SEPTEMBER 8, 2025 – Today I enjoyed three disparate experiences that suggest our ship isn’t listing quite as fast or dramatically as it seemed to me after reading this morning’s headlines. Mind you, this doesn’t mean that the ship is free of serious problems below the waterline or that the furniture on the Lido deck isn’t in danger of sliding right into the sea when the captain spins the wheel as if he were a rogue contestant on Wheel of Fortune. But S.S. America isn’t yet in such distress that warrants an “Abandon ship!” order. Hope is still afloat.
The first encounter was a big case of “small world.” Late this morning I was hiking through a familiar neighborhood just beyond our own on my way to “Little Switzerland.” When I reached a corner lot that is home to a lush and enormous white pine, I noticed the homeowners tending to some weekend weeding. I’d walked past the house a gazillion times and never tired of admiring that gigantic tree. “That’s an amazing tree you’ve got there!” I called out.
This ice-breaker drew the couple down to the sidewalk to acknowledge my remark and express their own admiration for this amazing life form that dominates a corner of their well-kempt yard. It didn’t take me long to mention my affinity for white pine and my tree garden “up at the lake.”
“Where’s the lake?” the gentleman asked.
“Near Hayward, Wisconsin.”
Ten seconds later we put two and two together. It turns out that this smart, genuine, friendly, conservation-minded couple of medical professionals have a cabin on . . . Grindstone Lake. They are very familiar with the location of Björnholm and expressed great appreciation for its undeveloped state. Moreover, they, in turn, have friends just three blocks farther into St. Paul who also own a cabin on Grindstone. The latter couple’s cabin property comprises a sizable “tree garden,” as well, through which an extensive network of moss-laden trails have been established and maintained.
There on the city sidewalk we enjoyed a wonderful conversation about our shared close affinity for very same neck of northern woods. I was so very heartened by their commitment to conservation in general and especially delighted to know how much they too care about the woods and water of a place to which I have devoted so much time, attention and effort. We exchanged contact information and promised to rendezvous again, soon on common ground.
As I reflected on this serendipitous encounter, I found hope and encouragement against the backdrop of the environmental wreckage that passes for environmental “policy” under the current regime in Washington.
A second encouraging experience was back in our own neighborhood. The occasion was our annual block party. Most noteworthy of several interesting and rewarding conversations was with a neighbor running for Falcon Heights (pop. 5,200) city council this November—Georgiana May. Recently retired after a long and distinguished academic career (evolutionary biology) at the University of Minnesota, Georgiana has served on multiple city commissions, has her ear to the ground, and combines her experience with high level “smarts” and appealing pragmatism. She enjoys the endorsement of the people in our town I most respect and will serve us well. I was impressed by her simple, old-fashioned but highly effective campaign strategy: door-knocking and meeting voters face-to-face in a community that for decades has enjoyed a stunningly high turnout.
Here is a person undaunted by our country’s dysfunctional politics; someone with decades of experience and maturity but the alertness, energy and enthusiasm of someone decades younger. Georgiana is the antithesis of a tired, discouraged Boomer, and I expressed to her my appreciation for her initiative and inspiration. With such people in our midst willing, able and capable to serve the common good, how can we not step up and support them in every way we can?
The entirely positive political conversation with Georgiana served as a springboard to another inspiring conversation. As she turned to other supporters, I moved toward a neighborhood stalwart, “Mr. Paulson,” as his former honors English students at Roseville High School still call him. He, of course, knew Georgiana well and expressed high regard for her—as well as for her two kids, both of whom had been his students. After summarizing their remarkable academic achievements and careers, “Mr. Paulson” said with a twinkle in his eye, “Let’s say, they are not under-achievers.”
Kent (Mr. Paulson) then went on to tell me about a wedding that he and his wife had recently attended—that of yet another student of his, who’d achieved great things post-high school. Seven other former students of his were in attendance, as well, all hitting home runs in life.
As he described his conversations with these young people, I had two reactions: one was admiration, the other was hope. The admiration bordered on envy. “What a supreme reward it must be,” I said, “every time you encounter a former student who remembers you well and fondly, talks about how much they got out of your class [if you talk around, this is what you hear about “Mr. Paulson’s” English (British/American lit.) honors class] and who is now making a significant contribution to society.” Then I quipped, “I never run into someone who says, ‘Gosh, I really appreciated that construction loan agreement you drafted for me 15 years ago.’”
The block party broke up at the advertised end-time—7:30—because it was getting cold, not because people were running out of interesting and uplifting things to talk about. The enounters I enjoyed reinforced my faith in humanity: despite all the nonsense in well-publicized circulation, a lot of really good, solid people are in our midst and making a profoundly positive difference.
The experience that was the centrepiece of today’s consolidated encouragement, however, was the welcoming party for the foreign journalists participating in this year’s fellowship program of the World Press Institute (WPI). I’ve been a board member for years, and Beth and I have hosted eight or nine journalists over that time.
This year’s group included journalists from Argentina, Bulgaria, Canada, Egypt, Finland, Indonesia, Italy, Kenya, and Namibia. They constitute the 60th annual class, and without exception, they are top-flight, first string, “varsity players.” With each I am eager to have extended conversations during their time here in Minnesota and following their grand media tour of the United States, when they’ll return to St. Paul for debriefing before they disperse. Also on hand were all the host families, several alumni, board members and friends of WPI.
The gracious hosts of the event provided the perfect setting and, with connections to very high forces and influences, they arranged for ideal weather conditions. We could easily have continued our conversations well into the evening but for the aforementioned block party (which was itself a big draw). As I remarked to one of the fellows, I felt as though I were aboard an international train loaded with fascinating passengers from all over the globe; world travelers who were accessible, articulate (in my language), engaging, highly educated, intelligent, down-to-earth, interesting and interested, and otherwise wholly enjoyable. The ride would be a long one—the Orient Express or the Trans-Siberian—affording the passengers ample time to get to know one another. But sadly, even the train that leaves Moscow’s Jaroslavl Station bound for the Russian Far East eventually reaches . . . Vladivostok.
Yes, in many ways, America of the current era seems to have lost its way, unless you are of the perspective as I am that what we’re now witnessing is simply the culmination of 500 years (give or take) of history. In any event, the encounters I experienced today are convincing evidence that whatever your views of our prospects, all is not lost; that solidly good, positive, capable, and well-equipped people—here and around the globe—dedicate their time and effort to spinning the globe in the direction of the common good. In them and their works we must place our faith and hope.
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
