I discovered your first Door County book at the beginning of the summer. I purchased it on my kindle and began reading eagerly. Then of course I had to read the second. I love Door county and Washington island so I was able to picture it in my mind as I read. We just returned from Door county last night. We spent 5 days camping on the island. I downloaded your book of essays to read while I was there, since I hadn’t purchased the third book in the series yet for my kindle.
I am glad I waited, because I was able to buy an autographed copy of “Robert’s Rules” and read it while I was there. The little book store on the island is lovely. I ate at the Albatross while looking at “Fiona’s house.”
My husband and I rode his motorcycle all over the island discussing and dreaming of purchasing property for sale there. On previous trips we had just went to the island as a day trip. This time we stayed.
I love Door county but now I am even more in love with Washington Island. Crossing over on the ferry yesterday and stopping for breakfast at the Viking in Ellison Bay felt jarring. Even that area felt like a harsh return to reality. The island is just this peaceful lovely sanctuary. I will dream about it this week while I adjust to a 20 degree temperature change. It seems that every time we come home from Door county we come home to an excessive heat advisory. Maybe God is telling me something.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know how much I have enjoyed your books and I am anxiously waiting for the next one
Every morning in the dark, my prayer comes in silence. Or rather, it comes in my silence amid the conversations of others: of the hundreds—possibly thousands of geese calling at sunrise; the turkeys having another of their frequent family squabbles; the robins in their distinctive sweet monotony; the sparrows and the chickadees, each with their own language of singing; the owls calling their last sleepy good nights; and the raccoon silently ambling across the open lawn and slowly up the tree trunk to bed.
The soft sleeping breath of dog one; the impatiently waiting breath of dog two; and the intense watchfulness of the puppy who sits at the window to see, hear, and smell the lives of others, these are the sounds of my prayer. This morning noise is the sound of life, of the world.
The traffic sounds that rise from the valley will come soon, too, but not yet. For now there are just these other lives among us, busily, and with unknown degrees of self-awareness, going about the hard work of living. If they worry—and I think the garter snake who encountered us yesterday in the orchard was damned worried—they don’t sit around and wallow in it. They don’t have time for self pity. They have to eat, and get where they have to be, and find a mate, and feed their young, and elude homicidal neighbors. Every decision they make is life or death. It’s a lot. It is, frankly, more than I have to worry about, and probably more important. But they start each morning by raising their voices.
I don’t know that it’s cheer. Who can say? But it is life affirming. It’s a statement of presence, of vitality, perhaps of territory, perhaps of love.
Life is hard, and may be over before the sun sets.
But still, they sing.
(But still they sing.)
Last night, just after dark on Ash Wednesday, I took the dogs out for a little ramble. The first thing I heard was a coyote in the distance, and then, later than usual, church bells, signaling the seven o’clock service for the Lutherans. Each, in its way, calling the community to assemble. It was a curious juxtaposition: the two sounds, one of civilization, one of the wild, both of God.
We walked in the dark, the dogs and I. Old man Pete and I walked gingerly, careful not to fall on the ice. Puppy Auggie raced and slipped, and slipped again, joyous and without care. Moses loped ahead, making sure all was secure. It was warmer than it had been, but the wind cut, and the coyote made us watchful and tense. Pete paused to point into the dark ravine. We all stopped to look, and then moved on.
With my hood up, I could hear strange sounds behind me. With my hood off, I could hear the unfamiliar crunch of my new boots. The sky was clearing, and a few stars shone. We walked only a little way before returning to the warmth of the house to sit by the fire.
One way or another, we were not alone.
I’ll be chatting with novelist and host Cynthia Hammer on her show, Hammer Away. Wednesday November 1st in the 4 o’clock hour, Central Time. You can tune in to latalkradio.com from your mobile device, or go to http://www.latalkradio.com/content/hammer-away.
Hope you can join us.
Books 1 and 2 are on sale at Amazon Kindle for $1.99 or buy both for $3.98! Read them now so you can be prepared for the arrival of Book 3 next spring!
North of the Tension Line is on the Target website. Would you please give it a four or five star review?
And if you haven’t already done so at Amazon and Barnes and Noble, would you be so kind?
Books that receive good reviews get noticed and re-ordered.
I’d be grateful if you’d bring along a friend, too.
Support your local author!
Some fan letters are particularly meaningful.
I wanted to tell you how much I have enjoyed your first book, although have not yet read the second. It’s always interesting to read something set in a beloved location….although one runs the risk of feeling betrayed. That isn’t the case, here!
I just wanted to tell you that Fiona’s house was owned for a time by my husband’s family, and his Aunt Helen, who was disabled, stayed there for a summer….
I, too, am in exile, south of you in Racine. My family is from the Island, as is my husband’s. The lighthouse on Rock is restored to the time of my great grandfather’s tenure there. My grandmother taught in the Detroit Harbor school and ran Central switchboard for a time. My grandfather was a ferry captain, and my son is the 4th generation in our family to work for the Richters. My mom lives in the home my great grandparents bought after retiring from the lighthouse service, and our cottage is on my husband’s family’s land…over 125 years….
Thank you for bringing the Island to life for others to see, in a way that preserves the spirit and respects the people who live there…and tells a fabulous story. It’s not easy to do all three.
Thank you, Kari.
9am – 5pm
Edgerton High School
200 Elm High Dr.
Edgerton, WI 53534
My official schedule is as follows, and books will be available for purchase:
11:30-Noon Meet and Greet in Gymnasium
12:15-12:45 The Audacity of Goats-Confessions of a Book Club Drop Out. Room 349
1:30-2:00 Meet and Greet in Gymnasium
2:15-2:45 The Audacity of Goats-Confessions of a Book Club Drop Out. Room 349
I will have just left the Island, so come and cheer me up. A raccoon would help.
We had a perfect Fourth of July parade with all the proper small town things.
We had veterans of all ages and kinds of service (whose pictures I don’t have because we were all clapping and cheering for them).
We had the volunteer Fire Department marching in crisp blue dress uniforms. ( For whom we also clapped, but I was not wiping away tears so I was able to take pictures.)
We had the vintage fire trucks.
We had the fire department’s dog.
We had the vintage tractors.
Lots of them.
We had the Giant Pink Metal Pig.
As one does.
We had the Boy Scouts.
We had the horses.
And the goats.
And the politicians with goats.
We had the marching bands.
And the giant shoe.
And, of course, we had the obligatory singing dog.
A splendid time was had by all.