We rarely stop along the road except for gas, food, bathrooms and stretches. So this morning we blew right on past the sign for the potato museum. I made some sort of snotty remark about a potato museum, but then I got to thinking that there is probably a lot to know (other than boiled,…
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A beautiful morning, a meadowlark singing. On the road again. We saw two magpies, handsome in their black and white, and I saw a tall sandhill crane with that bright red patch on its head. We followed the Yellowstone upstream to Billings where we crossed it for the last time as it sped down the…
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We left Fargo this morning carrying Sarah’s hospitality and kindness in full coffee mugs, an ice pack for Charlie’s hot dogs (the fridge was off in Clyde over night), and a container of pistachios for an afternoon snack. We had a lovely visit, and Sarah and I got out in the afternoon to see The…
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07/07 eleven years since Joe died. My writing last night, instead of a blog post, was a long email to his niece, Stephanie, whose husband died recently, far too young, leaving her with their four year old son. All during Yony’s long illness Stephanie displayed remarkable courage, strength, and balance. And she has carried those…
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A happy bobolink sang the sun up this morning just after 5:00. The sunlight was streaming in through the bathroom window by the time I got up. We are two weeks past the longest day, and sunrise has started appearing a little bit further south on the horizon. By the time we are back on…
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I killed a deer. Jay and Dan and I were driving back from lunch in Cooperstown on Tuesday. We were on Gulf Road, just before the intersection with Schoolhouse Hill Road, where the trees are very close to the road. I was driving the Prius, listening to the conversation, not scanning the edges of the…
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The winter wind rattled the bare tree branches. They clattered against each other like animated dancing skeletons, angular and jerky in their movements. But now each full leaf catches the wind, each flips over to reveal a silvery underside, each operates on its own separate hinge at its own moment with its own shape. In…
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Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with blooms along the bow And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now of my three score years and ten Twenty will not come again. And take from seventy springs a score It leaves me only fifty more. And since to look…
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