"Morning Splendor" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
It seems the autumn colors are arriving early this year. Then again, perhaps it is only this village—perched here in the Northwoods—that gathers the season’s hues sooner than those areas to the south or north. I’ve noticed this before. Or perhaps it is simply in my mind. Regardless, coffee cup in hand, I gaze in awe at the fiery brilliance of the old oak in my backyard. Its crown glows with red and orange, while its roots remain wrapped in summer green.
In moments like this, I feel the weight of the past pressing gently against me—this land’s ancient history nudging me. It reminds me that I am only a small part of a greater whole, a fleeting moment in time. And yet, it is my moment.
This region was once home to the Chippewa, Menominee, Oneida, Potawatomi, and Ho-Chunk. In 1634, Jean Nicolet arrived, seeking the fabled Northwest Passage. France laid claim in 1672; Britain seized it after the French and Indian Wars; and following the American Revolution, Wisconsin became U.S. territory in 1783.
In the 19th century, logging transformed the land. Rivers like the Wisconsin, Wolf, Black, and Chippewa became conduits for timber, fueling towns like Eau Claire and Black River Falls. Fishing thrived too, especially after the Sault Ste. Marie canal opened in 1855, sending whitefish to distant markets. Then, as the forests were cut and the fisheries declined, Northwest Wisconsin found its next identity in tourism, leveraging its lakes and woods. This is also the land of Gaylord Nelson, founder of Earth Day, whose legacy still calls us to stewardship. And it is here, in this layered history, that the wee cottage in the woods resides.
Yet as my mind often does in the quiet of early morning, it wandered further. I found myself asking: Is fascism only a 20th-century phenomenon?
And this is the evidence that I found. The brutality we associate with fascism was most evident in Mussolini’s Italy and Hitler’s Germany—where violence, suppression, and genocide scarred humanity. Born out of the upheavals of World War I, fascism exalted the state, glorified force, and sought to silence opposition. But fascism did not die in 1945. Its modern offspring—neo-fascism and authoritarianism—rise again in our own time. We see ultranationalism, racism, xenophobia, and the erosion of democratic institutions. We see intimidation and scapegoating. We see echoes of history that should have remained silent.
These are not politics as usual. This is a question of morality. I name myself proudly: WOKE. Proudly: ANTIFA—anti-fascist. The question remains: What can I do? What can we do? The answers are not always clear. But I believe that each of us, though only a small part, contributes to the greater whole. Together, united in conscience, we are the majority that rejects this evil. Each of us matters. Together, we are monumental.
And so I return to peace—to the oak tree, to the shifting colors, to the word shalom. More than the absence of conflict, shalom speaks of wholeness, harmony, well-being. To pray for peace is to pray for every person to have their needs met, to live in balance, to share in the abundance of this beautiful Earth.
This morning, as the oak tree reminds me of both history and hope, I pray shalom—for myself, for my neighbors near and far, for all peoples of the world. May we stand against darkness. May we live for the common good. May we know peace.
And so I start this day.
Shalom.
“True peace is not merely the absence of tension; it is the presence of justice.” ~Martin Luther King Jr.
~Wylddane
In moments like this, I feel the weight of the past pressing gently against me—this land’s ancient history nudging me. It reminds me that I am only a small part of a greater whole, a fleeting moment in time. And yet, it is my moment.
This region was once home to the Chippewa, Menominee, Oneida, Potawatomi, and Ho-Chunk. In 1634, Jean Nicolet arrived, seeking the fabled Northwest Passage. France laid claim in 1672; Britain seized it after the French and Indian Wars; and following the American Revolution, Wisconsin became U.S. territory in 1783.
In the 19th century, logging transformed the land. Rivers like the Wisconsin, Wolf, Black, and Chippewa became conduits for timber, fueling towns like Eau Claire and Black River Falls. Fishing thrived too, especially after the Sault Ste. Marie canal opened in 1855, sending whitefish to distant markets. Then, as the forests were cut and the fisheries declined, Northwest Wisconsin found its next identity in tourism, leveraging its lakes and woods. This is also the land of Gaylord Nelson, founder of Earth Day, whose legacy still calls us to stewardship. And it is here, in this layered history, that the wee cottage in the woods resides.
Yet as my mind often does in the quiet of early morning, it wandered further. I found myself asking: Is fascism only a 20th-century phenomenon?
And this is the evidence that I found. The brutality we associate with fascism was most evident in Mussolini’s Italy and Hitler’s Germany—where violence, suppression, and genocide scarred humanity. Born out of the upheavals of World War I, fascism exalted the state, glorified force, and sought to silence opposition. But fascism did not die in 1945. Its modern offspring—neo-fascism and authoritarianism—rise again in our own time. We see ultranationalism, racism, xenophobia, and the erosion of democratic institutions. We see intimidation and scapegoating. We see echoes of history that should have remained silent.
These are not politics as usual. This is a question of morality. I name myself proudly: WOKE. Proudly: ANTIFA—anti-fascist. The question remains: What can I do? What can we do? The answers are not always clear. But I believe that each of us, though only a small part, contributes to the greater whole. Together, united in conscience, we are the majority that rejects this evil. Each of us matters. Together, we are monumental.
And so I return to peace—to the oak tree, to the shifting colors, to the word shalom. More than the absence of conflict, shalom speaks of wholeness, harmony, well-being. To pray for peace is to pray for every person to have their needs met, to live in balance, to share in the abundance of this beautiful Earth.
This morning, as the oak tree reminds me of both history and hope, I pray shalom—for myself, for my neighbors near and far, for all peoples of the world. May we stand against darkness. May we live for the common good. May we know peace.
And so I start this day.
Shalom.
“True peace is not merely the absence of tension; it is the presence of justice.” ~Martin Luther King Jr.
~Wylddane
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