“I swear they grew here last year…like weeds!” Where on earth did they all go? The milk thistle arrives each…
The piles of oleander branches surprise me as I crest the hill. We knew about the massive clearing of the…
During winters growing up in Iowa, one common holiday gift came from a well-meaning neighbor or friend: the Fruit of…
In the midst of the winter, the callas come out. Normally, they’re preceded by the fiddleheads, the first curls of…
“Time to stockpile wood, for when the rains come.” I have this note to myself from last year, when January…
We started our hunt for mushrooms in December, in the waning days towards the solstice, hopeful that we’d see their…
My first walks through the campo north of the house found me looking down: fragments of tiles poking through the…