The Embers of Memory
An Apostle Islands postcard
Tucked away on a winter’s night snug in his cabin on Walden Pond, Thoreau gazed lovingly at his stack of firewood and proclaimed that each of the logs “warmed me twice, once while I was splitting them, and again when they were on the fire.”
This winter’s night, with a patchwork of snow still on the ground and the Little Dipper still on the hard, I am twice warmed by the flicker of a memory: a flame-colored sunrise glowing through the open eyes of the boat’s windshield and warming the side of my face as I drift just offshore on the northeastern side of Hermit Island, engine off, soul open.
Like Thoreau’s firewood, all good travel warms the human soul at least twice: once with the heat of the moment, real-time, heart racing as it happens, and again months or even years later whenever the memory returns on some cold winter night putting you, even if just for a moment, right back in that glow of that moment. Though it is cold outside, you just smile and press your soul close to the embers of that memory, and let it warm you all over again.
— Jeff Rennicke (all photography by the author unless otherwise noted).
These Sunday postcards are on offshoot of the Little Dipper blog published every Wednesday for paid subscribers. If you are already a paid subscriber, thank you for your support. If you are not, please consider joining the journey by clicking below:
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