I suppose it all started when I heard that morel mushrooms are known to pop up in recently burned areas.

Margaret Atwood once said, “In spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.”

When people realize I still live in my hometown, they often tell me it’s a lovely place to live. While I agree, I don’t think I could survive without leaving on a regular basis.

Once upon a time, back in my short-lived Girl Scout days, the topic of our weekly meeting centered around cultural identity.

If you were asked to name a few of the ancient Greek gods, chances are you’d throw out names like Zeus, Athena, and Apollo. You might think of Aphrodite and Hera.

Just a few short months ago, I was bracing myself for the long, cold winter ahead.

Sewage is one of the most fundamental elements of human existence and yet it remains largely taboo as dinner table conversation . . . unless you’re at my house.

In the cabin, we have a framed comic strip which features a woodsman talking to a tree.

 When the north wind howls, I flee to the kitchen.

 We set up the bird feeders outside the cabin windows in early November when I noticed three pine grosbeaks hanging out in the trees.