This morning when I first looked out, there was new snow, everywhere a thin white covering, but a vulnerable white, I sensed. And then from somewhere I had the idea that I should watch it, should watch the vulnerability of snow.
So I did. I starting watching. I watched while making breakfast and also while packing Quetzal’s lunch. I watched while walking to and from the barn. Continue reading
Last week in the rains, a frog leaped out from a row of yellow beans I was harvesting to land directly in my bucket about three feet away. As the bucket was almost full, and as I was on my knees, the frog and I were instantly eye-to-eye and intimate, his eyes showing greenish-yellow, mine maybe grayish-blue.
And as I didn’t say anything, and the frog didn’t say anything, we became close-up studies for each other, two strangers trying on their best Tao. Continue reading
We have a freshly cut bouquet of lilacs on the dining table just now, and the reason I’m telling you this is because I didn’t put them there. Quetzal put them there. I used to put May lilacs on the table. In the 1980’s in Batesville, Virginia I put lilacs on the table. In the 1990’s in Colorado I did. In the early 2000’s in Columbus I did. But these last years in New Hampshire: Have I cut lilacs for the table? No. Continue reading
My wife Serita recently agreed to do a video for a kid’s news show called Channel One News. It aired last week, and I think it turned out great.
I will allow the video to introduce Serita and her work.
If you think really hard, you may see a connection between Serita’s work and my writing.
The video includes three stories. Serita’s is the third. It starts at 2:30. Continue reading
Quetzal showed up yesterday (I don’t know why) with a skull we found years ago somewhere on the farm. I remembered later that I had written about it, had posted it on some rendition of this blog, went digging to see if I still had the writing, found it, and so here it is, its second life.
A skull turned up one morning at our house during an extended Sunday brunch we were hosting for our neighbors. Dave, who lives on the next farm over, had taken the kids for a walk in the woods, and when they returned, they had a skull, a medium-sized, off-white, animal skull that, while broken distinctly into three pieces (cranium, mandible, and single tooth), fit together perfectly.
For awhile the skull was the kids’ thing. They chased each with the point of the tooth; they tricked it out in my new Tingly hat; they pretended to make the jaw bone talk; they bickered over basic holding rights. Continue reading