A tongue of fog flanks the mountain at its midriff, rising slightly to stream over the knob where the mountain tapers into the flats. It is flowing like a river suspended in midair; air currents made visible. The sun rises and paints it yellow, briefly. It’s going to be a good day for mountains. We ascend…
All posts by Pete Kauffman
The Way of a Wooden Canoe
“If a man must be obsessed by something, I suppose a boat is as good as anything, perhaps a bit better than most. [they are] full of strange promise and the hint of trouble.” —E.B. White Somehow, and no one knows how this happened, I married a wife who developed a love for the river and fishing. When…
Sketch: Falling Woods
Took to the woods bright and early long before first light. Drove the Jeep down to the ford by Claywells’s field and couldn’t make it up the other side, it being a one-legged jeep, so I just dropped the Grumman in right there. I discovered my mistake instantly but was too stupid to admit it,…
Sketch: Springing Woods
Now, when I step out onto the porch to check the thermometer, I listen for it as the light reaches several hundred candlepower: A gobble, which makes spring official. He is at the head of the small hollow, two-thirds up the side of the ridge, probably in the branches of some beech. His neck will…
The Bibliophile’s Manifesto
Pound for pound, a book is the best return for your money. Forget Wall Street and the investment portfolio; let’s go for walls lined with books. The investment will be in experience and knowledge and not in the wallet of course, but the love of money is the root of all evil and the love…