Erin Fanning

Ten months ago, I sent an essay to the Love Letter column of World Wildlife Magazine. And a love letter it most certainly was, capturing my admiration for crows, an often-maligned bird.

My submission resulted in silence, not unusual in the life of a writer when one often waits months (years!) before a piece is accepted and finally published. Then, a few weeks ago, I received an email from World Wildlife’s editor hoping that my essay was still available and wanting to include it in the August 2024 issue.

Surprise mingled with delight, honored to be sharing my essay with a large audience, maybe even changing someone’s opinion about crows. Although, I suspect that World Wildlife readers already have an appreciation for most of earth’s creatures, whether climbing, crawling, or flying.

As usual, my publications continue to dribble in, mostly due to my own fault as I am often caught between the covers of a book or lured outside to explore nature. Occasionally, though, something captures my imagination, practically forcing me to sit down and compose.

Recently, reading a book inscription from my Aunt Janean resulted in one of those moments and an update to my About the Author page.

Other (fairly) recent publications include:

– The Road to Coincidence: From a Bishop’s Sermon to Homeless Rabbits in Spirit Fire Review.

–From Starry Nights to River Rambles and other outdoorsy articles for Weekly Choice

-More of my hiking, biking, and kayaking adventures can be found at Blue Water Healthy Living.

And, as normal, I’m looking forward to seasonal transitions, sliding from skis and snowshoes to kayaks, bikes, and hiking boots, and sharing some of those adventures through my other website, Northern Michigan Biyaking.

Then transitioning back to skis and snowshoes when the snow flies, an annual cycle of which I never tire. Each month arrives like an old friend from the Ocqueoc’s Chipmunk Falls coursing with April’s winter runoff to May’s trillium carpeting Boyne’s forested hills, and finally to snowflakes gathering in December on Brundage’s woodsy glades.