A Yellowstone Meander

"Our remnants of wilderness will yield bigger values to the nation’s character and health than they will to its pocketbook, and to destroy them will be to admit that the latter are the only values that interest us." Aldo Leopole Yesterday dawned clear. The weather promised to be sunny through at least early afternoon with …

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Coyote Lovely

It starts like this: Nonna and I were walking the baby to a different playground from our usual, when we spotted a statue I'd seen before but never investigated. I went in for a closer look. I thought it might be Balto, a hero dog who already has one stony likeness in Central Park. But …

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My Mother (the Skunk Cabbage.)

To every wild feminine spirit in love with the words and the woods: Happy Mother’s Day. Through our gifts of transcending and caring and loving, we are all of us mothers. “A good mother grows into a richly eutrophic old woman, knowing that her work doesn’t end until she creates a home where all of …

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Moon, moon, moon

Here is an image I love: Nonna’s kitchen with the lights off, baby at the window in her grandmother’s arms. Two heads dear to me turned away, looking up and out at a clear night sky. Guarda la luna! exclaims Nonna. Mon! squeals her laughing grandbaby. Then again in our home: my husband heaves our …

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One of Those Days

“Winter is not a season, it’s a celebration.”  Animika Mishra You know those days. Days when you wake with anticipation. Look out the window. Call in sick (well). Cancel the dentist appointment. Days when you must, just must, get outside. On skis. Days of sun and blue skies. Days of perfect snow when crust cruising …

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The Best of Winter

"In every ski with nature one receives far more than he seeks."  adapted from  John Muir Expecting cold windy conditions, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself stripping layers within a mile of leaving the trailhead for our backcountry ski-trek. Sun shone between clouds and the forecast winds did not materialize. White, wind-swept snow created …

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The lightness of being (on a Genova beach)

Pen, be my heart: for these two wave-thundering fingers of golden-blue before that sun hits these rocks--in Genova, friend and lover, a city where nothing is not wild. Genova, where all ties and times and turns itself to the sea, and thus to the moon, that pulling, reflecting body... I am here on the spiaggia …

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