When sailboats in those days ran out of wind, or wind was simply against them, they sat useless and dead in the water - just as many of us feel during windless times in life. 

I have a great deal of honor for the generations before me and unbridled love for the generations my wife and I now raise.

When dawn wicked over the Chesapeake the tattered stars and stripes still flew above the fort.  The British themselves were shocked to not see the Union Jack and soon gave up.  Key’s pride in America and the emotional events of watching from afar without the ability to even warn spawned his penning the poem - The Star-Spangled Banner, which now is our national anthem. 

It’s sunset and the Midwest sky is so large, animated and three-dimensional, that I forget for a minute that I’m on a train.  Large puffy white clouds, indicative of a sky after a front pushes through, individually round out as though they demand center stage, back lit by the sun, as to say, “Look at me”.

Planting a tree takes ‘paying it forward’ to a whole new level.  Most Oak trees take 20 years before they even produce acorns.  It’s a lifetime before they function on the human scale and their true impact is most likely seen only in the next generation and beyond.

In a few weeks I take the weekend off and help a new boat owner deliver his winter prize from South Haven to Leland, MI.  I have logged thousands of sea miles on boats designed almost exactly like this one and I felt quite at home during my original inspection a month back, but this will be the first time I have captained with the owner onboard as crew.

A map does not just chart, it unlocks and formulates meaning; it forms bridges between here and there, between disparate ideas that we did not know were previously connected

This morning for the first time in many I was at liberty to read for my own enjoyment and now maybe a little writing as well.  In the course of the day we decided to trot off to the great dunes of Southwest Michigan and take in a little hiking.

This morning I was reaching up into the coat closet gathering my gloves and winter hat for my morning run when the phone rang.  It was still early, 5:30, and I dashed to silence this beast before I woke the boys who were still sleeping just down the hall.  My friend, Chris, on the other end of a very crackly line blurted out “wake up”.

This article rings a close to what was a magical season.  And with it, like any of us facing the fall of life, I feel I have so much more to say and do before it’s all over.  Yet, time has run out.  We never cross the same river twice and we have no idea what the new season will bring. 

I, like many this time of year, am facing my last pilgrimages across my lawn tottering behind some old friend who helps maintain and shape the way others look upon me and my home.

griculture is considered to be the beginning of societies. It stopped the roaming of clans and settled people in one place where they raised crops and animals for sustenance.  As others joined in for this easier new way of feeding ones-self, a village would soon spring up then a town, before long cities.

Each morning deep in the woods we are greeted with the song of the bird.  Seated in the midst of the Appalachian Mountains we are blessed with many migrating species and find ourselves in a constant flow of winged activity.  At night the tree frogs, crickets, and locust all lull us to sleep.  With the exchange of summer for fall geese mark our sky with the tell tale V and our ears with the far off honk.

I find myself standing on a hillside of life next to a stream of students who ripple through our university approaching us as quickly on the uphill as they escape us on the down.  For a brief breath we onlookers absorb their brilliance and often in my case their leadership.