Blog

It’s an odd quiet out there on the water at the end of July.

Last Monday I picked apples from my grandma’s favorite applesauce tree.

She hiked to see the glacier, but really she’s a backyard sorta girl. 

By stalks of blooming fireweedor perhapsa massive melting glacier.

I spotted a neat bit of wild art on my morning walk in the rain. 

What is the word for walking amongst the fruits of our backyard labor?

I should not pass the opportunity to give some beats to a goat.

Farewell sandal lines! too briefly I knew you, but how I did love you!

I’ve come home to find the dahlias blooming right here in my own backyard.

There are so many ways to think about paths and metaphors abound.

Soon they will don bright coats and fly on super fast wings,but not yet.

It takes one piece of circle sticker stationary to collapse time.

I think flowers blooming in hard places are some kind of deep magic.

I cut across my memory feed today running through place and time.

My boys stood across the street and watched me take pictures like a tourist.

A great big moon cracks the clouds to offer light for this dark July night.

Time keeps changing my relationship to this land but the anchor holds.

Cases within cases for a long overdue trip to Oregon! 

It feels so good to see the mountains again, rather like coming home.

Just down the street, along the path, on the other side of the park –YIKES!

My boy loves to bake and so it seems that I live in a bakery.

My boy has a green thumb and I have lettuce outside my kitchen door.