My heart knows what the river knows. Katie Lee (1964) My Merlin App is lighting up with migratory birds, all merrily greeting me on this spring stroll in Iron Mine Valley. These wet woods are awash with warblers. Dripping with yesterday’s rain, the earth smells fresh. The river frolics. And the beavers have built an […]
Valley of Analogies Read Post »
We are creatures of habit and direction: we like our days and our lives to move forward. We like the stories we read to do the same. This is not one of those stories. In fact, if you start at the end and read backwards, you might just join me at the same place. Our
Sit Down and Shut Up Read Post »
Over the course of our six-year conversation, I’ve shared some far-fetched stories. I told you that a meteor once fell in the Madeline Regan Preserve (The Sky Was Falling) and that earthquakes were increasing in our locale, the big one due soon (Shake, Rattle, and Roll). I swore I heard the ghostly cry of Elizabeth
They’ve cleaned me out of everything they could reach. The deep snow is crisscrossed with tracks leading from one leafless bush to another, and it’s only winter’s frosty rug that protects the perennials they overlooked in the fall. I’ve never developed a successful oversight plan, one that would reduce plant damage or limit black-legged ticks.
Thankfully, the eagle was a perfect excuse to cut my walk short. By midmorning the temperature had risen to only 7 degrees, and though it was the day before the big storm, there was still several inches of snow at the H. E. Preston Sanctuary from the last one. No path to follow. The Little
Up at three AM on January 3, one of my bad nights, with the Super Wolf Moon glowing so brightly through the shades that I just have to look. The snow is that neon blue color, decorated with gold glitter. Black tree trunk shadows crisscross the yard; it’s easy to see the sinuous dark line
A Day in the Life 2026 Read Post »
