Grief is a sacred journey


A Call in the Redwoods: My Hippie Intuition

The trees loomed ancient and prehistoric in the fog. Vic loved their height. He arched his back and looked up to the gray sky. I loved the dark hollows within the circular clusters of redwoods. I climbed

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My Hector Home: Protecting the forests of the Finger Lakes

Willow looks over the world from an upstairs attic window. “What are we doing inside, Mom?” she whines with soft little moans. “The sun is shining. Let’s go.” Willow is my walking buddy now that I’m on

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Lost and Found in My Own Backyard

I met Robin Botie in the oncology ward kitchen at Strong Hospital in Rochester in 2008. We leaned our weary bodies against Formica counters and whispered our sad tales while warming food in the microwave for the

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My Creative Dilemma: Push Ahead or Yield?

If I only push harder, I’ll catch a tailwind and launch my book. This month it will be finished, I said in August. I said it again in September. Burn those engines on high heat and surge

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Governor Cuomo: We Won’t Let You Frack New York

Don't Frack NY1

On August 27, 2012, people from all over New York State marched to the capital building in Albany and delivered 3,200 pledges to resist fracking to Governor Andrew Cuomo. Hundreds of small environmental organizations joined under the

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Angry Faces, Churning Water: Fracking Industry Threatens Seneca Lake

In July 2012, Tony Ingraham of Walk in the Park made my blog “Angry Faces, Placid Water: Fracking, LPG Gas Storage and Seneca Lake” into this video. Inergy, a Kansas City based company, was working on their

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Angry Faces, Placid Water: Fracking, LPG Gas Storage and Seneca Lake

It’s 9:30 pm when I hear from the speaker at the podium that the Inergy representative left the building before the public hearing ended. David Bimber, the regional head of the New York Department of Environmental Conservation

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The Crone of Cayuga Lake: Continuing Bonds with a Wild Teacher

In September 1968, Vic and I rented a barely winterized cottage on Cayuga Lake. The next spring, we splurged on a canoe. As we explored the lake, Vic paddled and steered from the stern, while I practiced

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Coming Home

Not long before midnight, I put on my miner’s lamp and tour the yard like a one-eyed Cyclops. It’s March 19, 2012, usually a time for snow on my hill in the Finger Lakes of New York,

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Continuing Bonds

The year following my husband Vic’s death, his absence stunned me as I walked by his orderly shelves of books or smelled the acrid scent of firewood he had cut.  I woke up and went to sleep

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