Almost all the time, I want to get my thoughts together into a presentable fashion before sharing them with others. Being misunderstood has been a lifelong aversion for me. I’ve always been very anxious, uncomfortable, and avoidant with public speaking for that reason, preferring the solitude and control writing/creating can provide. 

Hellebores are calling me outside to the healing energy of the garden this time of year. Multiple times a day I’m out there crouching down, lifting their nodding blooms to peek at the unique and spectacular detail inside each one.

After two misty spritzes—pssht pssht—into the kitchen air from the tiny amber bottle in my hand, Mike’s eyes widened with surprise as he said “Oh wow, you got it. It’s rain. And soil. Dirt. But fresh and nice. That’s. It. How did you do that!?”

I’ve had an insatiable curiosity for exploring the possibilities of botanical dye, pigments, and paint for a few years now.

On my last drive to our January meet up, I was listening to Nora Brown at full volume, which I can claim has become the official sound track of Winter ’25/’26 for me.

Joy for cooking and baking is finally coming home to me after packing up and leaving a while ago. The past few months, I’ve made up some lovely recipes including this Sweet Potato Snacking Cake.

It’s Winter Solstice—the shortest day and longest night of the year. And I’ll be celebrating.

I don’t know what it is about certain flavors and aromas, but if it’s painfully spicy, floral, or giving “campfire smoke” in any way, I want spray it on myself or eat it.

The moon followed me on my walk tonight. That’s her above, top left, looking like a nondescript streetlight peeking through the bones of towering sycamores.

Every time I drop a trowel or sink a spade into the soil in my garden, I pull up a few worms, and/or the fascinating, otherworldly white threads of mycelium.

Well, it’s noisy out there, isn’t it? And for a while now, I’ve been uncertain about my place in all the shouting.