I love Dogwoods. They grow indigenous on the hillsides and in the woods where my people are from. Every spring the snow melts, the birds return, the violets spring up wild in the woods and in early May large white dogwood blossoms join the Trillium and pale green buds of the forest. Here in our part of Michigan they usually blossom around the second week of May. About the weekend of our annual men and boys camp-out and canoe trip you see them peeking through the wood on the way up north.
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Vanishing Arts
I’m not one for conspiracy theories. I hate blaming everything from the breakdown of the American home to global warming on the liberal media and television. But I must say I really do believe the television and other factors are contributing to the vanishing of what I like to call the quaint and mostly rural arts.
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One More Cast
I’ve never been that patient or particularly skilled at fishing. Good fishermen need at least a little of both. When I was a boy I liked to spend the evening on the margin of the pond with my Zebco 404 rod and reel combination. I would cast and retrieve over and over again as fast as I could. My Dad, my uncle Bill, and Grandpa always said I needed to sit still and watch my bobber for a while but I was able pass my entire childhood from birth to about my sophomore year of Senior High School without ever sitting still.
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Petty Games At the Foot of the Cross
One Sunday night when I was a boy Steve Davis and I were pitching pennies in the basement of the church. One of the deacons saw us. He sternly warned us that we were never to play such games in the house of God and confiscated our pennies.
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Angel Near Saugatuck
A few years ago a friend and I took the church van to a conference in Chicago. It was a great day. We learned a lot and we enjoyed being together. The teaching was thought provoking and on the way back we fell into the kind of easy conversation you can’t really orchestrate ahead of time… the kind of conversation that makes time pass swiftly and the miles run by.
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Why Grandpas Repeat Themselves
Have you every noticed that grandpas are almost always story-tellers? And have you ever noticed that Grandpas usually repeat the same stories over and over again? Every grandpa I know does this. I have never heard of a grandpa who did not repeat stories.
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