An excerpt from Van Riper's account about experiencing one of his last trips north to his cabin at the lake.

But it was not until John opened the iron gate and we passed the beaver dam and we entered the great maple and birch forest to see the first glimpse of the lake that I erupted with a joy so intense I could not contain myself. I war whooped, I even wept although Van Ripers don't cry or lie or steal or shoot does. "I'm back, Old Cabin, I'm back." I tumbled out of the car and with my old bones protesting, ran around the cabin, sat on one of the stumps of Woodhenge and threw out my arms, wishing they were a half mile long so I could encompass all the blue water before me. A miracle had happened. I was back. How often when my old pump had raced or stopped had I thought that I would never be here again and I was. I was! I was so full of boundless joy I had to tell the hills across the lake that Cully was home again, then felt ashamed because my hollering polluted the silence, the deep silence of the forest. Forgiveness came when a loon in a far bay echoed my echoes.

Webweaver Judy Kuster
Copyright 1997
Last modififed June 16, 1997