Of all the memories turning golden from my coming-of-age years, summer camp ranks near the top. I loved the weeks…
Last night marked the fourth summer solstice that I’ve spent in Portugal. Yes, three years ago in June, I started…
Saudade. The Portuguese have a word to explain perfectly the mourning I feel upon the suicide of Anthony Bourdain. Portugal’s…
We camped in woods filled with rosemary growing wild. We awoke to the bees rising in a buzz and wondered…
When I first looked at the house I’d move into in Portugal, the owner seemed relieved when I mentioned that…
Light comes in through the clerestory windows clouded by decades of salt. It’s bright outside, but still shadowed and cool…
Nasturtiums bloom yellow and orange–almost red–under their spreading green umbrella shades, covering the piles of landscape clippings that otherwise just…
“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…