when i hear the forecast, i’m not quite sure what to make of it. it’s right on time, the snow; yet i don’t feel mentally prepared yet for winter. it could be a flurry, it could be substantial. it’s a game of wait-and-see. monday morning, we saw. a snowfall worthy of january, thick flakes falling … Continue reading the first snowfall (and apple cake)
i woke last night to a sound insistent, familiar, yet not at once recognizable. and then it occurred: rain. it’s been a long while since a nighttime rain serenaded our sleep. morning dawned grey with white clouds billowing along the valley floor, ridgelines of conifers peeking through. off and on the drizzle fell. after breakfast … Continue reading autumn rains (and pumpkin waffles)
yesterday i read a few pages in robin wall kimmerer’s enchanting and delightful “braiding sweetgrass.” (if you are looking for a good book, this is it. already i have gifted it to friends and relatives, and the giving will continue as the holiday season commences.) these particular pages describe native american tribes’ approach to harvesting … Continue reading the honorable harvest (and drinking chocolate)
i developed an affection for honeybees this summer. it grew alongside a new flower bed that, at the start of the season, i filled with good compost. i dug holes for dahlia, poked little holes for sunflower seeds, planted hollyhocks that began their emergent lives months before under an indoor grow light. on top of … Continue reading honeybees (and kanuchi)
the sky, thickly veiled in white smoke, gradually darkened. i paced the house, obsessively looking out the window as the wind picked up, swirling through branches and laying grasses down flat. it seemed the promised rain might actually arrive. like much of the west, montana’s summer has once again been plagued with drought and fire. … Continue reading thunder (and hurricane popcorn)
one evening, while washing dishes, i looked out the window. the setting sun, illuminating the hills across the street, brushed soft light across tapered evergreens. i had never noticed the light falling in exactly that way, so intentionally in that little patch of trees. i stared while the water rushed over my hands. the moment … Continue reading light play (and chocolate biscotti)
nights come early now, darkness settling in even before we sit down to dinner. the snow melts; the last aspen leaves rattle and flutter away with passing winds; snow falls again. daylight appears as in a watercolor, pellucid, devoid of color. ropy clouds drape across a pale blue sky. how we mark these days. the … Continue reading shorter days (and smoky chipotle sweet potato soup)
i’ve heard it said that winter is never far away in the north country. you can feel its presence just beyond the mountain; hovering, biding its time. it’s time. this past week, three snowstorms worthy of january: the first, heavy wet flakes just right for building a snowman; the second, cold and powdery; the third, … Continue reading times like these (and chai-spiced almond butter)
and just like that, two more seasons have come and gone. the sweet summer, sunlit and green; the fall, golden and resplendent. the mornings of late: darker now as we spin away from the sun, darker now for the clouds of grey mist suspended low in a heavy sky. as the curtains rise, they reveal … Continue reading shades of silver (and sweet potato chocolate chip muffins)
the morning dawns under cover, accompanied by a steady drumbeat of rain. a low ceiling, not quite grey and not quite white. throughout the day this curtain rises and falls, its feathered hem revealing glimpses of the mountains beyond. raindrops drip off leaves and eaves, steady; an invitation to meditation. while i long, on the … Continue reading rhubarb in the rain
