Cold Press

A few weeks ago I received a half gallon gift of cold press coffee. It ran out a week ago and I tried to go back to regular coffee. I can’t. I have to come to terms with the fact that whatever makes cold press different also makes it better for my tummy and overall general well being.

And now I’m craving the cold press demon. Like a cleric turning up rocks for somatic supplies, I’d been looking around my place and not having much success in finding a way to make it. Continue reading Cold Press


When it comes down to it, is my life really that radically differently than that of anyone else I know? After having spent a little porch time on the subject, and with ample time for rumination, I am now inclined to say, ‘no, I don’t think so’.


Friends and acquaintances have commented that by reading and listening to my stories they are living vicariously through me. Happy to have their jobs and lives but that I give them a little something else. Something outside of the day to day, having adventures in the tether-less nature of the eccentric. Continue reading Tether-Less

Transition, Transplanting

Transition from city to farm involved a couple weeks of dove-tailed days. A few days to get my RV in place and make camp on the farm, and then a few days with friends in the Cities. Then back to the farm for a few days of transplanting onions and lettuces. A few more urban days of tying off loose ends and then I’m on the farm weeding and planting.

Rainy, rainy and c0lder than usual. Weeding and planting in the rain. Weeding and planting in the mud. Weeding and planting in the rain and mud. I feel like there’s a children’s story in there somehow. My friend, KellyQ, refers to this weather as ‘perk-nipply’, apt.


Letting Go Medicine

In this move from city to country, from produce aisle to farm row, I am also moving in the sense of my heart. There are friends from whom I am leaving with only minor sadness, because it is never a good-bye with us but more of a see-you-later. These friends that I see in the spring and fall with a regularity rarely missed. We follow each other on social media, and keep in touch with phone calls and occasional letters both digital and manual. But one friend I will miss, because there is no see-you-later in our parting.

See, there was this guy, whom I liked. A lot. We are roamers who met on the road. We had fun and then we didn’t. As a friend of mine is fond of saying, “two dimes in a bucket, fuck it.” Translation: “That was that, this is now. Crack open a beer and cheers.”

Now that I’m here, working under the sun and sleeping under the moon, I feel my heart hasn’t quite moved on. For those days when doing the right thing feels just too painful, I’ll find solace sitting with the shoots and sprouts. I look for grounding in the soil while thinning carrots or weeding the strawberries.

Weeding can be an amazing meditation for grief and I am looking forward to its medicine.


Bare Foot, Open Heart

The bedroom is empty of my things, and cleaned. Now it’s just the clearing. To sit, to remember. All that was learned, given, received and conceived. Living here. Sleeping here. Sanctuary.

Have I grown? Am I better for having lived here, have I made my surroundings better? Have those around me gained from my presence? Do I leave satisfied and am I truly ready to cross this threshold? To emerge a little rumpled but quite a bit less pleated than when I arrived. Continue reading Bare Foot, Open Heart

Farm Sitting the Heilan’ Coo

I always love the opportunity to farm sit at Thistledown. This time was as magical as always. The weather at the farm brought two days of constant snow. Vehicles were going nowhere and I was glad for the full cupboards and awesome movie selection. It’s always good heart and brain time when writing at the kitchen table. With hot tea in my hands, dogs at my feet, and purring cats cuddled into the soft pile of scarves and hats in front of the window. Continue reading Farm Sitting the Heilan’ Coo