a bushel of gumption, an ounce of grace
This is the life I picked, home to les collines small batch, locally sourced jelly & preserves, and to daily grace, writing and ruminations on the stuff of rural life in Columbia County, NY.
We are always happy to receive feedback on our creations, culinary or literary. Please visit the Contact page to connect. Hope to hear from you!
…Mother, mother
There’s too many of you crying
Brother, brother, brother
There’s far too many of you dying
You know we’ve got to find a way
To bring some lovin’ here today
Marvin Gaye, “What’s Going On”
Last summer, I loaded a heap of wet laundry into the dryer, shut the door, set the time and hit On. Nothing. Again. Nope. I checked the cords, electric cord, the propane level in the tank outside. …
“Coming Unstuck” was the title of a Daily Om in my inbox back in early July. About how when we seem unable to make progress toward goals, a change of perspective to adapt to changing conditions can be key. Or, if this proves fruitless, you might “contemplate whether your lack of progress might be a sign from your mind or body that you are in dire need of rest and relaxation.” Yes, the latter. This was in the middle of a working holiday weekend. Independence Day….
I found myself watching the Masters this past Sunday. My mother loved to watch it. Though she had played golf only briefly when younger she loved to watch, and weekend afternoons some tournament often was on the television. The Masters was above all others though, maybe for a Canadian who grew up mesmerized by Gone with the Wind, maybe because of my father being from Georgia, and the azalea, and tall tall Southern trees, and the perfect greens, it was captivating to her as to so many even at a distance….
My maternal grandparents’ house in Halifax was full of secret nooks and magical spots. To a child seeking escape, they offered sweet refuge. Set on a hill overlooking the Northwest Arm, an inlet that bends off of Halifax Harbour, the house was, and still is, known as Winwick, a name etched in the glass of the red front door.…
The animals who share our lives offer us a world of clear emotion, of understanding beyond language, of being purely in the moment. Without artifice, without agendas, without asking anything of us, they weave through our hearts completely until we cannot imagine how our lives were before them. …
The peepers returned, the week before Easter. Trouble sleeping led me to crash on the couch in the living room late one night, near the warmth of the wood stove, and maybe because of being ground level on the west side of the house, close to the pond where they live, it was then I heard them. Through closed windows: still the end of March after all….
Midwinter now, the snow has fallen, been washed away and fallen again multiple times….
The spring morning fifteen years ago I defended my doctoral thesis, I got an email from my sister Jane. It was brief and meant to wish me good luck, and it did; all’s I remember was this one line:…