The feather; the pen
Bienvenidos al noticiero: La Pluma. Welcome to the Newsletter.
I greet you from the shores of Lake Julia; sun-sparkled bay to my east and the Nicolet National Forest bordering the north lane. I’ve come to watch spring arrive at the family cabin.
The northland. Kingfisher and loons return, the lupine leaves stretch up; the tadpoles wiggle away from my kayak paddle, but this year is different. Mom, my cabin companion, mentor, and president of my fan club, died last November. This spring, I’ve come to process grief and imagine a new era.
I turned on the radio for company. What? ¿Una hora en español
? Concierto Clásico
– bilingual from Houghton, Michigan? Next day, another station produced scratchy tidbits of English, Spanish and Mixteca for the Música indigena de Mexico
Geese honk overhead. Out my window, a muskrat swims by with a mouthful of weeds. Husks from recently hatched dragonflies cling to my dock. A Swallowtail flits by. Yes, the insects are back. Some of them haven’t been here for seventeen years, according to the NPR report on cicadas. What to do with their impending, gargantuan infestation?
Eat them. If you just said, “Ew,” you have exposed something about your acculturation.
After the third report on these bugs, I took it as a sign. Today, I share with you my findings and reflections in my post "Cicadas are Back
Hasta la proxima
(Until next time)