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Thoughts about remarkable generosity, land and family at this Little Traverse Conservancy nature preserve near Indian River.
Frank Hill
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Ruminations on the esoteric and sentimental value of worm fishing.
Michael Delp
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I return to my childhood cabin in the Upper Peninsula each year, like salmon to the streams of their beginnings.
Kathy Steen
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From there I could watch the house without my parents seeing me, to see how long it took for them to miss me and begin crying to the cherry gods
for my return.
Emily Betz Tyra
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I grew up with the long-term risk it had taken to save the farm with this precarious crop from California, and with a sense of what a field—and family—can do.
Anne-Marie Oomen
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The porch was the origin of trust, imagination and the closeness.
Emily Betz Tyra
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Behind the curtain of night birds, summer breezes, insect and moth patterings, I hear their hum like dark cream. It is so much a part of everything that it seems like a sound from my body.
Anne-Marie Oomen
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All too often, they wait too long, and their shanties sink to become boats that must be paddled home.
Jaime Delp
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Deborah Wyatt Fellows
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An essay about Ken Marten's love of snow and particularly snow days when he was a child.
Ken Marten
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