Swans When the four emerged from the eggs, I knew the odds. One or two would make it. The others...
At the Hour of Milk When the barn lit up for the very first time the cows in their stanchions...
Heat and steamy breath from big-eyed young calves crammed into the stone outhouse, sentient, persistent in this old loft of...
Field Notes from an Old Chair Well, they’ve come, these early crews though it’s only March, which in Michigan means...
The Last Farm Stand She comes laden across the bay, and I am halfway down the hill to the ferry...
I Confess I’ve resorted to murder, here in my kitchen filled with basil, bee balm and thronging castes of blue-black...
The Sugars of Existence What he feels, he acts upon; What determines truth describes consequence. Aspens in the high country,...
Education … Fortunate Fields—like those of old Sought in the Atlantic Main, why should they be A history only of...
The Seventh Whistler (after William Wordsworth) By slough and marsh my dog commits to muck and fun on coastal walk...
Oyster World You massacred those oysters when we were girls, wrenched them from the river mud despite my pleas that...
Darkroom The past would seem to exist beneath a red light behind a door seldom opened save to revisit photographs...
My Mother Considers Her Callows Farm From a parlour window I see sunlight creeping across the fields, and how some...