We who live in quiet places have the opportunity to become acquainted with ourselves, to think our own thoughts and live our own lives in a way that is not possible for those keeping up with the crowd.

Red Language

If I heard the words you once used
in our wild place rough with scrub roses
in sand—if your words came back
gray and kind as mild winter
believe me I’d still understand
offer my own red language
my tongue to your tongue
so we recall what we once said
that made us live
made us choose to live

I’m from Minnesota. I like to be barefoot, running through the woods.

I like Hollywood. I just like Minneapolis a little bit better.

Growing up in a rural setting in Minnesota, I was raised with the outdoors and a sense of adventure.

Pa straightened up. His dim eyes brightened with a fierce light, not like the twinkle Laura had always seen in them. "But I do know this, Caroline," he said. "No pesky mess of grasshoppers can beat us! We’ll do something! You’ll see! We’ll get along somehow."

I always sort of swooned at the sight of the classic barn structures in central and northern Minnesota, where everything seemed rustic and weathered and made to age gracefully.

She thought of the library, so shining white and new; the rows and rows of unread books; the bliss of unhurried sojourns there and of going out to a restaurant, alone, to eat.

I was born in Duluth - industrial town, ship yards, ore docks, grain elevators, mainline train yards, switching yards. It's on the banks of Lake Superior, built on granite rock. Lot of fog horns, sailors, loggers, storms, blizzards.