I wonder if this is what it's like to work inside a magic bubble. The rain pours down outside and beats on the glazed roof. It falls in wind-driven sheets.
One of our young family's favorite bedtime stories was Maurice Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are." It's the story about a young boy named Max who sailed to the island of the Wild Things.
The weather has been amazingly warm these past few days. The sky overhead has reflected my joy, so I decided to head outside and dive into my spring cleaning, even though spring is y still several weeks away. I pulled on an old flannel shirt, tied up my leather work boots, and set off into the day.
In time, my parents sold their city house and moved away and I no longer returned to the pet shop, but I know in my heart that if I stopped by today, Henry would remember me. I believe that turtles, like elephants, never forget.
I woke early and navigated my way through the dim morning light. I opened the door to my closet. My daily attire typically consists of jeans, flannel shirt, and work boots, but not this day. This day I was going to be part of a human library.
We learn to live with these interesting creatures. Now, when I lie back in the field and watch them soar over the valley, I will do so with new understanding.
The driveway that leads up the hill from the lower fields to the cabin is definitely in cahoots with the pathways. It has turned into more of an ice way that a driveway. The ice is easily several inches thick.
Over the years, I’ve grown to recognize a sense of security in the order of our daily routine, but it was not until I saw our footprints in the snow, that I realized how habitual the start of our day really is.
Their names are Moe, Larry and Curley, but they are not who you might think. It's true that there are three of them, and that you'll rarely see one without the others, but that is where the similarities stop.
I have come to realize that living off the energy grid is similar to sailing. Just as the sailor needs to understand the wind and rigging, the off-gridder needs to understand the sun and electricity.
She sat on the couch. I jumped up beside her and lay down, my head in her lap. She ran her fingers along my ears. I sighed. She smiled. Life is good, even though the brightly colored things are just out of my pop-up reach.
It was then that I realized what she was thinking. We might not care, but she did. She knew, without any doubt, that it was her job was to keep an eye on this white stuff and protect our creek valley world.
The ground beneath my boots is as hard as rock. Halfway through our morning chores, the cold begins to seep through the soles of my boots and nip at my toes. Blades of grass crunch with each step, and I wonder how any life could survive beneath the frozen ground.
We drove to town the through the upland fields. I was surprised to see three gray ducks hunkered down in the grass by the side of the road. I imagined they were heading south to warmer weather. I thought of my father.
