Dave Wright Writes

The Plant Whisperer [This story is based loosely on my wife, Sue’s uncanny relationship with plants.] by Dave Wright The smell of bacon, eggs, and maple syrup greeted us at the door as we walked into a restaurant halfway up the Gunflint Trail. We scanned the crowded room for an empty table. Plaid flannel shirts filled half the seats—and half of them were tucked behind red and green suspenders. “Looks like we came to the right place for our last meal,” I said to Sue. “We won’t see an over-easy egg or a rare steak for at least two weeks.” My wife and I were embarking on a trip to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area, one of our favorite vacation spots. Our cedar-strip canoe and Duluth packs laden with boxed wine, dried dinners, and gorp (a mixture of nuts, M & M’s and raisins) waited in the parking lot. “I think you’re right,” replied Sue. “You can’t beat a restaurant with a full parking lot, a clean door, and people who look like they love to eat.” She turned to me an

The Scent of Freedom Dave Wright Darkness fell on Shawn Kelper as he pulled off the main highway north of Duluth onto the gravel road that led to the hunting shack he owned with his buddy, Dean Lossit. Dean had planned to drive up with him, but Dean’s wife, Jessica told him that she had just heard from their daughter. “Barbara has arranged to come home from college for the weekend,” she had explained in a whiny voice. “Can’t you stick around this weekend to see her?” Dean relented, so Shawn was on his own. It was still ten miles of potholes before he reached the lane, but Shawn didn’t mind. He was eager to escape the noise of the city and spend a long weekend in the North Woods. Even before they had graduated from high school, he and Dean had found good-paying jobs with the railroad. They had dedicated their summer earnings to the purchase of a small plot of land on an obscure lake tucked deep in the Superior National Forest. Each year they hunted grouse in October,