Too Far North

Sixteen years ago Andrew bought a cabin in far northern Wisconsin. Being a native of Singapore, he held no preconceived ideas about what "cabin life" should look like. He had never heard of septic systems or well-water. Couldn't understand why people scoffed when he placed a trolling motor on his canoe. Then one day he decided to plant a fruit tree in a climate where they generally don't do well.

The crabapple thrived. In springtime its blossoms of deep pink surrounded by a forest of evergreens makes it the most stunning planting on the lake for a brief few days. But that was not the main reason for his foray into horticulture.



Too Far North


September roots of a young crabapple
grapple with dirt and the mirth of woodsmen.
"Deer will make lunch of its trunk,"
they chuckle, "or winter will break its back."

The newcomer nods, continues to shovel,
city-hands freshly calloused.

Late May a raiment of rouge
debuts in the pines, quiets the naysayers.

By summer, berry-sized apples produce grins
again from locals. "We told you
no good eatin' could come from that tree."
But woodpeckers and grosbeaks disagree.

Behind autumn binoculars the rookie smiles,
"Bird-Friendly Plantings" dog-eared on a catalog pile.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor