Minnesota in My Mind ♫♪

Do we have a happy surprise for our Monday readers! Greetings and salutations to Ginny Graham who has joined the select group of contributors to the daily publication, Wannaskan Almanac! Starting today, 10 April 2023, Ginny will post on Mondays alternating with Catherine Stenzel, aka JackPine Savage, a six-plus year veteran of Wannaskan Almanac.

Ginny’s posts will range across multiple themes and genres. Although poetry may appear, Ginny is not limiting herself to one writing genre, theme, or anything else that would fence in her substantial talent. Let’s give Ginny a round of “She’s a jolly good writer,” and greet her with plenty of room to grace us with her talents.

More about our newest contributor:

Ginny is a life-long friend of Teresa McDonnell and Teresa’s famous Wannaskan Almanac husband, Chairman Joe, originally a native of Massachusetts. Chairman Joe, along with JackPine Savage, were instrumental in enticing Ginny to join the crew at Wannaskan Almanac.

Ginny is an enthusiast of people, words, and nature, and she has harnessed these interests variously over the years. Initially, she worked as a fiber-artist who showed and taught basketry, then as a high school English and Creative Writing teacher of 22 years, and now as a psychotherapist. She lives in Northern Virginia with her husband off 55 years, Jim, where she raised 3 children and dotes on eight grands.

In addition to writing, her passions include reading, bread making, and drawing. She mastered walking as a young child, and she tries to do it every day.

Over to you, Ginny!

Minnesota on My Mind

At this point, readers of Wannaskan Almanac may be familiar with my guest post “Roseau Retreat” about the recent visit my husband, Jim and I made to the McDonnell’s.  Long time fans of The Raven, (r.i.p.), we had already met the talented Steve Reynolds during a previous visit. Lucky us, this time, we got to meet almost all of the members of Wannaskan Almanac. (All hail and regrets to Mr. Hot Coco!) 

Over the years I’ve visited Wannaskan Almanac, mostly to read Chairman Joe’s posts. Both English Majors, we have always bonded over our love of literature and the written word, and I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’ve been jealous of his discipline, his faithfulness to the craft. I’m a psychotherapist now, but for twenty two years I taught high schoolers English and Creative Writing. I wrote up a storm with my students; published professionally as a teacher; and belonged over the years to various writing groups. Alas, I  have not had a writing home for a long time. With my whole heart and soul, I love and respect the power of words, but, if they were my children, I’d be reported as an unfit mother.  

Everyone should have a way to get themselves back to center, for me it's through writing words. Throughout my life, I’ve journaled and written poetry; it’s a way I anchor myself to notice what is and maybe discover my latest guiding star. I am more than grateful to be invited to share Mondays with Jack Pine Savage and to be included as a writer into this talented group.

While there, in northern Minnesota, I was struck by the absence of stimuli that constantly bombards the senses at home, here, in urban Virginia. I love the hubbub of life, but I also respect my need to drop into a deeper place beyond words, beyond distractions. As we drove over 500 miles from the airport in Minneapolis to get to Wannaska, the snow-covered fields began to look like great, frozen swaths of ocean or freshly pooled milk.  In contrast to stoplights, stores, and honking traffic, your fields became long dashes that seem to stretch out time - invite  pause, and provide a certain rest.  I think of  the formless energy captured by Japanese artists who value the dynamic vitality of empty space.

People, words, ideas and nature compete for first place on my list of life-long enthusiasms. I’m one of six, daughter of two full-of-life people who, among other things, put a high value on being in nature. Starting in fifth grade, my childhood summers were spent at Baboosic Lake in New Hampshire and in those days our cottage was surrounded by woods. Root-laced paths, pine trees and needles, thorn-tangled, fern-filled forests were part of every summer day. I was a city kid, we lived in Waltham, so I was hesitant at first to venture out by myself between the trees. Eventually, though,  I’d wander off, find a little clearing and sit. These quiet moments among the trees provided me with a kind of zen, white space.  Some might say this gave me a chance to wonder. It’s true, I’d follow bugs, a network of branches, the way a fern springs forth from a curl. Mostly though, I would just sit there blankly and just be. Back then, of course, I had no idea that this was a contemplative practice, but there I sat, apart from the chaos of family life, instinctively forest bathing into a state of calm. It would be years before I’d understand that I was engaging in a different kind of knowing and find such experiences explored in poetry. When I did, I immediately understood what Wordsworth meant when he credits nature for opening us to a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused…[that] rolls through all things.

Who knew that what some might label a long, boring drive up from Minneapolis would become a major highlight of the trip and result in a poem.  

Minnesota Cold

More than anything

on our trip to Minnesota

I wanted cold.

Wide, white, stretches

of snow covered every field

we passed along the highway.

And I prayed over them 

as we drove forever

up from Minneapolis to Roseau

Please don’t melt, I whispered 

and sighed relief

when the sky grayed 

wind whipped

gusts across the highway 

like fog

and rainmelt froze into slick black 

patches of ice.

Here in

snow-covered Minnesota 

fields roll by 

uncountable as breaths 

and miraculous 

like the simplicity of a mantra. 

Because of this 

and because when we woke up

the morning gauge read zero

Throughout the day and through the night

like monks faithful to prayer

we fed our wood stove

loads of rough-chopped

and perfectly seasoned wood.

How important it is for us to erase the board; get out of our heads; warm up; engage in big cleansing exhales; and begin again recharged. With apologies to James Taylor - when I find myself on the dark side and it looks like it goes on forever? I’m going to Minnesota in my mind.