I sleepily padded into the kitchen this morning and poured myself a steaming mug of coffee. Allowing it a few moments to cool, I carried it over to the window and looked out at the new day. Autum leaves drifted down from almost-bare hardwoods, framed against a brilliant azure sky. I love fall.
Dr. W. tapped the scab on my nose with a gloved finger and frowned over the top of his glasses at me.
November is National Memoir Writing Month—not to be confused with the more widely-known but now defunct National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo. Since memoir is what I mostly write, I would be remiss if I neglected mentioning it here and now.
Now live on podcast! This ghost story has roots in Nebraska’s Panhandle, when Fort Robinson State Park was a U.S. military outpost. The piece is creative nonfiction, based on an experience I had in 2013 that shook me to the core and changed my attitude toward the supernatural.
I’m thrilled to announce that the literary magazine, Academy of the Heart and Mind, named my short story, Mannequins in the Hobbit Barn, as one of the winners in their “13 Days of Halloween” contest.
This week I had the privilege of sharing some of my “girl forester” stories at the John C. Campbell Folk School in Brasstown, North Carolina. The monthly event usually features only oral storytellers, so it was an honor for this author to be invited.
I sleepily padded into the kitchen this morning and poured myself a steaming mug of coffee. Allowing it a few moments to cool, I carried it over to the window and looked out at the new day. Autum leaves drifted down from almost-bare hardwoods, framed against a brilliant azure sky. I love fall.
Dr. W. tapped the scab on my nose with a gloved finger and frowned over the top of his glasses at me.
November is National Memoir Writing Month—not to be confused with the more widely-known but now defunct National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo. Since memoir is what I mostly write, I would be remiss if I neglected mentioning it here and now.
Now live on podcast! This ghost story has roots in Nebraska’s Panhandle, when Fort Robinson State Park was a U.S. military outpost. The piece is creative nonfiction, based on an experience I had in 2013 that shook me to the core and changed my attitude toward the supernatural.
I’m thrilled to announce that the literary magazine, Academy of the Heart and Mind, named my short story, Mannequins in the Hobbit Barn, as one of the winners in their “13 Days of Halloween” contest.
This week I had the privilege of sharing some of my “girl forester” stories at the John C. Campbell Folk School in Brasstown, North Carolina. The monthly event usually features only oral storytellers, so it was an honor for this author to be invited.
Current events nearly overshadowed Banned Book Week 2025. It’s already Friday—but I didn’t forget. I just finished reading Percival Everett’s 2024 masterpiece, James: A Novel, and I can honestly say it’s one of the best books I’ve ever read. It retells Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from the perspective of Jim, the slave who accompanied Huck on the journey down the Mississippi River.
My new Substack newsletter is up and running. It differs from this blog in that it is more about YOU than about me or my work. Its purpose is to explore the world of personal anecdotes and inspire you to share a few tales of your own. This blog will continue to be the place where I share my own musings and articles.
I just set up a Substack account . . . Haven't posted anything there yet, but that is coming soon. Please follow me at https://sgb212739.substack.com/
The Carolina asters are just starting to bloom, and here it is, nearly the end of September. It’s a nice bonus for the hummingbirds as they start their southward journey.
AI. I’ve lived for over a half century in ranch country, much of that time in places where cattle outnumber humans. When I see the initialism* AI, I immediately think, “Artificial Insemination.”
Scaling back, paring down, downsizing—whatever we call it—I’ve reached that stage in life. It actually started eight years ago, when my husband and I decided to relocate halfway across the country.
The forests in the southern Appalachians are responding to recent dry days. Although only a hint of color appears in the woods, I can smell change in the air. It makes me think of a song I wrote when I lived in North Idaho many years ago:
This morning’s walk brought, literally, a breath of fresh air. After weeks of heat and mugginess, a cold front pushed in cool temperatures and lower humidity. The wildlife I encountered seemed to appreciate the break. A doe watched over twin fawns, spots now barely discernable, as they frolicked and kicked up their heels. Raucous crows strutted and squabbled over a neighbor’s compost pile, and a couple of squirrels played grab-ass in a white oak.
“There are two types of folks,” my mother used to say. “Nesters live in valleys and on the flats. Perchers prefer hillsides and mountaintops.”
August is American Artist Appreciation Month, during which we celebrate the creativity and cultural impact of our homegrown talent. Mural is an art form, as is writing. Our local library found a way to honor both. Kudos!
Podcast Host Randell Jones told me that he just learned a new factoid: The inability to get a good night's sleep before having to get up for an adventure the next day is called being "journey proud." That’s a pretty good descriptor of my pre-adolescent self in this piece that details the time my childhood bestie and I embarked on a surreptitious quest to observe an astronomical phenomenon.
An early morning walk in the southern Appalachians immerses me in wonder. The sun hasn't yet risen over the surrounding mountains, their tops mostly shrouded by fog. Dripping from an overnight rain, trees and wildflowers wear muted colors that gradually intensify as daylight strengthens. A few songbirds twitter tentatively, then swell into a chorus.
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