Drummond in the Spring

Family traditions counter alienation and confusion. They help us define who we are; they provide something steady, reliable and safe in a confusing world.

The following poem was written by my granddaughter, Madison Rain Baker, in response to an English class assignment this spring. My heart sang when I read it for the first time. Who knew our family traditions - centered around time spent on Drummond - would have such an impact? Strong enough that a young, gregarious teenager would feel compelled to capture those feelings in prose? 


Drummond in Spring

Drummond Island is a friendly place.

Filled with different people

and different race.

Trees line the road like a trophy case.

Every day you meet a new face.

  
Surrounded by a big blue lake,

Sometimes I sit on the shore when there's too much to take.

We pull into the cabin and see the familiar image of the tan cabin with a green door.

Last time I left here I didn't want to go and I wanted more.

 
 
After we unpack we head down to the boat,

The red chipped paint sets a float.

We all sit down prepared for the cold sting

As our ears begin to ring. 

                        

This is Drummond Island in the spring

When the birds come out ready to sing.

by Madison Rain Baker

The Return of the Common Loon . . .

 

From far out in the center of the naked lake

the loon's cry rose . . .

it was the cry of someone who owned very little.

- Robert Bly

With spring comes the return of the Common Loon to the waters surrounding Drummond Island. I can't wait to hear their cries echo through the mist . . .