from Boyne River Daybook
A poem by Andrew Grace.
A poem by Andrew Grace.
The cabin guidelines ask you to be courteous and not too loud for your neighbors. No one near us was loud, even though most of the cabins appeared to be occupied. There are rules about too many people gathering at one site, to deter parties. This wouldn’t be the place to bring a big group and play drinking games.
Two poems by Jeannie Whitlock - "Moving Day" and "Cousins."
Poetry by Grace Smith.
Two poems by Judy Mathews.
“If you lived up here, you’d know what it was. It’s all anyone talks about. You’re either for it: it’s going to create jobs. Or you’re against it: it’s bad for the environment. No one’s neutral.”
Rock hunting holds a special place in Joyce Fetrow’s heart. Years ago, she battled alcoholism that drove her to some dark places. Now, Joyce dedicates her life to helping others find recovery, and says rocks remind her of that journey and inspire her to keep on track with her sobriety.
To walk through Frick Park – at least for me – is a pilgrimage into Milton's Paradise Lost, read not in words, lines, and stanzas, but rather rocks, trees, and water.
Flying squirrels glow pink under a blacklight. How many other mammals do this? What causes them to glow? The hardest question of all might never be answered: why?
A poem by Andre Peltier.
It takes a lot of work to survive winter. It takes a lot of gear, a lot of preparations. Buying salt for the driveway, buying kitty litter for our trunks. Making sure there’s blankets and flashlights and bottled water in the car in case we’re stuck in a drift or the car won’t start when it’s below freezing.
Because of its abundant open space, Detroit has a thriving ring-necked pheasant population. But what does coming development mean for this iconic bird and its future in the Motor City?