The winds have turned cold, and I've been itching to get out in them, so I walked down to the greenhouse last week where I found a surprise among the wreckage (summer storms tore the tarps from the frames, leaving the house half-naked and pooled with rainwater): A beautiful bouquet of kale grew right where … Continue reading Kale Soup and the Sea
He poked his head into the church foyer and asked if we gave out free Bibles, and we looked at each other. Then we said, “Of course,” and in our hurry, almost handed him someone’s nice leatherbound they’d left on the coat rack. We invited him in out of the dark, and I gave him … Continue reading The Wanderer
The newspaper was lying on the breakfast table last week, and while I ate my egg, I read an article about Mr. Krone, the man who (I think) made my violin, or at least restored it. The front-page picture showed him at a worktable, his big hands running raw wood under a chisel. He wore … Continue reading The Violin Maker
"Thank an artist today," someone said on Instagram last week, and I happened to be walking through the booths at the entrance to Silver Dollar City--- little closets of handmade brooms and paintings and pottery and baskets and woven rugs. The makers of each were dressed in their aprons and smocks, watching us and waiting. … Continue reading Thank the Artist
The people I know say they’ll never forget where they were when the first tower fell, then the second. Mom says she was in her room, I was on her bed, and she was changing me. I’d only been around for seven months and already wore a birthmark of the world; 2001 was a year … Continue reading Never Forget It
The “what-are-you-doing-for-college?” question comes my way a lot, and I have trouble packaging an answer. I’ve sort of wandered the web since I graduated, taking free classes like English Comp and Public Speaking and Theology. I worked with Jonathan Rogers over at The Habit for a few weeks, whipping my writing into something more earthy … Continue reading The Conservatory
I listen to a news briefing as I walk Edgewood, warm winds tossing the trees. I hear there are bodies being flung from planes. I don’t remember seeing the little American flag on Rivara’s mailbox before. Old Highway 50 is hot and quiet, and there are black-eyed Susans and zinnias growing around that tin-roofed house … Continue reading Homefront
“Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while,” said Jesus to his disciples, “for many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat” (Mark 6:31). Wyndham Mountain Vista isn’t a desolate place. We pulled in too late to book our favorite condo overlooking the fog that huddles … Continue reading “Come Away and Rest Awhile”
The swingset oak is forty years old, taller than our maple, cedars, even its pin oak siblings. Mr. and Mrs. Adams planted it when our neighborhood was still a field and Mom was still a kid who ran through it. Early last fall, the tree started browning— far too early. By November, it was naked … Continue reading A Good Sign
I’ve called this place Bethany J’s Journal since it’s beginning, but I’ll admit it isn’t my journal— not my real, blue hardback with the exotic fish on the front and squatty cursive inside. Here, I draft, tweak, redraft, edit, polish, and find pretty pictures to match each article. My real journal is messier, and while … Continue reading Introducing “Sunday Sketches”
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