All summer, I looked forward to my new writing room in the strawbale house we’re building. I figured it would still need some work, but it would be good enough…
It’s amazing I’ve found time for any writing at all this summer. Here’s a sampling of some other distractions….
Long ago (1994), I wrote and published an essay in Cultural Anthropology titled “Beyond Writing: Feminism and the Limitations of Ethnography.” Now, Cultural Anthropology is featuring that essay (and an interview) among four others (as well as some fine short stories) in a curated collection on Literature, Writing and Anthropology.
I’m proud to have my blog post on Moving Rattlesnakes Humanely included in the How-To Issue….
Among a long list of foolish things I’m taking up in my maturing years, I can now add learning how to work with draft horses. I don’t know how far…
One of the weights I carry from my academic days is a fear that in telling my story of living and working in Nepal, I’ll be appropriating The Other. As weights go, it could be a lot worse; I’m not complaining. But I’m always delighted and relieved to find others grappling with the same question in creative ways….
…and that was the problem. Not maintained, rutted, overgrown on either side, the mile long drive is the only way by vehicle in and out of this abandoned homestead we now spend half the year on….
On the day of the predicted rapture, I was too busy to follow the news of its not happening — busy taking care of all that was actually happening….
Urban homesteading is not usually the term I use to refer to what I’ve been doing for the best twelve years or so. I tend towards kitchen gardening or urban farming. And these days, I’m transitioning towards rural food production at Amaranta Farm. But I see those who do call themselves urban homesteaders as allies in the same movement, and I’d like to see that movement grow….
After a busy day of dealing with car repairs and shopping for Thanksgiving food, I didn’t want to walk the dog in our nearby park. I really didn’t. (…)
More like, “Where I Try to Write.” I’m about to head back to the city for the winter. As much as I’m looking forward to an indoor toilet and indoor shower, I’m also longing for a private writing space (…)
It’s that time of year again, when my taste buds give up on peaches and berries and begin longing for crunchy pears and apples (…)
The house wrens nesting on our yurt porch chose this morning, the 4th of July, to shoo their young ones out of the nest.
Elderberries are blooming in northeastern Oregon….
People often ask me what it’s like to live in a yurt. As I wrote in an essay published in The Smoking Poet last Fall, much of the living goes…