Wilderness Experienced—The Boundary Waters

Howie Wolke










by Suez Jacobson


A long wait – almost 50 years – to learn

How deeply and completely

The wild magic of the Boundary Waters

Could burrow.

A self-identified mountain girl

Lost to still, flat black water

Contained by granite outcroppings

Layered in midnight green pines

Topped with iridescent spring birches.

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In a place of pure stillness.

A quiet a city dweller doesn’t know

And a peak bagger doesn’t experience. 

Savoring the indelible memory of

The night’s all-consuming darkness

Its lavish gift of stars,

The raucous cacophony of loons.

The fog and the suns

One in the sky

Another in the glassy flat water.

Silent contentment,

Gratitude,

Wild hope.


Boundary Waters S Jacobson


Suez, a member of the Board for Great Old Broads for Wilderness, is the executive producer and writer for the film "Wild Hope"—wildhopefilm.com. She is also professor emerita from Regis University in Denver.

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Wilderness and the Value of Doing Nothing
 

Comments 30

Guest - Susan Deemer on Thursday, 27 May 2021 13:10

Love the poem. Makes me want to go explore the wilderness.

Love the poem. Makes me want to go explore the wilderness.
Guest - Annie McCuen on Thursday, 27 May 2021 12:24

Please save, protect, enlarge our wilderness. So much has been ruined, compromised and attacked...

Please save, protect, enlarge our wilderness. So much has been ruined, compromised and attacked...
Guest - Iris Edinger on Thursday, 27 May 2021 12:24

Guest - Iris Edinger
Many years ago I experienced the boundary waters and remember the trip fondly. The beautiful poem reminds me of that trip.

Guest - Iris Edinger Many years ago I experienced the boundary waters and remember the trip fondly. The beautiful poem reminds me of that trip.
Guest - Mildred Yarborough on Thursday, 27 May 2021 12:07

A beauty that will be seen, be felt , be understood by very few humans. Sad. I do not understand people anymore. Thanks for being a unique individual who can see truth and feel nature the way it should be felt and seen. You have no idea how very rare you are. Mildred Yarborough

A beauty that will be seen, be felt , be understood by very few humans. Sad. I do not understand people anymore. Thanks for being a unique individual who can see truth and feel nature the way it should be felt and seen. You have no idea how very rare you are. Mildred Yarborough
Guest - Moore on Thursday, 27 May 2021 12:02

Excellent poem!

Excellent poem!
Guest - Gloria Picchetti on Thursday, 27 May 2021 11:53

Beautiful poetry & a a beautiful wild place.

Beautiful poetry & a a beautiful wild place.
Guest - Ronald W. Hull (website) on Thursday, 27 May 2021 11:45

A wonderful poem applauding a place that I love and have had the great pleasure of experiencing twice in my life.

The first time was as a 16-year-old Explorer Scout with my twin brother and five others. I learned that I was a very good navigator with a topographical map. An innovator, using my poncho as a sail so that we did not have to paddle at all a great distance one day in a high wind. And by putting my body in my kapok sleeping bag in the heat of those August nights and four stakes, strategically placed around my head so that my blanket could be draped over them to keep the hordes of mosquitoes off my face. And, as a tireless go-getter, started the fires and cooked the food we had after getting up way too early and paddling until noon when the others just fell out and slept while I cooked them food to eat.

Fifteen years later, when I was finished with my doctorate and had time before an upcoming teaching job, I paid for a trip with my twin 15-year-old brothers who did all of the hard work, because my paralysis at 20 left my hands and arms unable. Although it rained five of the seven days that we took the same course as my earlier hundred mile journey, those guys did yeoman work and still talk of the amazing northern pike at Lily Pad Lake.

As a writer of novels and poetry in my retirement, I think it's time that I need to write a poem about that lovely place where time stood still, you could drink from the water without concern, and everywhere wildlife was your friend, even the bears. The purity of that place is what lingers and what drives me to write my novels like, The Last Wanderer: Last Man on Earth and one that I'm currently writing about life in Germany circa 5300 BC, Tor: Last of the Thals. Grandson of the Iceman of the Alps.

A wonderful poem applauding a place that I love and have had the great pleasure of experiencing twice in my life. The first time was as a 16-year-old Explorer Scout with my twin brother and five others. I learned that I was a very good navigator with a topographical map. An innovator, using my poncho as a sail so that we did not have to paddle at all a great distance one day in a high wind. And by putting my body in my kapok sleeping bag in the heat of those August nights and four stakes, strategically placed around my head so that my blanket could be draped over them to keep the hordes of mosquitoes off my face. And, as a tireless go-getter, started the fires and cooked the food we had after getting up way too early and paddling until noon when the others just fell out and slept while I cooked them food to eat. Fifteen years later, when I was finished with my doctorate and had time before an upcoming teaching job, I paid for a trip with my twin 15-year-old brothers who did all of the hard work, because my paralysis at 20 left my hands and arms unable. Although it rained five of the seven days that we took the same course as my earlier hundred mile journey, those guys did yeoman work and still talk of the amazing northern pike at Lily Pad Lake. As a writer of novels and poetry in my retirement, I think it's time that I need to write a poem about that lovely place where time stood still, you could drink from the water without concern, and everywhere wildlife was your friend, even the bears. The purity of that place is what lingers and what drives me to write my novels like, The Last Wanderer: Last Man on Earth and one that I'm currently writing about life in Germany circa 5300 BC, Tor: Last of the Thals. Grandson of the Iceman of the Alps.
Guest - Madeline Von der linden on Thursday, 27 May 2021 11:33

Beautiful description?

Beautiful description?
Guest - Jane Kwiatkowski on Thursday, 27 May 2021 11:30

this is beautiful and so welcome right now as i process grades for my grads as registrar at a high school in California

this is beautiful and so welcome right now as i process grades for my grads as registrar at a high school in California;)
Guest - Maggie Frazier on Thursday, 27 May 2021 11:22

Have heard of the "great old broads" & I so respect & envy them! Beautiful poem - does say it all!

Have heard of the "great old broads" & I so respect & envy them! Beautiful poem - does say it all!
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Tuesday, 15 June 2021

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