Tuesday, September 20, 2011


Take a moment to read + appreciate this beautiful poster. Now nod your head in agreement. We couldn't have said it better. IT WAS AN uber AMAZING DAY when Design For Mankind's Erin Loechner sent LINKwithlove.org this message to share on her behalf:
The Internet is vast, vast, vast. And original sources are often impossible to find. I get that. As a blogger, I’ve come across dozens of images daily with no original source, almost as if they’ve appeared out of thin air. Yet someone, somewhere, took great pride in creating that image, and we need to celebrate that pride... as a community.

Thus, I’d encourage you to come up with your own protocol/photo technique and to link with love. Will you refuse to post all images without proper credit, period? Or will you come up with a SOS system of your own? Will you go as far as to boycott the use of social networking / bookmarking sites that don’t regulate original sourcing of images?

I’d love for everyone to receive the praise they so deserve in the best way possible.Let’s all hold ourselves to a higher standard, OK?

Tuesday, September 6, 2011


    Whence these stories?
    Whence these legends and traditions,
    With the odors of the forest
    With the dew and damp of meadows,
    With the curling smoke of wigwams,
    With the rushing of great rivers,
    With their frequent repetitions,
    And their wild reverberations
    As of thunder in the mountains?
    I should answer, I should tell you,
    "From the forests and the prairies,
    From the great lakes of the Northland,
    From the land of the Ojibways,
    From the land of the Dacotahs,
    From the mountains, moors, and fen-lands
    Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
    Feeds among the reeds and rushes.
    I repeat them as I heard them
    From the lips of Nawadaha,
    The musician, the sweet singer."
    Should you ask where Nawadaha
    Found these songs so wild and wayward,
    Found these legends and traditions,
    I should answer, I should tell you,
    "In the bird's-nests of the forest,
    In the lodges of the beaver,
    In the hoofprint of the bison,
    In the eyry of the eagle!
    "All the wild-fowl sang them to him,
    In the moorlands and the fen-lands,
    In the melancholy marshes;
    Chetowaik, the plover, sang them,
    Mahng, the loon, the wild-goose, Wawa,
    The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
    And the grouse, the Mushkodasa!"
    If still further you should ask me,
    Saying, "Who was Nawadaha?
    Tell us of this Nawadaha,"
    I should answer your inquiries
    Straightway in such words as follow.
    "In the vale of Tawasentha,
    In the green and silent valley,
    By the pleasant water-courses,
    Dwelt the singer Nawadaha.
    Round about the Indian village
    Spread the meadows and the corn-fields,
    And beyond them stood the forest,
    Stood the groves of singing pine-trees,
    Green in Summer, white in Winter,
    Ever sighing, ever singing.
    "And the pleasant water-courses,
    You could trace them through the valley,
    By the rushing in the Spring-time,
    By the alders in the Summer,
    By the white fog in the Autumn,
    By the black line in the Winter;
    And beside them dwelt the singer,
    In the vale of Tawasentha,
    In the green and silent valley.
    "There he sang of Hiawatha,
    Sang the Song of Hiawatha,
    Sang his wondrous birth and being,
    How he prayed and how be fasted,
    How he lived, and toiled, and suffered,
    That the tribes of men might prosper,
    That he might advance his people!"
    Ye who love the haunts of Nature,
    Love the sunshine of the meadow,
    Love the shadow of the forest,
    Love the wind among the branches,
    And the rain-shower and the snow-storm,
    And the rushing of great rivers
    Through their palisades of pine-trees,
    And the thunder in the mountains,
    Whose innumerable echoes
    Flap like eagles in their eyries;-
    Listen to these wild traditions,
    To this Song of Hiawatha!
    Ye who love a nation's legends,
    Love the ballads of a people,
    That like voices from afar off
    Call to us to pause and listen,
    Speak in tones so plain and childlike,
    Scarcely can the ear distinguish
    Whether they are sung or spoken;-
    Listen to this Indian Legend,
    To this Song of Hiawatha!
    Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple,
    Who have faith in God and Nature,
    Who believe that in all ages
    Every human heart is human,
    That in even savage bosoms
    There are longings, yearnings, strivings
    For the good they comprehend not,
    That the feeble hands and helpless,
    Groping blindly in the darkness,
    Touch God's right hand in that darkness
    And are lifted up and strengthened;-
    Listen to this simple story,
    To this Song of Hiawatha!
    Ye, who sometimes, in your rambles
    Through the green lanes of the country,
    Where the tangled barberry-bushes
    Hang their tufts of crimson berries
    Over stone walls gray with mosses,
    Pause by some neglected graveyard,
    For a while to muse, and ponder
    On a half-effaced inscription,
    Written with little skill of song-craft,
    Homely phrases, but each letter
    Full of hope and yet of heart-break,
    Full of all the tender pathos
    Of the Here and the Hereafter;
    Stay and read this rude inscription,
    Read this Song of Hiawatha!

    Introduction to the "Song of Hiawatha"
    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow                                                                                      PHOTOS:  LUTSEN RESORT, NORTH SHORE OF LAKE SUPERIOR

Thursday, September 1, 2011


"There is an indefinable mysterious power that pervades everything, I feel it though I do not see it. It is this unseen power which makes itself felt and yet defies all proof, because it is so unlike all that I perceive through my senses. It transcends the senses."