In 1981, my husband Vic organized a “friendly” competition. The Ball Diamond Rd. team of close friends who lived a few miles away went vine to pumpkin against our team, the Picnic Area Road team. There were
Read more →My Land and Home
Autumn in the New York Finger Lakes is tinged with orange, red, and yellow. Monarchs, maple leaves, and Red Efts. Burning Bush, raspberries and tomatoes, and autumn Zinnias. Finger Lakes grapes and red wine. Pumpkins, winter squash,
Read more →I feel the gentle pinch of grasping butterfly feet on my fingers before she walks on to taste flowers and freedom. She pauses as she explores a goldenrod for the first time and sways in the wind
Read more →This year, I rarely see an adult Monarch butterfly in the fields or in my butterfly garden. There are some out there because they leave evidence– a few tiny Monarch eggs deposited under milkweed leaves. It I
Read more →As darkness descended, the last Mourning Dove baby peeked over the rain gutter edge. Its sibling had already left the nest. That morning, I saw a parent feed the nesting baby by regurgitating half-digested seeds into the
Read more →I watch the birds nesting near my home. Are they OK? Will a House Sparrow kill the Bluebird babies like it killed the Tree Swallows? I saved one newborn Swallow out of six in that nest. Then
Read more →It’s been a month since my old dog Willow died, and I miss her healing presence. The house feels empty without her calm energy, but my young dog Disco grieves, too. She searches for the one who’s
Read more →February was unusually warm and calm in the New York Finger Lakes, a quiet time for walks with friends on dry forest trails. The birds knew better than to sing love songs that early. I trusted them
Read more →In July 1972, they moved with their baby boy to a crumbling farmhouse on a dirt road and immediately got to work. She cleared cobwebs in the cellar while he made shelves from old barn boards. Like
Read more →Dear Bluebird Mama, Earlier this week, I saw you carrying dried grasses inside a nesting box while your mate flew from barn peak to birdhouse perch to crimson maple tree. I watched from inside through Vic’s astronomy
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