Tradition in evolution.

The Burrow by Donna Kallner
When I first moved to the Northwoods, I had never seen a badger and never expected to live in such close proximity to the living, breathing symbol of my adopted state. But in the autumn, I find myself more and more becoming like my neighbor as I burrow in for the long winter. This piece honors those who shelter themselves and their families in environments that are not considered rich in resources. They make do with the materials available to them, and in time evolve traits suited to their surroundings. I don't think of the badger in our back 40 as some character in a Beatrix Potter tale. But I do admire their fierce resourcefulness, and try to respect the privacy of their shelter.

Excavation by Donna Kallner
In the comfort of my snug little house, I curl up with the latest issue of Smithsonian and read about how archaeologists piece together the story of an ancient civilization. Someone may study us the same way someday, and what will they think of the marks we leave on the land? What shapes will they discover, and how will they interpret them? How could they possibly guess at our late-night discussions about foam insulated concrete panels and hydronic heat? I suspect that all trace of the house that shelters us will disappear before the Siberian irises I've planted around it. Like the peonies and lilacs planted by those who farmed this land before we came along, these strong, hardy plants will surely outlast us.

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