My little hometown of Ironwood Michigan is not much to look at anymore; it has been in decline since the mines shut down in the 1960's. The paint may be peeled, the colors may be faded, and the weeds may have won, but the memories of those better days are as sharp and vibrant as ever. I can't imagine a better place to grow up or a better group of kids to grow up with - we did ok for ourselves.
Makes you wonder what is around the bend in this little dirt path that weaves through the dense matted branches - maybe an ancient tribal village, or perhaps a den of wolves, or it could even be the path to enlightenment and self-actualization high on a Tibetan mountain. No, what actually lies beyond is Highway 41 and a traffic jam in downtown Sarasota, and this is a sculpture made of twigs.