The winter was so hard and cold,Froze ten feet ’neath the ground.— Grateful Dead, “Dire Wolf” The winter: Cold and long, even by north country standards. Hard. It started out mild and manageable. We skated through Thanksgiving and Christmas with tempered cold and scattered snow; even January exercised restraint. Then February arrived, and with it an … Continue reading weather report
My experience of late, and that of many others with whom I’ve talked, is one of time hurtling forward. Faster and faster.Dizzying and relentless. Defying nearly all efforts to rein it in. One thing I’ve found allows me to pull back just a bit. To pause. To notice the moment and savor it. And that is ritual. … Continue reading ritual (and teff banana bread granola)
We prepared three weeks for this moment. We learned the art of orienteering–navigating with topographic maps and compasses–to find our way through the Alaskan wilderness and arrive each day at a designated camp site. We crossed glacial-fed rivers, icy and slick-bottomed, carefully and safely. We practiced placing our food storage, cooking, and sleeping areas in … Continue reading on fog and topographic maps
Bow your head downWhen you break bread together;Close your eyes,Make a circle of hands. — Jeffrey Foucault, Dishes Early morning sun slants through the windows, catching steam curls from coffee mugs and flour clouds from countertops. Sweet apple and pumpkin spice mingle, wafting through hallways and up stairs, rousing anyone who might be thinking about sleeping … Continue reading circle of hands
“Only the mountain has lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf.” — Aldo Leopold, Thinking Like a Mountain Soda Butte Creek rises on the slopes of the Absaroka Mountains just outside Yellowstone National Park. It wends its way south and west, past the towns of Cooke City and Silver Gate, into the … Continue reading in the company of wolves
The afternoon air leans warm and golden sunlight filters through tree branches near-bare of leaves. I walk the path as it dips down level with the creek, through layers of deconstructed leaf litter. With each step, the crunch. The bouquet: earthy, spicy, grounding. I look down at my feet as they step, step. I feel … Continue reading rootedness
Swing the axe In the hour before daylight Note the sparks That attend to the blade — Jeffrey Foucault, Dishes If I look over the top of my laptop screen, through raindrop-pebbled window panes, grass fronds feather sideways and tree branches flail against a backdrop of slate cloud curtains nestled among mountain layers. Copper leaves scud … Continue reading woodsmoke
