meadow lakes

page 113 - Do you see this island? Look at how all the fields and enclosures work together, like a giant jigsaw. You can’t pre-plan this layout, it’s organic as shit. And do you know what happens if one of those little walls falls down? Not much. Resilience.And the island looks like a cool brain or the endless bifurcation of bronchial tubes.

Walk in the footsteps of fur traders and the Grand Portage Ojibwe at Grand Portage National Monument, located on the North Shore of Lake Superior in Minnesota next to the Canadian border. The 8.5-mile Grand Portage Trail winds through history and beautiful scenery like forests and meadows. After hiking through a downpour, photographer Travis Novitsky says, “The gorgeous sunset over the beaver meadow made it all worthwhile!” Photo courtesy of Travis Novitsky.

Margaret Taylor-Burroughs (1915-2010) was a visual artist and author who had a great influence on the cultural and artistic world of the United States, especially around the Chicago area, with a focus on African-American experience. She co-founded important avenues for artistic expression such as the Ebony Museum of Chicago and the Lake Meadows Art Fair.

The Ebony Museum, today called the DuSable Museum of African American History, started out in her living room in 1961, and today is the oldest museum dedicated to black culture in the entire country. Both her art and her writing celebrate African-American experience and cultural identity.

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30 days of Krista and Becca Ritchie: day eight ~ favourite holiday   the lake house

Lily pokes his chest. “We’re playing light-as-a-feather, not sacrificing him.” Her head whips in my direction. “Right?”
In no way would I harm one of our own. “We’re not sacrificing anyone,” I declare.
“You girls may not be able to lift me,” Ryke warns us.
I laugh shortly. We will conquer.
“We’re the Calloway sisters,” Daisy proclaims, nudging my arm and then Lily’s. “We can do anything, right?”
“Definitely,” Lily and I say together.
“Plus Willow,” Daisy adds an raises her hand to the eighteen-year-old girl. Willow high-fives her with a growing smile, and I recognize now that Daisy is better at integrating people on the fringe of groups than maybe I am.
Lo shuts off the lights before returning to his popcorn.
“Are you going to participate?” I ask him.
“I’m going to casually observe my brother being picked up by a bunch of girls at a sleepover.” He snickers like this is too good to pass up and eats more popcorn.
“I can fucking hear you giggling,” Ryke tells Loren, about to turn his head, but I snap my fingers and he looks at the ceiling again.
“Is the sacrifice supposed to be talking?” Lo asks me.
I ignore Loren, and I sit on one side of Ryke with Willow, and then Lily and Daisy are on the other side of his body. After I give brief instruction, we each slide no more than two fingers beneath him. I’m near his shoulder blades. 
I say first, “Light as a feather, stiff as a board.” The girls then begin to repeat the chant with me.
Light as a feather, stiff as a board.”
Light as a feather, stiff as a--”
“Cock.” Lo causes Daisy to break out in a fit of laughter, ruining the concentration of the ritual. Lily is probably a new shade of red, but I can’t even tell in the dark, the candles only adding a dim, orange glow to the room.