It's May 7th and it's snowing outside. I'm looking out on Upper Whitefish Lake, here in north central Minnesota. Part of the Whitefish chain of lakes, it's one of the prettiest lakes in this land of 10,000 or so. I just scored a really nice condo for rent at off-season rates for the next six weeks. I will continue to keep my antennae up for possible land or dwellings that say, "You've come home." In the meantime, it's a good place to be. It's down the shore from where I once lived, but the view is different so it feels brand new.
I can see Indian Island from my deck. It's a small island with some history to it, both Native American and personal. I've been out there many times in years past, waded in the back cove, picked Indian Paintbrush and walked through a grove of old growth trees that felt as though I was in the finest cathedral in the world. If spring ever arrives in full regalia, I will probably find a way to get out there again and I'm looking forward to it.
There are big Norway pines alongside the deck and on the grounds, and only one neighbor. Everyone else is waiting for summer to show up, for which I'm very grateful. At the risk of sounding selfish, it's nice to have such a lovely spot almost to myself. I slept last night in a loft, with a king size bed made of logs, in a sweet and peaceful place.
Life is good. Really good.