At some point, you just move forward

Henry James got it almost right. Those two words are surely summer morning, not summer afternoon.

A summer morning cool, heavy, washed with dew and birdsong and with the promise of untold delights ready to unfold. Who knows what a day might bring?

First go get the newspaper from the mailbox near the road, then check all the little gardens. They’re all looking a little better, and the soil is gradually coming to a lovely, friable state

The weather is so crisp this morning that I have two thoughts: [Read more →]

Just back from a short visit with my mother and sister in the Ozarks. A glorious drive of only a couple of hours through “hollow lands and hilly lands.” Breath-taking hill top views, dense dark forests, fast clear streams and rivers, and of course I forgot to take [Read more →]

In today’s New York Times Verlyn Klinkenborg writes about reading near the garden. “The books would drive me to the garden and the sun would drive me back to reading in the shade. That was the plan.”

But his plan was foiled by Dorothy Sayers. He’s right. One doesn’t often look up when engrossed in the elegant mysteries pursued by Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane. He also muses about starting the Patrick O’Brien novels, which Frank and I both love.

I have similar plans, and even have the lounger to prove it. All I need to do is [Read more →]

The clear sunny morning promises heat this afternoon. Rolled out to check the gardens and think how many things I’d like to be doing outside.

Writing awaits, and I want to finish some work before I play. I did pick thyme, sage, and rosemary for tonight’s as yet unknown dinner. Lentil soup perhaps. I think of Virginia Woolf’s diary: “One acquires a certain power over [Read more →]

July 4th dawns hot and bright, with no rain clouds in sight, yet. Rain expected later today.

Encouraged by the application of nutrients, the kitchen garden boasts tiny green tomatoes, one cucumber, greening parsley and basil, and a few baby peppers. 

Here in the United States, some consider this day a solemn time to contemplate the ideals upon which our country was founded. For many, it’s a day of barbeques, parties, marching bands, patriotic speeches, and trimmings of red, white, and blue.

As with most holidays, Frank and I like to spend this day alone together in blessed quiet with our books, journals, and Baroque music, preferably Bach.

But the thought of marching bands takes me back to [Read more →]

Rain, rain, rain nearly every day. When the rain stops, the sun creates a steambath effect.

When I got out of work a little early, stopped by a garden center to pick up bee balm, Russian sage (such a heavenly scent), rudibeckia (in memory of my friend Becky), black sweet potato vines, artemesia, diantha, blue salvia, and hen and chickens. Most of these plants were distressed and half-priced, so I brought them home to heal.

My garden assistant planted them around the little mailbox garden by the road. He also worked 40 pounds of cow manure and compost into the soil of the kitchen garden.

July already, and still no big garden. As I look out at the field of mostly white clover that is the front yard, I begin to come to terms with the thought that the garden of my dreams is not yet to be. Why disturb the feng shui for now? I don’t deal well with heat and humidity. Perhaps a fall garden, perhaps a spring garden next spring, perhaps not at all.

One thing I do know for now is [Read more →]

As a long-term keeper of journals, over 30 years now, I’m amazed that I’ve just ordered my first Moleskine. Oh, I’d heard about them and read about them, and in my head, I pronounced it in two syllables: mole-skin or mole-skine.

Then at the journal conference, I saw and examined several of them (Thanks guys!) and felt the heft and richness. And acid free!

Although I spend much of my time now journaling in computer programs, my introduction to journals and diaries was on paper. When I’m tired, stressed, or ill, I love to speak one of my favorite phrases: [Read more →]

When I announced our move back to the Midwest, my New York friends and acquaintances had lots of comments, chief among them: [Read more →]

Well, it depends.

Just returned from a newly formed group of kindred spirits. Drove past the meadows and through the tunnels of trees with the warm night wind in my hair and the night sounds of crickets and frogs.

People sometimes talk about me now living “way out there in the middle of nowhere,” but I can’t agree. I have what I need and love right here, right now. It must be everyone else living in the wilderness. It’s all a matter of perspective, I suppose.

I actually have more [Read more →]

Exhaustion. Exhilaration. Too many words, experiences, and perceptions to process from the Denver pilgrimage.

I’ve long trained myself to give up expectations and end results, but this conference and the “the other part” far exceeded anything I might imagine.

The conference was fabulous. Details to follow. I’m still reverberating from Christina Baldwin’s opening keynote speech: “Restorying the World: How Journal Writing Can Heal the Future.” Her book, StoryCatchers should arrive in my mailbox any day now. (I flummoxed myself by [Read more →]