Sounds Older than Sitar

At the cabin, stories and sounds older than sitar emerge like the fleeting ghosts that inhabit this ground. My step crosses them here in the north, at a place that I go for my soul. I don’t have plans, and I don’t know what will happen this time, but I unlock the door, toss my stuff in the bedroom, and walk down the stairs to Big Casey Lake.

When Small is Beautiful: stillness, light, and listening

Dulcimer Sounds

I don’t have a lot of stuff with me, but I do have 33 strings when I add them all up. One dulcimer, one guitar, and one sitar. Before playing music, I’m hoping to start an old boat-motor for a ride around the lake.

The beat-up metal rowboat is turned upside down, in the same place it’s been for years, chained to a tree by the shore. I open the lock to remove the chain, turn it over, push it to the water, and attach the Evinrude Motor to the mounting boards in back.

Evinrude Sounds

Pulling the cord to start the Evinrude nothing happens. I pull again, and again, nothing. The sound of its cough, a serious protest, carries across the lake in a way that seems older than the sitar.

Guitar Sounds

I’ll try another day. The lake is patient, and so are the strings, waiting for me and the touch of my fingers.

Stories Emerge Like Bears is a lyric memoir scheduled for publication by Cornerstone Press (UW Stevens Point). It begins in a Northwoods cabin where attention, labor, and place shape a life lived at human speed.