Boluisce I root my fingers, burying them back and down. A twist into black, acidic soil, deeper than anything man-made....
Even after so many years, tears still fill my eyes when I think of my brother’s farm accident. That was...
I was twelve when I figured out God. Mom was a devout Presbyterian who taught Sunday school. Every evening she...
A Meditation on the Land —remembering a farm foreclosure. For Darrell Ringer, 1953-93 “Thank you,” he said, while the black...
All day they mumble in a clump outside the hive. I water the days of an unexpected life. I fill...
A Thin Place If you walk in a straight line across the beach from the footpath which runs between blue...
Crossing Places At the crossing places when the river is still and ghosts untangle themselves from the trees you can...
The Irish are renowned storytellers. From Nobel prize winning literature to pub talk we are saturated in stories. We listen...
In 1980, the year I worked for the Census, there were over 30 days when even the nighttime temperature was...
A story from rural Kenya. From the Becoming Erick Collection. Edited by Poppy Johnson. A Mother’s Manual Dreamily he watched,...
It was a struggle for her, getting around to the back of the house this morning to gather up the...
My favorite inheritance is the green toy metal shovel. Also, the elfin-like ski-toed leather booties. Also, the pair of snowshoes,...