I remember reading where C.S. Lewis and his friends (J.R.R. Tolkien among them) would sometimes walk a days’ journey across the English countryside together, stop at a pub for beer and rest, then take up their walking sticks again the next morning. “It was an idyllic way to spend three or four days. Footpaths were … Continue reading Writers On Walking
Take a left at the end of our driveway, and you’re headed downhill, over the railroad tresses, then up to where Edgewood Road meets the Old Highway. You’ll follow Krinning’s fence, which is so old the trees have grown up through its wires — but before you start up the hill, there’s a place where … Continue reading On Walking
My friend who shares my name, Bethany Rose, called me last Tuesday morning from somewhere up in Minnesota, where she was bundled and walking her Great Pyrenees named Shiloh. “We’re experiencing a warm front,” she said. “It’s twenty-five degrees today.” I was planting a tray of lettuce on my patio in Missouri, because we were … Continue reading The Long Winter
Folks say I take after my mom’s side of the family— that I have the Latham nose and smile. But Dad and I are alike in a lot of ways too, though they tend to be unseen things, like tendencies. For one, Dad and I both crave a good, stretching view of the horizon. Since … Continue reading The Hill
I take walks, and the wind is the January kind. It makes the leaves chatter high in the trees and rattles the empty trash cans at the end of each driveway. The earth is brown, save for refrozen snow lining the ditches and furrows. Now is the only time in the year when I can … Continue reading Selah
The swing set oak is forty years old — taller than our maples, cedars, even its pin oak siblings. Mr. Adams planted it when our neighborhood was still his field and my mom was a kid who ran through it. Planting a tree is always an act of faith, but it’s also a selfless thing … Continue reading By Faith, Plant Sequoias
I spent the night in a forest once and filtered my water from between two rocks, where a stream got caught and pulled through, bubbling up on the other side. It was just the place to rinse my fingers or fill my bottle. Streams flow down, and we use that phrase for grace too, because … Continue reading Grace that Roars
I wrote a letter to my friend, Sarah, last week and told her I’m suffering from Gardening Shame. There are weeds in every box, and I haven’t re-mulched the paths, so black tarp shows through like the garden’s underwear. My tomato plants won't take to the soil and stand limp. Zoysia grass creeps in and … Continue reading Gardening Shame
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
“Well, do you think spring has sprung?” he asks, and I look up to see things from his view. His yard is a patchwork of green and yellow, the trees at the crest of Edgewood are leafless, two brand new tulips stand awkward and alone off his front porch. “I—I think it has. I hope … Continue reading Is Springing
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