Back in the ages birchbark canoes slid up and down the South Fork of the Flambeau River. They came to a little meeting of a small spring fed creek. On both sides of the creek stood towering white pine. On the south side was a narrow high point up a steep twenty foot bank. The other side dropped as steeply to the swamp. On this point, one hundred by two hundred feet, stood at least forty huge pines. Canoes were parked on the shore and moccassin clad feet padded up the short trail to the fire spot. Oh, if only pine stumps could talk! Wood was gathered and a fire was built on the old fire spot. The soil is black with charcoal three inches deep on a fifty foot circle. The ground was bare under most of those huge pines except for a pine needle bed outside the fire spot. There was venison jerkie, wild rice and dried berries to eat.
Gibson, Lawrence M.
"The Ghosts on my Tree Farm,"
Ames Forester: Vol. 66
, Article 5.
Available at: https://lib.dr.iastate.edu/amesforester/vol66/iss1/5