Elk Songs

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This post has been a long time coming — please excuse its tardiness. Life is so full and messy and wonderful and busy that sometimes I forget to take a step back to reflect and work in this space. So here’s a post about our trip at the end of September.

In the autumn, the elk sing at night. We went up north to hear them this year, and I’m always filled with wonder to hear them calling to each other, their song echoing off the mountains. For me, elk song is a symbol of the turning of the year, a reminder that the nights are growing colder and longer, but are still filled with so much magic. The moon and stars seem brighter too as the nights grow longer. My cousin and I found Cassiopeia, Hercules, the Pleiades, Taurus, and the dippers one night while stargazing. At the end of the road to the west we could hear elk by the river, and coyotes howling and barking to the south.

While we were in Jackson, my grandpa passed away. It felt peaceful to know we were in the valley he loved so much, surrounded by the mountains and sagebrush. That afternoon, two buffalo wandered down the road and stood behind the cabin watching us. The herd was up in Yellowstone still, so these two travelers were the only bison we saw in the valley – magically appearing that chilly afternoon.

After seeing them, I read about how buffalo represent abundance and prayer. Buffalo’s lesson is also that of arriving at a goal or destination at the time that is best for you. Buffalo never hurries or cuts corners, but takes the time to complete the entire journey from start to finish.

I thought about how my grandpa’s life journey led him to this beautiful place, and how the roots he created here allowed my family to share a part of this land. I will always be grateful for his love of this beautiful valley. Standing on the deck of the cabin and looking out at the two buffalo in the grass, I felt they had stopped here to rest, just for a little while, on their journey north.



Early Summer


Hazy, scummy, and sparkling with little gnats and flies, it lulls me to sit beside it. The pond in summer. Its stillness intensifies in midday, the geese are dormant on the bank, ducks float and bob sluggishly, but there is a strange paradox at work. Through the muggy slowness of the afternoon, dragonflies zip in and out of view, landing once on this cattail, then on that weedy tuft. Pelicans too gyrate in the water, dipping under briefly for a swallow of fish. They swim in synchronization, an odd echo of Swan Lake perhaps, as they dip and glide and turn. Here, I am in this moment.

There is a word for pelicans: primeval. They seem like harbingers of luck, guardians of a different kind of age. In flight too, they seem impossible, black wingtips suddenly and thrillingly visible. It seems like I need them. Or perhaps it’s just hard to imagine the hardened blue-white lake in winter without them. Now they settle on the water, gathered as they drift, ducking under, then emerging again.

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I will be back soon with some photos from July 4th and some gardening updates. 

Be well xx


Up in the North Country: Pt. 2


When we return to nature, we come closer to a part of ourselves often forgotten in the hubbub of daily life. The stillness of a mountain lake at midday, the whir and warble of birds, the slow deliberate grazing of moose or elk, remind us of the need to slow down and exhale. There’s no posting or updating or checking “just to make sure” on the trail – there’s only sky and pine and dust. I think I needed this reminder. How magical to see a moose so close up by Jenny Lake, and how amazing to see an elk in velvet antlers.

At night, we looked at constellations in the sky: Orion, Cassiopeia, Taurus, the dippers, the milky way. The air was clear and cold, and I snuggled down under layers to look up at the frozen stars. Later, we had peppermint tea to warm us up. How special it feels for us city folk to see the stars, and how bittersweet too.


Up in the North Country: Pt. 1


But first… we stopped by my favorite Harrison’s Yellow rosebush last Sunday. It grows right on the edge of my old Waldorf Kindergarten and boy oh boy it smells like heaven! I made sure to visit before we left Monday morning because with all the hot sunny days ahead in Denver, I was afraid it would be done by the time we return. I’ll report back soon if there are still blossoms.

And on Monday morning… away we went to Jackson, Wyoming!

I wish I had taken more pictures of the drive up… Kevin wisely snapped this shot of prairie and sky while I was driving.


Up on Togwotee Pass we saw a grizz cross the road in front of us!!! I was EXTREMELY glad we were driving and safely in the car and not hiking. Nevertheless it was so breathtaking!


Later we saw Bison down on the valley floor. Alas, I didn’t get a picture but the whole herd started crossing the road in front of us!


Six full days up in Wyoming and they were so full to the brim with adventures and fun. I’m always an uneasy traveler (something my mom and I share) so there are many lists, last minute checks, worries about sleeping or being exhausted, and then finally once I actually hit the road I exhale. We drove up last Monday, through Ft. Collins and on through Laramie, Rawlins, Lander, Dubois and finally over the pass and into the valley. The drive is always something I really look forward to, I love the way the land cracks open and how HUGE the sky is. I remember when I was living in England trying to explain to some of my British friends how big the sky is in the Western US, and they didn’t understand what I meant. It seems like you can see the curve of the globe. It definitely gives me chills imagining navigating this vast landscape in nothing but a covered wagon. But there is still so much beauty in the open prairie, high skating clouds, and distant peaks.

Of course the most exciting part of the drive was seeing a Grizzly Bear up on Togwotee pass. I’ve never seen a grizz in the wild before -perhaps once in Yellowstone really really far away… – and it was incredible to watch this amazing creature from such a close distance. Kevin and I pulled our car over and watched her cross the street in front of us and then root around on the side of the road, enjoying nibbling on the green mountain floor. As I mentioned above, I’m extremely glad we weren’t hiking, as I was able to catch some wonderful pictures from the car and I didn’t have to worry about being exposed. How amazing that this powerful animal chose to saunter across our path on Kevin’s first visit to the valley. He must have been my lucky charm.

The first few days in Jackson, we ate Thai food, hung around the cabin, and Kevin and I took so many pictures of the little chiselers who live out back. They were cracking us up with their antics and their upright silhouettes dotting the yard. We took a drive down Antelope Flats road, drove up into the park at dusk, and watched the moon rise over Teewinot. There is definitely magic in the mountain air in the West. When the wind is up after a rain storm you can smell sage perfuming the breeze.

I have so many pictures of this trip I decided to break this post up into several parts, otherwise it would be an overwhelming number of pictures crammed into one post (and even then I’ve had to edit out so many shots).

Looking forward to sharing more!


The Muse


My Greenman tile from artist Dwight Davidson.


That flighty player, the temptress, the mercurial muse! The harder we try to grasp her, the more out of reach she becomes. We curse her, sigh, throw our pens across the room and make yet another cup of tea (in hopes she will lie in wait at the bottom). We do a crossword, write a letter, do ten jumping jacks and still she won’t appear. But the inability to reach the muse lies in our own misunderstanding. We imagine that suddenly she will swoop down to our shoulder and give us an idea, when in reality the muse springs up from days upon days of hard work. I believe in inspiration, dreaming and epiphanies, but with a caveat. I don’t believe great works of writing appear, or great bouts of inspiration descend, without sitting down and writing, that is, doing the hard labor. Writing is a practice, something we must embark upon day by day even when its hard, and even when what we write will never see the light of day. There are no shortcuts, no real “muse” to do the work for us. The magic of writing is in the dedication, even if you are tired or your feet hurt or you are preoccupied with your new job, you write anyway.

In the last few weeks I’ve truly turned a corner in my writing practice, writing for at least 20 minutes every day (of course I try to write for a few hours if I have enough time). Some of these writings are timed, more like an athlete’s stretch than the winning goal of the game. But this allows some self consciousness to be stripped away. Criticism dissolves when your writing is the result of ten minutes non-stop scribbling across the page. Then it’s time for business, and I work on my longer poetry project and developing my portfolio (some of which I’ll use for graduate school applications – fingers crossed).

In helping me overcome writing challenges I’ve been inspired by a few different writers and artists. I highly recommend Wild Mind by Natalie Goldberg, as a guide to writing and an interesting perspective on a writer’s life. If you want to watch an inspiring short video, I recommend author Elizabeth Gilbert’s TED talk where she talks about the frustration and hard work that comes with creativity and inspiration. I also have been reading Terri Windling’s blog Myth & Moor, where she has several excellent posts about creative processes and self criticism. This is probably my favorite blog out there, I highly recommend it!

I hope everyone finds time this week to follow their own passion, whatever that may be!

The Greenman image is by the artist Dwight Davidson, visit his website here: http://www.davidsonsculpture.com/.
Natalie Goldberg’s book: Goldberg, Natalie. Wild Mind: Living the Writer’s Life. New York: Bantam, 1990. Print.
Elizabeth Gilbert’s TED talk is here: https://www.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius
Terri Windling can be found at http://www.terriwindling.com/blog/. Her posts on creative processes are here: http://www.terriwindling.com/creative-process/.

The Wisdom of Birds


This goldfinch was captured through my window, (which has very old glass) so the image looks a bit “softer” than the others.


I always think they look like little nuns from behind with black wimples on their heads.


A “hooded merganser” made an appearance at the lake. Apparently these are rare birds to spy in Colorado!


My mom fills the frozen bird bath with boiling water so the birds and squirrels can have a drink.


What busy months have passed since my last post! The Holidays were filled up to the brim, and I feel so grateful for all the love and generosity I experienced. We had a quiet Christmas here, focusing on family and good food and gathering around the Christmas tree. We ate homemade thumbprint cookies, drank champagne, and I rang in the New Year with Kevin and a friend who was visiting from Kenyon. Now, I feel reinvigorated for this space, and excited to start a New Year! I realized today that it’s almost been a year since I started this blog, and I feel even more determined and enthused by the prospect of growing, expanding, and (of course) writing more.

I suppose my big news is I received a new camera (!!!) as a belated graduation present. It’s a Nikon B700, perfect for snapping pictures of wildlife with its 60X zoom. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying ambling about the garden and neighborhood, taking pictures of birds and furry friends along the way. One of the most lovely things about my new gift is that I find I’m slower on walks, taking time to notice the details. The birds in particular have been wonderful to watch. I have a fondness for Canadian geese, (though perhaps an unpopular opinion), and I love seeing them as they waddle across the frozen lake. As I mentioned in the photo caption, we also have a hooded merganser visiting us for a while, and my mom and I enjoyed a delightful stroll by the lake watching him scrupulously groom himself.

Perhaps most notably, a few weeks ago, my mom and I noticed a bald eagle perched in a tree by the lake (alas I didn’t have my camera yet!) He swooped over to another tree right at the water’s edge, gazing down at the quickly scattering gulls below. Soon after, we saw a second eagle standing on the ice in the middle of the lake. No sooner had we spied her than she took off and circled the lake before flying off to the north. It was so incredible and so strange to see these special birds in the middle of the city. I’ve been thinking often about how magical it is to see these wild creatures up close, as they remind us we are sharing the landscape with many other beings, though we often imagine it’s ours.

My other exciting news is the addition of a desk to my room as a writing and working space. I’ve been craving a place to work for a while where I can shut the door and be left to my own devices. Though my room is a bit small, the addition of the desk makes me feel as though I have more control over my creative space.


My Lewis Chessman replica from the British Museum.
A HIGHLY recommended read! Get your copy here.
My new lamp arrived today!

I can’t wait to see what places I will go sitting at my desk. Kevin and I have resolved to write more in the new year, and I feel like I’m coming out of the woods in a way. Here’s to raspberry leaf tea, a cozy lamp, and afternoons that stretch into evenings for pondering and writing and dreaming.


Sending love to all.

This Unhurried Season











I love the slowing down that happens in the fall. There is a stillness that occurs as the cicadas quiet in the trees, and the earth slowly settles in to rest for winter. Particularly in my world, I have slowed down in my contributions to this space. I hope in the coming weeks I find time more often to share and reflect. On September 29th we celebrated Michaelmas, one of my favorite cyclical festivals from the Waldorf School. For those of you unfamiliar with the day, it focuses upon celebrating the last light of summer, and keeping that light in mind during the transition to winter. Specifically, Michaelmas stories often center upon St. Michael and the story of St. George and the dragon. Through these stories the celebration of Michaelmas encourages us to look within for light, strength, courage, and determination to defeat our own inner “dragons.” As we forge into the darker time of year, we carry with us the resilience of summer and the courage we gather in this last blazing time of year. At our house, we celebrated by lighting candles and reading verses, not to mention a homemade meal of soup (tinged pink from purple carrots I used), blackberries, cornbread, and apple crisp.

As fall is my favorite time of year, I love Michaelmas because it marks the beginning of the new season. The crows this year have been particularly vivacious. They flock in a large oak tree at the edge of the park, and acorns rain down from their greedy beaks onto unsuspecting passersby. I suppose they might be migrating through our city, as I have rarely seen so many in one place! Occasionally they collectively move – caw-ing in a huge flock as they pass overhead. The sight is simultaneously amazing and intimidating, and it’s hard not to think of Hitchcock.

Now November has arrived, the autumn air has already begun to feel cooler. The days are definitely growing shorter, and I love the long shadows as the angle of the sun changes. As we carry the light of Michaelmas ahead with us, we look ahead to Martinmas next week, celebrated on November 11th. This holiday celebrates the continuation of the light from Michaelmas, as we carry this light into the darkest time of the year. I’ll share more on Martinmas in the coming week.

I know I teased about an upcoming project a few months ago in my last blog post. This project, shall we say, has been put on the “bike rack” for now, but I may return to it in the future. Essentially, I’ve been doing a lot of reading about Fairy Tales in Marina Warner’s book Once Upon a Time: A Short History of Fairy Tale as well as reading Swedish and Norwegian folk tales from collections I recently bought (these areas of the world are of particular interest to me as I did a poetry project focusing on Northern European folk tales last fall). I was eager to share some of my findings and thoughts here, but I need more time to crystalize how this might look, or if this is the right space to engage with that material. I am going to a Norwegian Christmas fair this weekend – hopefully a little tomte will find his way home with me.

For now, I’m trying to continue my ever challenging practice of patience. Patience with myself, patience with my body as I continue to heal from my challenging summer sinus troubles, and patience with others. This is a hard lesson, and something I have trouble carrying with me in some moments. I’m looking forward to the quietness of late fall, and I hope you also find time to reflect and enjoy as the earth slows down.

Wishing warmth and health to all!