A Tormented Gardener in a Garden of Bliss
Good morning! Today I begin a series of Saturday posts on my garden of bliss (and torment). It’s a big garden, a garden on the edge of a ravine and creek, and a garden that’s made me both extremely happy and incredibly depressed. I’ll tell you why I was depressed in a future post. For now, I’ll tell you about the garden and its various growing areas. The Front Woods When you arrive at my property, you can’t see my house from the street. This was the first characteristic of…
On Being Astonished and Capturing the Sight in a Poem
Here's one insight poet Thomas A. Thomas shared during our chat the other day: "There is enough awfulness in the world, and I pay attention to that too. But I want to look at what makes the horrors worth fighting through, what makes the suffering bearable." Check out this interesting poet and nature photographer.
Why I Wrote a Novel About a Tree That Sings: Part One
Hey everyone, I’ve published a short novel called Song of the Tree Hollow. It’s a literary mystery about a young woman who discovers she has a magical touch with plants — and unfortunately, a dark family history. It was fun to write, and one of my warmer, quirkier stories. I thought I’d offer this post on the origins of it. The book is available on Kindle for 99 cents, free on Kindle Unlimited. Please check it out! Thanks. Even though I grew up in a big Midwestern city, I’ve always…
Happy #Caturday! We’re Reading About Trees.
My cat Maddie snuggled up to a book I left behind this morning. She’s apparently interested in reading Peter Wohlleben’s The Hidden Life of Trees. It’s a wonderful little book that posits stands of trees are like human families. They protect each other, communicate through roots, send nutrients to the ill, and a bunch of other amazing things. If you read this, you’ll be seeing beeches and birches and all trees in a whole different light. Have a great Saturday! For more book recommendations, click here.
Ross Gay: Singing About Plants and People
September is a month of transition. The warm, bright freedom of long days wanes into the chilly introspection of rainy nights. It’s a warning about the coming of the great sleep that is winter. It’s in the morning dew on cars and yellow leaves that swirl before us as we mow the lawn. September signals that we should give up our fantasy of taking a walk in the evening whenever we want or put off fixing that downspout or eating on the patio. We are at the mercy of the…
