Stepping out of my truck after the two hour drive up north, I heard choruses of Spring peeper frogs in the low grass swamps. This, punctuated with the drumming of grouse wings and the buzz of a lone feeble fly, put me that familiar frame of mind I have long been addicted to. The warm and humid Spring day felt close against me, and being overdressed, I could already feel a bead of sweat trickle down my back. Mesmerized, l left my truck door ajar and followed the sounds.... silently creeping through the brush and toward the source of the singing. It grew louder and louder as I approached. The sodden earth oozed around my boots and was silent underfoot as I tiptoed to the center of a shallow grassy swamp pool. Taking one more step, the frog chorus suddenly stopped, leaving the stark contrast of dead silence with my ears ringing from what a moment before had been a near deafening din. A hazy yellow sun poured its warmth on my shoulders as I stood there in the water looking up at a sky now filled with birds returning for the summer. Turning, I went back to camp.

Today was the opening of camp for the season and after being here only once in the last three months, the urgency to return was so intense it seemed as though I had fire in my veins. After an hour of setting everything up, I loaded my ATV and Otter Sled with gear to go finish building a permanent tree stand that I had started on our south 40 over three months before. The trail in was flooded everywhere from the snow melt of a heavy winter. After lugging all my gear and generator to the stand site, I finished building the platform of the stand which was nested in an oak tri-cluster adjacent to a mature evergreen. Loading everything back into the sled, I tossed my gortex jacket on the ground and plopped down there on the path to rest my aching muscles and catch my breath. For the longest time I lay there, gazing up at the sky and taking everything in, as the last rays of evening sun dappled gold on an otherwise monotone early Spring landscape. One frail and lethargic mosquito did a zig-zag flight pattern to land on me. That, and a sudden shiver, reminded me it was time to head back.

Saturday

The frogs lulled me to sleep last night, and preferring to leave the forced air heat off in favor of silence, I cocooned myself in sleeping bags against the 45 degree around me. Drifting off, I mentally designed the hunting shack I would begin building on this spot in the coming weeks. The morning brought torrential rains. I even savor the relentless rain that ribbons like liquid crystal down the edges of the tarp covering my trailer. By 2pm the rain became drizzle, so I saddled up the ATV and headed for the north 40 and with most of trail under water, I was glad I opted for rain gear and rubber boots. Parking my ride, I walked another 300 yards through the woods to a small drainage wash that led to the hidden meadow. The drainage wash was dry last year, but as I approached I found to my utter delight that it was now a small tumbling stream. A tornado many years before had leveled dozens of trees in this area leaving a sculpture like maze of gnarled massive branches surrounding the drainage. The effect was like walking through the magic armoire in the Chronicles of Narnia... a surreal and ethereal lacey wooden canopy, secluded and begging to be explored and photographed.

This 80 acres holds high ground on the east and west boundaries, with a north/south drainage swale right down the middle. The hidden meadow is a fifteen yard grassy circle at the head of that swale, bordered on all sides by high tag alder. Usually a dry causeway between the high and low swamps, the tiny secluded meadow was now shin deep in water. After scouting that area, and finding a lot of deer sign, I rode to another point on our south 40. I had one more tree stand to pull, and wanted to check for the sign of a mature buck I knew lived in the Big Swamp. His rubs and droppings were everywhere and I again located the perfect stand tree that I had marked in January. This would be the spot I would sit on archery opener this year. The day expired, I returned to camp and loaded up to go home. As always, leaving is hard since every part of this place begs me to stay. I have a bond with the woods, and with this place... and an affinity for each of its seasons. When I hear people say how they hate the snow or rain, or loathe this season and that season, I muse at how anyone could hate any of it. There is beauty in it all.

2nd Weekend

My work week was a treadmill of enjoyable albeit well orchestrated chaos. By Friday I was literally running to load up my rig and hit the road to be in the woods. We all have those things that are a deep part of us... the ones that make us feel centered, at peace... things we crave. I am fortunate to have several... primarily hunting and the outdoors, writing, music, and dance. My most euphoric moments are when I travel to my remote wooded 80 acres to savor the existence there, and especially when the experience is layered with writing and music. While I have not incorporated dance into the forest experience for lack of interest and for fear of being branded a lunatic, I do not rule out the possibility. Perhaps this traces to the Lakota Sioux in my bloodline.

If a mere human could have an epiphany, I had one tonight. Sitting alone by a monstrous campfire, dusk fell silently around me. The blush of sunset bathed me through the naked trees. My guitars soft chords echoed through the woods and blended into the chorus of a thousand chirping frogs. I so enjoy classical guitar in the woods at days end, especially when melded with the sounds of wildlife. The song was one I wrote called "My Friend", apropos since the issues of three friends weighed heavily on my heart tonight. A tear formed as I sat face up with eyes closed, playing for no one. At that moment, and as if in response, it began to lightly sprinkle. The drops pattered lightly on my face, and the pages of my music took on a natural watermark. The sprinkles made the campfire sizzle softly as its light danced on the seasoned wood of my acoustic. Each drop glinted with the suns setting rays in a visual concert with the campfire's glow. The rain and my tears became one.

Then the perfect silence: A simple but seductive benefit of sleeping in the woods. One of these days, Im going to take a pup tent to our north 40 and spend the night there. The chuckling of ducks in the nearby pond were my alarm clock as the early morning sun peeked in the window. The smell of coffee percolating in the camp pot offset a shiver as I caught up on some reading. After dusting off and firing up the chainsaw and brush cutter in preparation for enlarging our camp area to accommodate the hunting shack, I tended to the work of first moving nearly two tons of bricks and cement block to out-of-the-way locations.

The warm windy day held several firsts: First wood tick, first biting mosquito, first biting black fly. Minnesota Summer is almost here. On the way to town to pick up palettes and a wheelbarrow, I chatted with my three adopted grandpas, Sherby Ken and Dave. We like to laugh and we love to relentlessly needle each other until one of us caves. Today I was on the receiving end and wound up telling them all to shut up, and with a smiling wink and wave, drove off. In my rear view mirror I could see them slapping their legs, laughing and waving as I sped up the narrow gravel county road.

They watch out for me too, which I like since Im nearly always here alone. Finishing up with the bricks and cutting down a dozen trees, I was completely exhausted... a good exhausted. My arms bloodied from the work, and severely bruising a quad muscle, I packed up camp and hit the road.

We start building my hunting shack next weekend, and I already envision the finished structure in my mind, together with a windmill and hopefully a sauna. Its been many years since I built anything significant and given my proclivity for maiming myself, I hope I live to see it completed!