life
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Have you ever had a premonition or sense of foreboding about something yet to come? The summer of 2019 was one of the sweetest my family has ever had. Our kids were five and two years old, and we made so many good memories together that year. That July, we went camping in Vermont with
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April brought all the showers as promised; now we wait to see if May holds up her end of the deal with flowers. I’m sitting here looking out at more gray clouds while drinking my second cup of hot coffee for the morning. It’s cool and gloomy, but the bright green baby leaves are
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March is a tease. The trees are heavy with red blossoms waiting to bloom and daffodils shine like the sun against the gray and brown landscape. But it’s cold outside, and spring hasn’t yet come to New England. Actually, we’re supposed to get snow on Thursday, which is stupid. Because we’re tired of being cold,
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February brought us both glittering snow and promises of spring. The longer I live in New England, the more I look forward to the snow. I cheer with the kids when we wake up to a snow day and any excuse to stay home. The kids and I spent our snow days trying to figure
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It’s been a long time since I played with words. The last year was really, really hard. Today though, I sit on the other side of that all-consuming year and breathe in the goodness of what we built. I’m tucked in my armchair in a bright, warm corner of our bedroom — my favorite nook
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Initially, my instructions were, “don’t fill your boots with water.” I say this to my daughter as she rolls a Tonka truck toward an irresistible puddle and eyes me — sizing up how much she’ll get away with. It’s cute, isn’t it, how I’ve been a mother for almost nine years, and I still think
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I run through rows of corn taller than my twelve-year-old frame. The fuzzy, prickly stalks pull at my arms and legs and, occasionally slice like a paper cut into my skin. Somewhere, deep within the tidy rows, a bare circle of ground hides like an accidental fort…that magical spot where the tractor turned around and
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Thirteen years ago today, I stood in a wheat field and married my husband. Today, Darren is at work and I’m home with our kids. I’ve spent the day putting away laundry, washing dishes, and cleaning up an unreal amount of glue from a rogue craft project. It’s just an ordinary day. Out of the
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I miss writing and telling stories. The last few years really sucked the creative energy out of me and somewhere along the way, I decided I don’t have anything to say — anything worth saying, worth reading, anything that hasn’t already been written or read. Be that as it may, I miss words and stories.
The Wheat Princess 