudlandt, Fugal sent his spies to snoop among the farmers, villagers, and ministers of West Centralia. In the autumn of 949 AST, he sent for Marshal Allium and his advisor, Abbot Bryllyg Millitus. Fugal tasked them to develop a plan to absorb West Centralia. He wanted the tin and zinc mines, and they would be his!

Allium assured him that the legions would be back to full strength in the spring. He and Millitus studied the terrain maps for the best routes to West Centralia and the spies’ reports of the disposition of King Drosophila’s forces. They drew up lists of lies the spies would spread to deceive the king and his ministers.

Drosophila was not a fool nor did he tolerate fools when they were caught. His police captured six of the spies and interrogated them somewhat insistently.

They quickly revealed their task. Five were sent to a distant prison and kept in solitary confinement. The sixth was one Shellson Carapace who would do anything if the price were right. They gave him a false report to deliver to Allium, indicating that the plan was working beautifully and that Drosophila was oblivious to any danger. Carapace received a small bag of coins for his effort. When he had carried out his mission, he would obtain evidence that he had done so. He then would travel to a monastery in Nordlandt and seek out the librarian there who would give him a much larger sack of coins and another mission. He was assured that he could make a small fortune if he remembered who employed him. As a further incentive, he was told that he would be watched, even in Fugal’s palace; and should he decide to reveal to the enemy this charade, he would die in a truly disgusting manner.


Flight to Dolphene

King Drosophila knew he did not have a large enough army to fight the Myrmidon. He sent his chief minister Thurgood Maelstrom, on a secret mission. He was to travel to Dolphene, the capital of Nordlandt, with a vital proposal. The minister and a small band of bodyguards left Pierian Spring in the darkest time of the night on the last train north. Winter was now middle-aged but could be fierce if it was offended.

Maelstrom was a faithful and very wise counselor. Tall, lanky, and quick, he and the rest of his party were among Centralia’s best diplomats. They had the last car all to themselves, specially built for the purpose; there was a separate bathroom and berths for the guards who took turns on duty, and an ample separate bedroom for the minister.

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Here are Pages 15 and 16 of the first chapter of Book 1: The Now Time. If you want more information click HERE.

Garrulous’ army had turned back the first war in 930 AST easily. Fugal V had misjudged the size of the attack force needed to break through determined defenders. The second war of 933 AST was better planned. Marshal Allium led four legions, over forty thousand men, and focused only on the eastern fields of Centralia. The defenders were forced to retreat westward, leaving the beautiful forests, fields, and farms. At the signing of the peace treaty, Fugal took full control of East Centralia. He released all prisoners as did Garrulous.

The third attack in 937 AST was even better planned. Garrulous massed his troops along the southern border of what was left of Centralia in small groups that could be deployed rapidly. There were to be no captives. Young Centralian men not already in the service volunteered in the thousands to withstand the enemy. Garrulous had purchased weapons superior to those in his arsenal from Nordlandt. It was strictly cash and tin, and no alliance had been struck.

Allium employed five legions—one legion each for the left and right flanks, and three in the center. King Fugal and his marshal led the charge into a field shorn of weeds, grass, and stones by legionnaires the night before the battle. The dawn was bright, the air supremely clear, and the raging sounds of the invaders broke the silence into crystalline shards.

The first surprise was not pleasant. In the night, the legionnaires had not discovered a deep trench covered over with light sticks and hay some distance
beyond the Sudlandt border. In an enormous charge, King Fugal, Marshal Allium, and about three hundred mounted cavalrymen went into the pit. At the bottom of the trench were hundreds of sharpened stakes to end their fall. That Fugal and Allium survived was unfortunate for the defenders watching from the top of the earthen berm they had built for their defense.

Somehow, Fugal and Allium scrambled over the backs and bodies beneath them. They commandeered new mounts, brandished their shining swords to rally their forces, and crossed the now filled trench over the broken bodies lost in the dark red pit.Instead of stopping the charge, it invigorated the legionnaires to avenge this Centralian trick.

The base of the earthen dam held the second surprise. It consisted of fine sand. The charging cavalry stumbled into the mire of silicon, spraying dust in every direction, blinding those immediately behind the first rank of cavalry. The second rank of attackers had no chance of avoiding the traffic jam in front, nor the third wave. Again, Fugal and Allium survived and attempted to restore order from the mounting chaos of the attack.

Bowmen defenders on the top of the berm showered the Sudlandters with a dense cloud of barbed arrows. Fugal and Allium, unhampered by the arrows by holding up their leather shields against them, shouted orders to retreat to their camp.At the same time, the right and left flanks of legionnaires had bypassed the wall to the east and west. The defenders were prepared with machines that released hundreds of arrows at once. The centurions, each in charge of a platoon of a hundred soldiers, turned their men around and left with minimum losses but had nothing to show for their efforts.

King Garrulous strode along the top of the wall, shouting encouragement to his men. His clear voice was powerful and gave confidence. When the enemy was in confused retreat, he turned to his cavalry below the north side of the earth wall and commanded them to ride. Half went around the west end of the berm, the rest around the east. Converging, they drove their chargers at top speed and felled the slowest of the fleeing foe.

The heat of the day was fierce, and the air was dry as alum. The combatants’ sweat evaporated instantly, providing some relief; but without water, they began to dehydrate. It became an agony just to raise a sword or shield. Then came the haunting sound of Garrulous’s trumpets and the defenders so quick to appear were almost as fast in their disappearance.

That night, the invaders counted their losses—more than three thousand soldiers and their animals. They posted their guards, made their plans, ate some rations, and slept in sullen silence.

Dawn too chose to be sullen. Guilty clouds slid endlessly across a pained sky. Gusts of hungry wind twirled cones of sand and grit into the faces of the awakened forces. Allium suggested a phalanx of bowmen at the front of the attack followed by foot soldiers. The cavalry and the reserve troops would be held back to be used when warranted. Fugal as gloomy as the dawn, agreed.

As the legionnaires lined up for the attack, they looked across the trampled and bloodied field. There were neither enemy soldiers nor corpses to be seen. The front lines of bowmen strode in unison, marking every noise, every tiny movement of flotsam on the ground they walked on. They noticed that the Centralians had filled the ditch with all the Myrmidon corpses and with compact soil. Carefully, they crossed it and began up the earthen wall of the berm, without a sign of danger. Had King Garrulous’s men deserted him?

Up the hill they strode, shoulder to shoulder. At the crest of the wall, they could see only a broad grove of trees nodding in the heightened wind but no defenders. Somewhat perplexed, they started down the north slope, others marching behind in broad ranks and long files. When the slope was full of targets, snipers hidden in the tall swaying trees opened fire. There was not much need to aim; all arrows flew into the crop of the potentially dead. Fugal had ridden with his troops but stayed on the crest of the berm. As soon as he saw the danger, he raised a brass trumpet to his lips and sounded an alarm.

For earlier pages click HERE.
The book is available at the Book Shelf on Mission St. in Mt. Pleasant.

I will post pages from my latest book, The Lands of In-KO-8 Trilogy. If you like it click MORE.

Book One: The Now Time

CHAPTER 1 - RAGE OF THE LEGIONS OF MYRMIDON

Ah! There you are. I didn’t know when to expect you. My mind was staggering around its nest, restless as ever and none too tidy. As I recall, you wanted to hear about the strange occurrences during the Now Time on Inchoate. Where to begin is a problem similar to walking around a Möbius strip but oversimplifies everything. Therefore, I suggest we begin with a lay of the land as it existed during a propitious change in the moody tides of time. I realize you know that going either way on a Möbius strip brings you full circle to the beginning, except that what had been left is now right and everything that was right is left. You must pay close attention to details because the story does twist back upon itself as does that Möbius strip. I recommend we proceed in a traditional format of moving forward in time in a clockwise direction. The date is near the end of summer, 950 AST.

Oh, I must insist on a few ground rules. Please do not try to tell me your name, your age, or where you live. Nothing personal, but you must know by now that each of us is born with an empty pail. It is for storing memories. As we grow, the pail grows but also begins to fill up. My pail is fully grown and fully full. I know the facts of the history of Inchoate. If I was forced to remember your name or age, I would be forced to forget a fact. Don’t look at me that way! Tell you what —after I tell you the entire story, I promise to ask your name age and yes even where you live. Until then, we have a long journey and should start. Before we start I want you to carry this pail. We must return with everything we came with to keep the planet uncontaminated.

***

The Good King King Drosophila was good to his loving family, his efficient administrators, and his dedicated army; and most importantly, he was good to the fine people of West Centralia.

This small territory was all that remained of Centralia, which years ago separated Sudlandt and Nordlandt. At its zenith, Centralia had served as a buffer between the tyrannical kingdom to its south and the more benign democratic country to the north. Pierian Spring had been the capital of all of Centralia and was capital of all that remained of it.

The king’s father, Garrulous the Generous, had raised and trained a fine army and led it against intrusions on his lands. Most attacks were from the south. The southern king wanted what his country needed but did not have. In his pride, one of only a few of Garrulous’ character flaws, he never asked for help from other countries. That did not serve him well when things became dire.

The basis for the wealth of Centralia was the tin and zinc mined in the country’s western mountainous region. Farming was also very bountiful in the middle and eastern regions. Indeed, the farms with their fields splendid in abundance, the vast tracts of dark, wide forests, and the well-kept towns provided an ideal life for those who called them home. Sales of tin, zinc and grain brought sufficient wealth that the citizens of Centralia paid no taxes and enjoyed free schooling and health care.

All had been tranquil until 930 AST. Sudlandt’s King Fugal IV had died, leaving his throne to his son, Fugal V. Fugal IV had been hard and trouble enough, but his son took all of his father’s worst traits and polished them until they sparkled. Grasping, unflinching, cruel, he had a temperature so low that Celsius himself could not measure it. His greatest fault was greed. Dread of him came from the measured cadence of his loud voice. He bellowed even in polite conversation. People could not bear to look him in the eyes. The scleras of his eyes were, instead of white, the color of yellow phlegm.

Between 930 and 950 AST, Rumes Acetosa Raphanus Sativus Fugal V—King of Sudlandt, Sovereign of the Tectonics, Liege of the Acidtraine, the Maker of Signals, and Solemn Keeper of the Myrmidon—had led three attacks against Centralia.
His marshal of forces was Ciboulette Allium, a wily but secretive man. Allium was large and quick and enjoyed the onslaught of battle. He acquired his many promotions not so much by knowledge and diligence as by the strange deaths of those officers for whom he worked. He literally advanced over the dead bodies of his superiors.
His army consisted of the Legions of the Myrmidon. Career legionnaires were very tough and always obeyed their superior’s commands. Each legion could be self-sufficient having ground troops, cavalry, artillery, and support troops. Many able-bodied men of Sudlandt served in the reserves—mostly in the support activities such as supply, field labor, and cannon fodder.

I will post some pages of my latest book. If you want more click MORE.

BOOK 1: The Now Time

PROLOGUE


The universe we see is vast, dark, and lonely. This perception occurs because of the limitations of our senses. Indeed, it is brimming with strings (tiny dots that wink on and off, sometimes causing quarks or photons, the building materials of matter), gravity (in which everything effects everything else), and electromagnetic waves flashing this way and that. Nonetheless, matter as we know it is scarce. The evening sky may glitter with the light from billions of stars and millions of galaxies, but the distances between these glimmering dots are measured in light-years. The void between occupies the remaining 99.99 percent of the expanding envelope of space-time. This universe is more than 13 billion years old. Stars blossom, age, and die as must all things. Life is sprinkled lightly on a few planets of some stars. This life evolves even as the environment around it changes. Beings able to survive through change continue and the rest become extinct.

Very few organisms evolve to a point where they become aware of themselves and of their mortality. These are sentient beings. Most of these think so highly of themselves and their planet that they must be the center of all things important. They group themselves in various lumps of geography and commence to war upon one another. Civilizations come into being, age, and die. In the minute fraction of beings that do not destroy their worlds utterly, they transcend civilizations and become world communities. These have evolved to such a degree they look out at the stars and decide to explore for others like themselves. The space wanderers move from the stars closest to their home system outward as ripples in a pond seek the shore. Along the way, they leave outposts to mark the route they have taken so others may follow. Often, an outpost cannot be detected by the inhabitants of a world.

This story is about one of those outposts during its most trying periods.



The Lands of Inchoate

The planet Inchoate is composed of dark matter and has a diameter of 2,114 kilometers. It resides inside the Earth that has a diameter of 12,682 kilometers, six times larger. Inchoate came into being during evolution of the Older Bang, over four billion years before the Big Bang, and cells, plants, and creatures evolved slowly.

At the time of this narrative the largest land mass on the planet is the continent of Gondwanaland. It stretches from near the planet’s North Pole to near its South Pole, from the northwest to the southeast.

Another continent, about a quarter of the size of Gondwanaland, is named Laurasia. It dominates the North Polar area, and is mostly covered with glaciers, ice fields, and snow. It is, however rich in ores and minerals of many sorts.

There are many islands on Inchoate. A large group of these to the south of Gondwanaland comprise the nation of the Oceanæ. There are twelve other major groups of islands and thousands of individual outcroppings of land rising from the often bitter sea.

On Tuesday, August 16 at 2:00 P.M., at the M46 rest area 2.5 miles of Vestaburg, the Chippewa Watershed Conservancy will host a dedication of a sign honoring the July 27, 2000 donation of an 80 acre Conservation Easement at Marl Lake by George Douglass. This sign celebrates the permanent protection of the scenic views around Marl Lake.

The event is open to the public.

I will post pages from my new book. If you are interested, click on MORE.

PREFACE

Scientists believe that the universe is about 70 percent dark matter and dark energy. Inchoate (In-KO-8) is a planet made of dark matter. Dark matter and our “real” matter don’t interact very much but do share energy spectra. This leads to all kinds of things that can happen when Inchoate passes through or into the Earth, or other regular matter.

The planet is one-sixth the scale of Earth. The people there use the metric system, but the reader must realize that a kilometer on Inchoate is like six kilometers here. A volume of an object one cubic meter on Earth would only be 1/216th of that on Inchoate. Since the laws of physics would apply to both places, this means that the amount of energy needed to move a scaled Inchoate object would be greatly reduced.

Some creatures from Earth fell through a passage between the worlds. Thus, on Inchoate, many birds, rodents, and reptiles seem six times their size on the surface of Earth. We assume that the Higgs bosons that account for the mass of atoms have been reduced or removed as well.

There are four two-legged sentient species on the planet. Homo vulgaris are the primary intelligent erect family on the largest continent of Inchoate and have skins of various shades of blue. Homo shardana people exist worldwide as seafarers and have green complexions. Homo primordial is the only species to exist near the North Pole. The nature of the fourth species, the Progenitors, will become clear in time.

The Endnotes provide useful information such as the value of currency on Inchoate, how the year is divided, and the languages spoken there.

I hope you enjoy the story.

chippewa watershed conservancy is a group.

I am learning to blog and making the same mistakes I make at home trying to master this new form of communication. Take heart all of you who are learning to do this. I did not forget my password but the machine said I did. It finally believed me and I am continuing on my way.

This is a big tree, but, it is half eaten. It has been 5 days since the tree was felled into the water.

The food the beaver is preparing is now ready to eat. The house is in the center of the picture. There are two adults and maybe two beaver kits living there. Enjoy your food.

It is soup now, just ready to munch on.

Dinner is almost ready.

Next step, choose a large tree and watch which way it will fall. Careful!

step one, start gnawing on a tree.

This is a picture of a replica of an 1812 pirate ship. If one of these ships, or a replica, is found in the Chippewa River we will add it to the Chippewa Water Trail map.