I remember standing in the middle of a bustling downtown plaza last autumn, clutching a lukewarm latte and feeling more isolated than a single lamb [Read More…]
I still remember the first time I stepped out of my parents’ quiet, rolling pastures and into the frantic, neon-lit pulse of the city. I [Read More…]
I remember sitting on the porch of my parents’ old farm last autumn, watching a young rescue goat named Barnaby try to navigate a new, [Read More…]
I was sitting out on the porch yesterday, trying to arrange some dried maple leaves into the shape of a sleeping tabby, when a stray [Read More…]
The other morning, I was out in the garden trying to arrange some smooth river stones into the shape of a sleeping tabby—a little project [Read More…]
I was sitting on my porch yesterday, watching a little tabby I’ve named Louis Pasteur (he’s quite the distinguished fellow, despite his penchant for chasing [Read More…]
I was sitting on the porch yesterday, watching a particularly stubborn tabby I’ve named Louis Pasteur try to communicate with a butterfly, when it hit [Read More…]
The other afternoon, I was out in the garden trying to arrange some flat river stones into the shape of a sleeping tabby—a little tribute [Read More…]
I was sitting on my porch yesterday, trying to piece together a little mosaic of a tabby cat using some flat river stones, when my [Read More…]
I remember one particular summer evening on the farm when I tried to host a small garden tea for the neighbors, convinced that every napkin [Read More…]
