{"id":32120,"date":"2017-08-05T10:05:36","date_gmt":"2017-08-05T14:05:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=32120"},"modified":"2017-08-05T21:56:38","modified_gmt":"2017-08-06T01:56:38","slug":"hansons-woods","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2017\/08\/hansons-woods\/","title":{"rendered":"Hanson&#8217;s Woods"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Summers of my youth<br \/>\ngrandparents Northwoods lake home<br \/>\nawakened each day by preset alarm of waves<br \/>\ngentle Horseshoe Lake, water softly lapping sand<br \/>\nrhythmic, kindergarten teacher hand clap<br \/>\ncalling me to come\u2026come\u2026come\u2026<br \/>\nand I would, every summer morning, rain or shine<\/p>\n<p>cooling off in lake water preferred option of most<br \/>\nI often chose the shade covering the winding<br \/>\npath through Hanson\u2019s woods<br \/>\nnarrowed trail, pine, oak, and birch tree canopied<br \/>\nfiltering out most direct sun, lighter rain<br \/>\nmost always on my own, peers preferring water<br \/>\nfriends my age not as attuned with solitude<\/p>\n<p>a log \u2013 stately oak felled in a storm years before<br \/>\nwell- placed-on-my-path thinking-bench,<br \/>\nat least when I was younger<br \/>\nby my teens it had decayed, becoming one with<br \/>\nsurrounding forest dirt, sustaining life<br \/>\nbut not now-adult-sized me<br \/>\nresulting in my finding the more<br \/>\nruggedly manly stump to sit on for<br \/>\nextended musing, silent pontificating<br \/>\ncommuning, as I was, with my woods \u2013 possession<br \/>\ngranted by old Mr. Hanson, who cherished my<br \/>\nlove of nature &#8211; his woods, and now mine;<br \/>\na graciously granted blessing<\/p>\n<p>minutes in Hanson\u2019s woods could quickly<br \/>\ndecompose into hours, hours into entire days,<br \/>\nat times the cooler winds of encroaching evening<br \/>\nmy only hint at passing time, solitary clue to head home<\/p>\n<p>In the years since I continually strode, savored<br \/>\nHanson\u2019s woods, I have traveled countless other paths<br \/>\nrustic, well-worn; different locales with more<br \/>\nunique features than those familiar to me as a young boy<br \/>\nI have gotten to know nature in other climes, times<\/p>\n<p>none come close to igniting the passion<br \/>\nburning still in my memories of youthful summers<br \/>\nwalking the unlimited terrains of a thirty-acre<br \/>\npatch of pines, birches, oaks, poplars<br \/>\nthough old man Hanson has long passed, our trails<br \/>\nlong grown over, landscaped; our woods now home<br \/>\nto a house, a family who will know nature less naturally<br \/>\nthey remain my woods, my no-place-like-home-still-today<br \/>\npatch of northern Minnesota forest I call Hanson\u2019s wood<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><em>\u2013 Mark L. Lucker<\/em><br \/>\n<em>\u00a9 2017<\/em><em><br \/>\n<\/em><em><a href=\"http:\/\/lrd.to\/sxh9jntSbd\">http:\/\/lrd.to\/sxh9jntSbd<\/a><\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Summers of my youth grandparents Northwoods lake home awakened each day by preset alarm of waves gentle Horseshoe Lake, water softly lapping sand rhythmic, kindergarten teacher hand clap calling me to come\u2026come\u2026come\u2026 and I would, every summer morning, rain or shine cooling off in lake&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":694,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,13],"tags":[2154,2153],"class_list":["post-32120","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","category-miscellaneous","tag-2017-prompt-1","tag-prompt-1-earth-wind-and-fire"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32120","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/694"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=32120"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32120\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":39244,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32120\/revisions\/39244"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=32120"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=32120"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=32120"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}