The Alton County Statesman
Short commentaries on the life and history of southeastern Minnesota based on, excerpts of the author's award-winning mystery/thrillers in the Alton County Trilogy.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 13
- Latest publication
- Sep 27, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 5, 2026
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Finding My Voice (opens the original)
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Publishing anything is like releasing a balloon into the wind. Once released you can’t call it back; you can’t control its journey or where it comes down. My 1971 article in Minnesota History, followed by an award from the Forest History Society, drew more attention to me almost immediately. I hadn’t considered this when I published it.<a class="image-link image2 is-viewable-img" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!rkmm!,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-po
Summer of the Aurora (opens the original)
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The Wilderness Dilemma (opens the original)
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Writing a narrative about the people engaged in protecting wilderness made it difficult to avoid being drawn in as a participant. Seeing my subjects absorbed in their life’s work added a dimension to mine that letters alone couldn’t fulfill. Being engaged as an active witness but not a partisan required self-awareness.Hub invited me to visit him at his Wilderness Research Center on Basswood Lake in 1973. There, I was introduced to the center’s board of directors, invited into meetings. I was inc
A Woodsman’s Tales (opens the original)
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Among my “fellow travelers” was a woodsman named Bill Magie. He was a font of stories about lumberjacks, rangers, miners, drunkards and others whom he met in and around the forest. Some were funny stories, others were tragic, but all had the patina of oral history. More than anyone, he gave me “local color” that put the larger story in a human dimension. As we became friends, he asked if he could guide me into remote parts of the Quetico I had never seen. I said yes.<a class="image-link image2"
Imagination Meets Reality (opens the original)
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A vivid imagination can carry a writer only so far. Authenticity has its origins in actual experience of some kind. I had a lot of experience canoeing but little else. After months of research at the historical society library, I wanted a change of scene. Spending time in the national forest I was writing about seemed like a good way to do two things: organize my notes and experience the landscape firsthand.August 1973 was drier than usual. I was house-sitting on Devil’s Track Lake and drove to
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