Plant Journeys

The moon is waxing The air is hanging in a Samhain suspense. The wind is quickening all energies condensing invisibly, palpably, el...

The last leaves of the Cottonwood Hang on tightly, resisting the wind. Cruel cold gusts push through the night Stealing color and leav...

Autumn is a calling. If nostalgia could be a gift, it would unwrap the glorious memories of childhood, moments of being held tight by your f...

Working near full time at the Wilderness school affords some interesting changes. I don't see plants as useful to just me anymore, and n...

(sassafras syrup) Autumn in New England is undeniably bittersweet. It's the in your face demonstration of transformation. And ...

A little something my son and I have built little by little over this past week, while dad and sister were out of town. It's a sweet col...