I was down in Arkansas one evening last summer when the storm hit—a great clash in the heavens of solar wind sweeping off the sun’s surface and crashing into our atmosphere. The aurora borealis–a geomagnetic storm–was raging somewhere over the Canadian Rockies, but on a hot evening in Arkansas, things were quiet. We had a … Continue reading When the Northern Lights Came South
Not many people know about Mill Creek Mountain (at least, we didn't think they did, but I’ll get to that). I wouldn’t know it myself were it not for Don and Bo Sosebee, for Vesta Baptist Church in the valley below it, and for Jared, who took me there. Jared and I took a drive … Continue reading On Behalf of Mill Creek Mountain
I remember the way I described the Atlantic Ocean in my letters to Papa Larry from Cape Cod, when we walked the easternmost hem of Race Point Beach with the sea "rising and falling at our sides." But the Pacific, I now realize, does not "rise and fall" like some prim lady curtsying. It cracks … Continue reading Consider the Hummingbirds and the Seas
I'd hate to think that somedayI could be watching a soap operain a beach motelwhen,outside and across the street,there is a full-bellied moon risingover the crashing tideslike a great, golden peachin a storm-tossed orchard.I'd like to think that somedayI'll be like the man with the long camerawho'dsearched the Internet and watchedfrom his car for weeks,and … Continue reading I’d Hate to Think
For Joel & NatalieA Blessing for Their House May you live like you’re young in this house that’s older than you,old as the trees,old like the bell steeple on Main Street,and the railroad that runs with the river west to the town where Dad was born. May you not erase the aging lines of this place, which … Continue reading Remember
A True Story from Home April is young, and I’m in my garden as often as I can be. Today, I have company. My nephew, Bennett, is kneeling in the zucchini patch beside a Red Ryder wheelbarrow. He asked if he could help, so he’s weeding the clover that crept up in early March, tossing … Continue reading A Garden in Babylon
I watched one afternoon in October to see my neighbor’s chainsaw whir and whine and whistle clean through the trunk of his tree, and I felt the wrongness of it, as he stood on a ladder to dismantle it limb-by-limb. “I was putting off knowing it. All that day there had been a crashing in … Continue reading Upon the Death of a Bradford Pear
In The Country of the Pointed Firs, Sarah Orne Jewett wrote of a woman named Mrs. Almira Todd, who lived in a clapboard house on the coast of Maine---a gardener and a landlady and "an ardent lover of herbs, both wild and tame." They grew out from her gray-shingled walls and up her steep gables, … Continue reading Scent on a Spring Breeze
There is a basic qualification to be a volunteer Storm Spotter for the National Weather Service, and it is blessedly simple: Look up. Were anything more technical asked of me, I would not have taken the class; but as it is, I already spend a lot of time watching the sky. It turns out that … Continue reading Look Up
A True Story from Home To me, Mrs. Olave Thurston was the lady in my grandpa’s stories---as if she was another Ma Ingalls or Miss Rumphius. When we ate chicken for dinner, Papa would tell how Mrs. Thurston raised, butchered, and boiled her own. When spring came and I cut fresh flowers for the table, … Continue reading Gravestone Flowers
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