In the Fall Newsletter, 2001, we included a journal entry written by Cabin Ross, then 14. The Ross family, Greg and Buff, with daughters Clair, Katy, and Cabin, has been coming to the lake for 25 years, starting with the parents' honeymoon here. They have stayed at the North Shore cabin of Bill and Helen Hall, and at Pinewood Resort. They live in Johnston, Iowa.

REBORN by Cabin Ross

My fingers wrestle to release my hair from the band.
I close my eyes to feel the crisp air on my cheeks.
The wind is silent and the lake at peace.
I look out from the dock to see a glass surface bordered by trees and fog.
North Shore is still asleep on this early morning.
Splash! My father disturbs the silence with his fishlike dive.
He comes up for air turning the glass into a roaring sea of white caps.
I am asked to jump in, but my eagerness does not compete with his.
Slowly taking off my towel I sit on the edge of the moist wood dock.
My toes go into the water and I jump in surprise.
It's ice! My body will not take the cold.
Not yet! Not yet! I look at my father in despair and he laughs at my fear.
There are no fish yet to bite my toes.
Ready. . . . set. . . .
Not yet! Not yet!
I stand up to calm my nerves and dance around the dock.
My stomach rises to my throat and my hands sway at my side.
One. . . . Two. . . . Three. . . .
Go! Running, jumping, flying, falling, smacking!
I plunge into the death and sink to the shady depths below.
I push up from the bottom and shoot for the sky.
Bubbles rush around my face as my nose tingles with water.
My body is pierced by the icy cold.
I reach for the surface and gasp for my life.
My eyes are opened to the light and I am reborn!
I am filled with new energy and become one with the lake.
One with Ten Mile Lake.
One with my true home.

Penelope Swan resides on neighboring Birch Lake, but takes daily walks on Ten Mile Lake's Long Beach Road, where she experienced the encounter that led to the following poem. It is reprinted here through permission by the author from "The Minnesota Poetry Calendar, 2000."

HOW CLOSE THE DEER by Penelope Swan

I see her red flank, summer-colored.
Mistake her for a neighbor's dog.
Until she lifts her head, mouth
brimming with buds of staghorn sumac.
She stares, ears up, sky-pointed.
I slow my gait,
cross to the other side
of the loop
and stop.
She crosses, too. Flirts.
Flicking her white-tailed flag,
she is temerity on legs
slim and spindly as ironwood.
In her color-blindness
she walks towards me.
I barely breathe.
Want to still my scent.
Her doe-brown eyes lock mine.
Soften me, the moment.
Drowsing in pine perfume
we are loosed
on the threshold
of some wild, equal footing.