Foraging Pluck purslane and plantain for salad, shred it small so it slides by skeptics, know you’re kneeling in Eden...
Picking Mushrooms With Papa In Woodinville In the moment, it was what you do. Looking back, it must’ve been strange...
A Meditation on the Land —remembering a farm foreclosure. For Darrell Ringer, 1953-93 “Thank you,” he said, while the black...
Still Falling Snow The woods are mine now and they fill up with snow more often than I’d like. The...
Live Oak After seven years of walking this road, I’ve picked my tree. I hug it daily, stretch my arms...
All Flesh Is Grass The days passed quickly, back then, though some hours lingered in that hot hospital room, waiting,...
Roads That Lead Nowhere It isn’t the stillness they talk about, the way the light spills over old barns, or...
The Parable of the Sower Two trees with bad roots Planted by Lamont, dead six years now He’d have replaced...
And when this house goes down to wrack and ruin, as it must and will, not just because the brick...
Trophies aaaaAny lost citizen of the wild wandering our land didn’t live very long. Most were consumed. A few undressed...
Moving On, Not Moving On I think I knew our new home was two states west of home. But what...
Hindsight isn’t up close as a rearview mirror. It’s unearthed, like the little blue boot turned up by the tractor...