A nice house, but no, it's not mine.

Our house on the edge of Redwing Marsh is a quiet place where the writer can think deep thoughts and write quickly and effectively without distraction. Usually. The noises of the past few days have made me want to barricade myself in a lead-walled room. Yesterday a not-too-distant neighbor hired a tree-hacking firm to fell a forest of the stately white pine trees on his property. This man lives in the woods, mind you, and he made the decision to chop them all down. What would possess a person to do this? I know what his neighbors tell me--he wanted to make his children a yard to play in. So what's wrong with playing in the woods? And what's wrong with the playground that's practically next door to his house?

Thank you so much, dear readers, for allowing me to rant about this sad, disturbing event. Sadder still because hawks have been nesting in those very pines for the past six years.

Yesterday a helicopter decided to buzz the marsh, zooming and roaring back and forth so low that it looked as if it might land. (It wouldn't be the first time a chopper was idiotic enough to try to touch down on our piece of sog.) After five minutes of this, I was dialing the police when it tore off toward the golf course.

I would tell you about the legion of town trucks out in front of my house this morning, trying for the third time to fill the street where it keeps caving in, but I realize that most of you don't visit this blog for tales of a writer's distractions.

So in book news--I think I'll blog a sec about NPR's Fresh Air. It's a shame the show is on at 3pm. I'm just too busy then, and usually not in a place where I can easily tape the program. The few times I have been able to listen, I've enjoyed the author segments immensely--Gross's interviewing is terrific. If you missed Fresh Air this week, go to its website and listen to a show--they're all archived. On Wednesday, Bob Woodward spoke about his new book and linguist Geoff Nunberg commented on the blogging phenomenon. And, oh boy, oh boy--Barry Manilow is on today... Sorry, Barry, but I'd rather hear nails on a chalkboard.