Beaver Creek Blues

Trees cry, dance, whisper and protect us.



Birds are flying ovations for reincarnations from the highlands of curious places.



Dog noses know. Trust them. They fence the wind's four quarters, engrave our secrets as their very own treasure, and they know who the boogie man is.



Inanimate objects are sad when they're left alone, happiest when they're not broken, and when they are old, they give comfort.



This is the innocence in which the author was born; it is the magic that lifts her spirit over the temporal world.



Travel through these pages to a 19th century farm in Telemark. Ride the train with three wide-eyed girls through Europe. Visit an old farmer whose faith is in the taste of soil and the fellowship of livestock. Fill your lungs with vigorous breezes stirred by eagle wings. Listen, learn, and wash your soul in powerful river voices. Travel by rainbow, by pinecone, by riddling rock. Follow a mossy trail to the mouth of a dragon, and let the red light of Mars guide your way home.



The author states: "I love painting pictures with words. A peaceful little farm in North Dakota was the sanctuary where imagination took its first spin around my head. There were no other kids to play with, so my world of adventure was the winding creek, the ash tree jungle, wildlife, barn pets, Mom's spooky attic and the great graveyard of flying farm machines. Mom encouraged me to exercise my God-given skills. Dad inspired me, by loving nature and family more than anything. On this little farm, the heartbeat of nature accompanied every day. This is the root of my smile; this is the place I visit at night when I dream."



Through poetry, prose and amusing travel journals, this book is the expression - the rite of passage - of one good-hearted Norwegian/American who hugs nature happily and desperately.