Category Archives: Nature

October 6, 2026 · 4:49 pm

Wild Horses

Photograph by Yva Momatiuk & John Eastcott, “Mustangs on the Move” *Smithsonian*, November 1997

Last Sunday, in honor of St. Francis of Assisi and because it was Holy Trinity Episcopal Church’s and the Almost Home Animal Shelter’s annual Blessing of the Animals Day, we sang a song in church, “All Things Bright and Beautiful.” The song “is an Anglican hymn, also sung in many other Christian denominations. The words are by Cecil Frances Alexander and were first published in her Hymns for Little Children of 1848.” All Things Bright and Beautiful – Wikipedia.

*Scout and Gremlin, our own wild kittens of Nevada now domesticated in the U.P. I couldn’t help but notice the similarity to the Mustangs. (: My photo.*

Not having been reared by churchgoers, my first reference to these words came from the wonderful James Herriot books I read as a teen, beginning with All Creatures Great and Small. Later, I learned there was a song. Yes, I was woefully undereducated! Anyway, after church I couldn’t stop thinking about the song, and about all the beautiful things in the world, and I went online to listen to various versions.

And then my mind and heart and writer’s brain led me back to Nevada, a state where I lived briefly as a child and then again from the autumn of 2020 until the spring of 2026, a state filled with many things bright and beautiful.

Living in Nevada, I often saw wild horses. I will never forget my first sight of them, a band of maybe nine or ten, their glossy dark flanks shining in the sun, tails and manes flying as they raced along the edge of the Truckee River down in the canyon below the freeway. I was on my way to my new home, still a part of the crowd of humans in the vehicles speeding away from Reno, going on to our disparate destinations, while just below, past a short guardrail and down a steep embankment, water sparkled, aspens glowed golden in the autumn sun, and the mustangs ran, as if in another world, a parallel universe. I was awestruck.

I moved to a remote area, far away from any freeway, and spotting wild horses became more familiar, though I would never call it common. The sight of them always caught me, tugged at me, seemed sacred. Yet, I soon learned that these horses are not entirely free. A number of them are rounded up by the Bureau of Land Management each year in an effort, according to the BLM, “to protect the health of the animals and health of our nation’s public rangelands. In some locations, the BLM also uses birth control to slow the growth of wild horse herds. Absent management and natural predators, wild horse herds can double in just 4-5 years and quickly outgrow the ability of the land to support them” Nevada – Gathers & Removals | Bureau of Land Management.

According to The Cloud Foundation, a Colorado non-profit that aims to protect wild herds, The BLM’s 2026 roundup plan targeted 14,830 wild horses and burros for removal, The Cloud Foundation. What happens during and after these roundups is beyond my ability to describe. There are many good sources of information on this topic online and through libraries. What I at first saw as a kindness to the animals I eventually came to see as something much more complex, and even, in its execution and outcome, cruel. I do not claim expertise.

Additionally, I learned that wild horses were not universally revered. Because I regarded them with awe, I expected everyone else would, too. Sort of like when a group of people are gathered together on a beach at sunset, you just assume everyone there appreciates the beautiful display in some similar fashion to the way you do. That’s why they are all taking pictures, right? It seems universal.

I suppose I should have known better, but I am often taken by surprise. I was absolutely stunned to learn that some people, people who loved the wild and lightly populated land of central Nevada—probably more than I as a newcomer ever could–did not see the breathtaking beauty of the wild horses, but instead saw “trash” animals, “no good for anything.” Or so I was told by an old cowboy not long after I arrived. I don’t know if his was a widely held opinion in the area. Frankly, that conversation so saddened me that I didn’t want to know.

I did some reading and came to the conclusion that, in this, as in so many other aspects, humanity is capable of great love, and also of perfect disdain. While some people care deeply about wildlife, others either take it for granted, see it as a hindrance, want to own it, dominate it, tame it, eat it, turn it into a trophy—or even downright despise it. I don’t understand it, don’t have the perspective needed to grasp it, because, some might say, I’ve never had to compete with another creature for land or food or water. Maybe that’s it. I don’t know.

When it comes to wild horses, I still wonder how anyone could not care about such gorgeous creatures, creatures whose only wish is to live? What other value do they need? What value does any creature need? The horse, the bear, the deer, the eagle, the salmon? And what value do flowers need? Or trees?

Sometimes life hurts. You may see the beauty around you with clear eyes, and that sustains you. I hope you do. Usually, these days, for me, that means noticing the splendor of nature. It is in nature that I seek solace, and also renewal. You may appreciate the beauty you find in nature, or in your child’s eyes, or in a piece of music, or a work of art, and revere it—yet still, you weep as I have. And sometimes, it is beauty itself that sparks the weeping. For me, today as I write this, the beauty I weep for is the beauty of the horses.

Here is a link to one of the Tabernacle Choir’s performances of “All Things Bright and Beautiful.” I hope you enjoy it.

And the lyrics:

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colours,
He made their tiny wings.

The rich man in his castle,
The poor man at his gate,
God made them, high or lowly,
And ordered their estate.

The purple-headed mountain,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning,
That brightens up the sky.

The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,−
He made them every one:

The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
We gather every day;−

He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell,
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.

All things bright …

(Amen)

The United Church of Canada includes a fourth verse:^[14]

The rocky mountain splendour,
The lone wolf’s haunting call,
The Great Lakes and the prairies,
The forest in the fall.

And here I am back in The Great Lakes, in the forest, in the fall.

Thank you, Lord God, for them all.

43 Comments

Filed under Gratitude, Nature, Personal History, Preservation, Uncategorized, Wildlife, Worship

Tagged as All Things Bright and Beautiful, animals, Horses, Nature, Nevada, photography, St. Francis of Assisi, Writing

September 3, 2026 · 5:15 pm

Warm Summer Sun and Many Golden Days

Warm Summer Sun

Mark Twain

Warm summer sun,

Shine kindly here,

Warm summer wind,

Blow softly here.

Green sod above,

Lie light, lie light.

Good night, dear heart,

Good night, Good night.

August 2026. Because no one ever promised me a rose garden, I am not surprised that I do not have one. I am incredibly lucky, I know, to have a house. A roof over my head. A husband who loves me. It’s involved a lot of work and a lot of moving and some really tough choices, but we have a century old home and we own it outright. It’s what’s called a fixer-upper, but it’s in a charming neighborhood in a nice town in a beautiful part of the country.

This home doesn’t have a rose garden, but it does have a small yard with five trees: a pine, a crabapple, a maple, a walnut and an ash, and for those I am very grateful. This matters because life without an abundance of trees makes me sad.

I think I was born knowing this, that I needed trees, but I haven’t always been able to live in a forest. Sometimes, though, I have. I’ve lived among the branches, crowns, needles, and leaves of thousands of trees, as in the San Bernardino Mountains of Southern California where the trees literally grew through the deck of the house and rubbed against its sides during storms. I lived amid towering pine and oak forests, watching the squirrels argue with the Stellar Jays. Chattering, flying balls of fur and haughty blue-winged overseers fighting it out for the choicest acorns. In Southern Wisconsin, I lived in boggy woods nestled around the Fox River, heaping piles of autumn leaves burning in all the yards in November, ears tuned to the haunting calls of owls at night and eyes searching for the bright scarlet wings of the cardinals, ears hearing their sweet duets—cheer, cheer, cheer!

I’ve lived in other places that I loved, but found that the number of trees in proximity needed to be at a fairly high ratio compared to the number of dwellings for me to . . . what? Breathe properly? Yes, to breathe. Something close to that anyway.

Here in our new/old home in Michigan, in the glorious Upper Peninsula, we originally had three more trees than currently. Sadly, this was only for the first couple of weeks we owned the house. They were beautiful old pines, but we had to have them removed when we moved in and discovered that all the plumbing needed to be replaced inside the house, along with the sewer line that leads down to the street. This necessitated having those trees removed, half of the yard dug out, and then once everything was redone, a truckload of dirt brought back in and that half of the yard reseeded.

This also necessitated the emptying of our savings account (please don’t ask about why we had no other recourse…). Also, some extremely dear friends helped us with the final expense for all of that. There is no adequate or even semi-adequate way of expressing our gratitude for our friends. You know who you are and I hope you know how much you are loved. And—anyway! Anyway!

When we purchased our house, both the structure itself and the yard had been neglected for quite some time—years—decades even. The house will no doubt be given more of a starring role in an upcoming post, but for now, since I am finally writing again and I seem to want to write about trees and plants, I will briefly describe the yard.

The garden consists of a couple of small areas near the house where my husband and I managed to put in a few plants when we moved here this spring: two small Japanese willows, a lavender and a sumac. Money was very tight (think sewer), so we didn’t even try for an annual garden nor any vegetables. Frankly, it was a money issue and a “first the house has to livable” issue. Next spring, we’re hoping to plant more.

Deer are not lavender lovers, and since sumac grows wildly all over the Midwest as far as I know, I didn’t think it would attract them either. I wanted something that would be colorful in the autumn. I was pretty sure the delicate looking willows would look tasty to wildlife, but I chose them anyway. They were small and inexpensive.

Sure, we knew deer might be a problem, but we adopted the “wait and see” approach. Some neighbors had shrubs and flowers, not as many as could easily have been grown in such lush soil and usually ample rainfall, but still, there were baskets of flowers and ferns hanging on most of the porches and a few manicured beds. On closer inspection, we noticed various deer deterrent devices throughout the area.

We caged the willows and sumac after the first night when they were nearly totally consumed by a few of our local white-tailed deer. The required wire fencing and stakes cost more than the plants, and naturally, they are not as attractive now that they are nubs shrouded by fencing.

Photo by Andrew Patrick Photo on Pexels.com

The deer are worth it though. They are so beautiful. Life goes on, and we do our best.

Sometimes, when the days feel heavy and colorless, bleak and hot, I cannot summon the courage to write. That doesn’t mean I lose the longing for beauty and comfort during the long hot days of summer, it just means I have to dig down a little farther into the cooler depths where the roots still rest and strive, into a quieter place than the garden above. This has been that kind of a summer. A quiet time of long walks, house painting, reading, and waiting to hear from my publisher. A time of burrowing in, fortifying, growing roots. Hoping that the time spent walking in the woods, the time spent immersed in the compelling work of other writers, the time spent repairing this old house is time spent on growing a new kind of garden. The right garden for us to live in now, here in Michigan, at this time in our lives.

These are the wonderful books that have been filling my head and heart lately:

A Piece of the World by Christina Baker Kline. I loved this book! I am still thinking about it for a week after finishing it.

When the Cranes Fly South by Lisa Ridzen.

The Diamond Eye by Kate Quinn

Tom Lake by Ann Patchett

I See you’ve Called in Dead by John Kenney

The Missing Pages by Alyson Richman

The Mad Wife by Meagan Church

Just for fun: The Villa by Rachel Hawkins

Just started: The Briar Club by Kate Quinn

*Newly painted and curtained dining area. My photo.*

And now, Welcome, Welcome to September!

A Month of Change and New Possibilities!

*Some other things I’ve been reading. My photo.*

Wishing you all wonderful days

and

plenty of the things that matter most to you!

Lucy Maud Montgomery, ‘September’.

Lo! a ripe sheaf of many golden days
Gleaned by the year in autumn’s harvest ways,
With here and there, blood-tinted as an ember,
Some crimson poppy of a late delight
Atoning in its splendor for the flight
Of summer blooms and joys
This is September.

62 Comments

Filed under Authors, Books, Fiction, HIstorical Fiction, Home, Identity, Literary Fiction, Nature, Personal History, Publishing, Reading, Seasons, Uncategorized, Writing

Tagged as Book Review, Fiction, flowers, garden, gardening, Moving, Nature, plants, Writing

June 2, 2026 · 5:50 pm

Live. Love. Lake. And Read!

Hello, Friends! In between a busy schedule of painting and repairs on our new/old house, Mr. P and I have been enjoying the warmer weather, and particularly the explosion of leaves and flowers on the deciduous trees and in the gardens and on the porches of many of our neighbors. We had one day that was much too hot for me, but so far, only one, so I have nothing to complain about. I am loving the mostly cool and humid spring climate here in the upper peninsula of Michigan. I told my husband it’s sort of like a cool Hawaii—lots of interesting weather changes within a day along with a lush and verdant landscape. It can go from sunny to cloudy and back again in no time.

Menominee River, Piers Gorge, Norway, MI

Our neighborhood consists of a sweet few blocks of century old two-story homes built for employees of the Ford plant that was here at the time, along with a park and a three-story home, called “the clubhouse” used by Ford and other important individuals.

Our deck clearly needs work! Great neighborhood though! Ford Addition, Kingsford, MI

“…Construction on the houses […] in the upper Ford Addition began in mid-May, 1924. Placed 24 to a block and kept in good repair by a crew of men employed by the Ford Motor Company for that purpose, the homes had electric lights, indoor bathrooms and were wired for a telephone. Most had three rooms downstairs, three rooms upstairs and a large cement basement. Some had five rooms, three on the ground floor and two upstairs. The smaller bungalows had five small rooms. Prices ranged from $3,500 to $5,500. A block-and-a-half square situated between Woodward Avenue and Hamilton Avenue was left for a park in the 600 block. In 1928 the park was equipped with tables, benches and garbage cans. A bandstand was erected in 1929, and a concert was held every Wednesday evening during the summer months. A cinder path was added in 1930 and tennis courts were also added [Menominee Range Historical Museum].” https://history.dickinsoncountylibrary.org.

I’m told we have our own little neighborhood parade, that the high school band marches down our street, and that we have a very big Halloween turnout here. The middle school, high school, a little lake, a park, medical clinic, a brew pub, tavern, and restaurant are all within easy walking distance. Nearby there are bigger lakes, the Menominee River, ski hills . . . . just all kinds of wonderful natural beauty. Walking and kayaking are our favorite activities here so far.

It’s fun to watch the rhythms of the place unfold as we begin to find our place here, bit by bit.

Reading News:

My latest reads include

Blonde Dust, Tatiana de Rosnay—loved it!

My Husband’s Wife, Alice Feeney—entertaining

Judge Stone, James Patterson and Viola Davis—entertaining

Broken Country, Clare Leslie Hall—loved it

The Widow, John Grisham—entertaining

The Missing Pages, Alyson Richman–entertaining

My current read is Slivers, by Vicki Atkinson. Vicki is a fellow WordPress blogger and author of the wonderful memoir, Surviving Sue, which I loved. She is a licensed professional counselor with a doctorate in Adult Education and degrees in Psychology. I’m delighted to read her debut novel, Slivers, and will be writing a review soon!

Happy Reading! Happy Summering! XXXOOO -Lori

51 Comments

Filed under Authors, Books, Commentary, Fiction, HIstorical Fiction, Home, Nature, Personal History, Reading, Seasons

Tagged as Book Review, Fiction, Michigan, Moving, Writing

March 27, 2026 · 2:35 pm

Books Get Me Through The Great Alone

It’s been two weeks since I left Nevada and one week since I arrived at my new Michigan home. All of these days have been solo; I drove alone, I arrived alone to an empty house, I spend my days here alone. There’s a theme building . . . For now!

But husband and kitties will be joining me soon.

As an introvert, this hasn’t been particularly tough. I love people, but I also love solitude. I just got the internet yesterday, and that’s fun because now I can write and publish my writing more easily. No TV here yet. No furniture to speak of. I have one little lamp table that fit in my car, a folding camp chair, and a cot. That’s it. Everything else will come in the moving van next week. So, what do I do all day?

I clean and I read. Often, at the same time, by listening to audiobooks using the Libby library App. One of the books I’ve enjoyed so far during this extended period of solitude is aptly The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah. It’s a tough book about a tough time and a tough place, but I liked it. Alaska in the 1970s, mental illness, abuse . . . it’s got it all, but it isn’t only that, of course. It’s also a book filled with nostalgia, love, and the awesomeness of nature.

Other books I read either just prior to moving, during the drive, or since my arrival are: We All Live Here, Moyes; Sandwich, Newman; The Secret Book of Flora Lea, Henry; Remain, Spark and Shyamalan; The Missing Half, Flowers and Kiester; and currently, The Island of Sea Women, See. Each book has its merits.

I found both We All Live Here and Sandwich charming and humorous. Both are light, contemporary novels with women protagonists wrestling with life changing events and the love of family.

The Secret Book of Flora Lea took me to one of my favorite historical settings, World War II England, in the countryside and also to London in the 1960s. It’s a delightful book about sisters, families, love, and the importance of stories.

Remain and The Missing Half are mysteries, with Remain being the more entertaining of the two for me. The Missing Half helped pass the time, but Remain’s ghostly love story captivated me at times, including during several memorable scenes that made me shiver.

And now I’m listening to The Island of Sea Women. It’s taken me to a part of the world I know very little about, which I love, because I am learning so much. It’s set in Korea from the story’s beginning in the 1930s and will move through the war years and take me to the present day. It’s about women sea divers (an amazing group of female divers who earn the money for their families while their husbands care for the children), and it’s the story of two friends Mi-ja and Young-sook.

As you can see, I’ve not been alone, not really, for I’ve been traveling through time and place along with the characters created by the authors of these varied and appealing novels, carried away by their stories. It’s a kind of magic really, the way a reader lives both inside and outside of a book—simultaneously in the room, and also somewhere else far away.

I love this line about reading from Stephen Chbosky from his young adult novel, The Perks of Being a Wallflower:

“Sometimes, I read a book, and I think I am the people in the book.”

Exactly.

63 Comments

Filed under Authors, Books, Commentary, Fiction, HIstorical Fiction, Home, Identity, Literary Fiction, Nature, Personal History, Reading, Uncategorized, Winter, World War II

Tagged as Book Review, Books, Fiction, Introvert, Michigan, Moving, Nevada, Reading, Writing

December 6, 2025 · 3:42 pm

The Light Shifts, The Wind Blows

“The strongest oak of the forest is not the one that is protected from the storm and hidden from the sun. It’s the one that stands in the open where it is compelled to struggle for its existence against the winds and rains and the scorching sun.” – Napoleon Hill

Hello, Reader and Writer Friends! I hope this post finds you well and blessed with the energy, time, and resources you need and deserve. I am grateful to you and wish you joy. The past few weeks have brought both expected and unexpected news, tasks, challenges, joys, and sorrows to my little corner of the planet, and I suspect they may have to yours also.

Changes of season, the holidays, national and world events, community and family celebrations, work, play, plans, and the shadow of illness and even death for some have been on the hearts and minds of many.

This week in my little town we’ve lost a young woman to suicide. The tragic and violent event has left many of us in shock, and the pain is palpable. And yet, standing right beside that horror, we also have grace in the shape of a group of dear people who planned and cooked and decorated our community center, and fed everyone in town who wished to come. And we had the Christmas tree lighting in the park, followed by fireworks. And we have a live nativity on Main Street coming in a few days. And I’m going to Disneyland with my grandkids next week. And yet, a friend’s cat died and one of our own adopted cats disappeared (you see how the sadness creeps back in). And yet, I got a surprisingly good medical report from my doctor. And in the netherworld of being a writer, I began another round of manuscript submissions today, sending out queries to six publishers.

The light shifts, the wind blows.

We manage as best we can, remembering that the strongest oak

is the one that stands in the open.

40 Comments

Filed under Christmas, Depression, Gratitude, Health, Holiday, Loss, Nature, Publishing, Relationship, Seasons, Uncategorized, Winter, Writing

Tagged as Faith, god, Grace, health and writing, life, Love, Nature, Seasons, Struggle, Suicide, Survival, trees, Writing

June 28, 2025 · 2:37 pm

Common Threads Lead to Joy

From Top to Bottom: Sierra Boggess and Emily Jewel Hoder in the revival production of “The Secret Garden” at Center Theatre Group / Ahmanson Theatre February 19 through March 26, 2023.
Photo credit: Matthew Murphy of MurphyMade

As a way to identify the activities that bring me joy and find ways to incorporate more of them—more often—into my daily life, I recently completed a writing exercise. It morphed into several disparate, yet ultimately connected and delightful experiences. I had so much fun with it, I just had to share!

Here is the prompt: “Write a letter to your childhood hero. You won’t actually send this letter. Tell them about what has brought you the most joy in each decade of your life. Don’t think too hard about the answers. Write the first things that come to mind. Reread the letter. Do you see common threads?” -Brittany Polat, PhD. Journal Like a Stoic, c2022.

Choosing who to write to was an intriguing part of the process. Who, I asked my little girl self, is your hero? The name that sprang spontaneously to mind was Frances Hodgson Burnett. Of everyone I could have chosen, for some reason I chose a lady author, a woman I’d never met and in fact could never have met because she died thirty-two years before I was born. She may have left the earthly realm, but she was very alive to me. She spoke to me through her books. The Secret Garden was my favorite, and I have continued to love it my whole life, cherishing it through rereads, watching all of the movie versions, and attending the play.

Before writing my letter to Frances, I did a bit of research on her life, and what a full life it was! Born in 1849 in England, impoverished at age four after her father’s death, Frances eventually traveled with her mother to live in a log cabin in Tennessee during the American Civil War. It was writing that finally lifted her out of poverty. She was a highly regarded author who published fifty-three novels and owned homes in both England and America (Gerzina, Gretchen H. “In the Garden: The Life of Frances Hodgson Burnett.” Shakespeare Theatre Company, c2024).

This research into Frances’s life inspired me as I wrote to her about the greatest joys in my own life. The common threads became very clear. Family, friends, nature, wildlife, pets, reading, writing, and learning showed up consistently throughout the decades. These are the things that spark the most joy for me.

With this in mind, I agreed to an unplanned day-long trail ride with my husband on a day I had planned to spend doing laundry and vacuuming the house. Seems like an easy choice, venturing out into nature with my guy rather than doing chores, but I honestly might not have agreed to drop everything and go if I hadn’t just completed my “joy inventory.”

Though housekeeping and organization didn’t make themselves known in my letter to Frances, they are important to me, nonetheless. I find it difficult to get to joy in any kind of untidy environment, whether in my own home or anywhere else. Still! I managed to say yes. As a bonus, I thought I could write about it afterwards, thereby including another of my favorite activities in the event.

Here is the result:

Off highway vehicle trails abound in the high elevation areas of the entire Toiyabe Mountain range and extend down into the valleys and basin below. We have an old side-by-side Rhino that can climb just about anything at very low speeds and peaks at 30 miles per hour on a flat road going downhill (a situation not often experienced here). Our chosen route for the day was to begin at our home in Austin, travel to Big Creek Campground, and then continue over the mountains into the adjacent valley to the east.

Along the way we experienced the expanse of the Reese River Valley over exposed rocky trails and into and over the mountains with multiple stream crossings, aspen groves, meadows, and significant elevation change. We passed by two campgrounds (Big Creek Campground and Kingston Campground) and Groves Lake, winding up in the charming Kingston community where we were welcomed by the wonderful ladies of a Monday Mahjong groups that meets at our friend Linda’s house. There we were treated to a delicious lunch and lively conversation before heading back over the mountain. Friendship, another joy inducing ingredient added! It was a lovely day.

*Linda and the Mahjong Ladies welcomed us in!*

From the initial moments spent reading the prompt in my journal it was indeed a joy to experience the results of contemplating a childhood hero, writing to her, thinking about my life in decades, and saying yes to an impromptu adventure.

It would be wonderful to read about your hero, and the joys of your decades. Who would you write to? What insights about joy might your letter reveal? If the spirit moves you, please do give this little project a go! You might find yourself delighted by the results, as I have done. Looking forward to hearing from you!

Happy Writing!

*Joy and Adventure live inside–*
*and out!*

Lori

36 Comments

Filed under Books, childhood, Family, Identity, Nature, Reading, Uncategorized, Writing, Writing Advice

Tagged as Beauty, Joy, Nature, Nevada, The Secret Garden, Trails, Writing

March 8, 2025 · 4:45 pm

Surviving Sue Review and Traces in the Snow

*Today in the Reese River Valley. My photo.*

Two consecutive snowstorms, and the sun sparks diamonds on the snow-hushed surfaces here in Austin and in the Reese River Valley just below us, giving us time to read, to wander, to cook, and to write.

Walking after a snowstorm is one of my favorite activities, along with walking in a warm rain, or on a starry night, or along a tree-lined lane at the height of autumn. It’s like walking inside a dream, a vision, a movie . . . all of it a magical changing work of art. This has been that kind of a weekend. An appreciated and needed balm for the eyes, ears, heart, mind and soul.

*Our footprints going down our driveway last winter after a similar storm in Austin, NV. My photo.*

After today’s walk, I finished reading Dr. Vicki Atkinson’s memoir, Surviving Sue: An Inspirational Survivor’s Story About a Daughter and her Life with a Mother Who was Riddled with Alcoholism, Alzheimer’s, Anxiety, Depression, and Munchausen’s. Vicki is a fellow blogger, one I follow and read with pleasure, always knowing I will find something positive, real, and insightful in her posts. Vicki is generous with her readers, sharing of herself, her humor, her highs and lows with an empathic interest in our perspectives.

This is Vicki’s voice, and it shines on the pages of her book. She is a profoundly kind-spirited woman who grew up learning how to turn the injury and injustice of her mother’s mental illness into something bigger than her own pain. With keen intelligence, her father’s and sister’s love, and later through her own family and probably also due to her dedication to her studies, Vicki survives and thrives, and she does it without ever compromising her own values.

Vicki’s compassion for her mother is more than challenged over the years, but somehow, she stays the course of doing what she believes is best for everyone concerned. For those who don’t know Vicki or haven’t read Surviving Sue, I’d like to stop here to encourage you to read it for yourself. This story is worth your time. It may even affect the ways you view some of your own experiences, past or present. It may soften your heart. It’s a beautiful book, and an engaging read.

Surviving Sue, Eckhartz Press, Chicago. Copyright © 2023. Vicki’s Blog is victoriaponders.com. Vicki also shares a podcast with her friend and colleague, Wynne Leon of Surprised by Joy (Blog). Their podcast, The Heart of the Matter can be found at sharingtheheartofthematter.com.

Now it’s time for the cooking part of the day. I’ve got an eggplant, lots of spices, cheese, pasta, greens, and tomatoes. Oh, and wine.

Should be a beautiful night.

26 Comments

Filed under Books, Commentary, Nature, Reading, Seasons, Uncategorized, Voice, Winter, Writing

Tagged as blogging, Book Review, Books, Family, memoir, Memoirs, Mental Health, Nevada, Review, Writing

March 2, 2025 · 5:34 pm

Thirteen Days Early / Nevada, USA / Are These the Ides of March?

*Austin, Nevada. Yesterday. A Walk Through the Cemetery. The thorny branches covering the grave will burst into bloom this summer. I find that comforting.*

*These are the same type of wild roses. This is the June bloom in our yard.*

The “Ides of March,” is a day in the ancient Roman calendar that falls on March 15 and is associated with misfortune and doom. It became renowned as the date on which Roman dictator Julius Caesar was assassinated in 44 bce and was further immortalized in the tragedy Julius Caesar by English dramatist William Shakespeare. In the play, a soothsayer warns Caesar to “beware the Ides of March.” Ostberg, René. “Ides of March”. Encyclopedia Britannica, 23 Oct. 2024, https://www.britannica.com/topic/Ides-of-March. Accessed 2 March 2025.

Yesterday, Austin, Nevada was bathed in sunshine and warm temperatures. Today Austin is buried in snow. It’s mostly awesome, not really a misfortune or doom, and we knew it was coming. Thank you, meteorologists!

We needed snow. We had a dry winter.

Today

As the snow continues . . .

Weather is life. No doubt this is the reason it is so often the topic of small talk. It’s life.

Weather is also death. I fear for our friend who left town just as the snow started, heading west on Highway 50 directly into its path.

And it affects all of us. Humans and nonhumans alike.

Here then is a tiny presentation of the weather in Austin, Nevada, USA, over a two-day period. Life and death. Ironic juxtaposition that the photos with elements of death are awash in sunshine? It was not intended. And that is telling.

*It stopped snowing for a bit. But it’s starting again.*

Whatever the weather where you are, I hope you are safe and always, always, rolling with the changes. Happy Spring–Soon!

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Filed under Nature, Seasons, Uncategorized, Winter

Tagged as Austin, Cemeteries, History, Ides of March, March, Nevada, photography, Snow, Spring, Sunshine, Writing

January 25, 2025 · 4:25 pm

And Then Came 2025

At “The North Pole”

Sky Park at Santa’s Village

Skyforest, CA

I headed home from my holiday travels at the end of December, heart-filled with the love of family. I was tired, but happy in the distinct way grandmothers know well. I had just been given a multitude of irreplaceable moments with my best beloveds . . . Tiny hands holding mine, some still so small, and some growing too fast. Also bigger hands and hearty hugs. Teens and twenty-somethings updating me on their lives. Strong, beautiful, and grown. Smiles. Laughter. Storybooks shared. Snowman crafts. Game playing. Sleepy cuddles. All of it so cherished.

After tearful goodbyes, I checked in for my flight and went in search of a new journal at the airport gift shop, thinking I could begin it on January 1^st. Last year, returning from my Christmas trip, I had purchased one there, and it had been a terrific addition to my writing life. Alas, this time nothing spoke to me, probably because I already had it in mind that I wanted a guided journal like the one I used in 2024 (The Breathe Journal 52 Week Guided Planner) and they didn’t have anything similar.

Once home, my usual routines resumed, but with more than the usual spark of wonder and worry that a new year brings. This was not going to be just any new year. Apprehensive, sad, and often angry, too, I knew that I was going to have to work hard to maintain my usual optimism and good will. Honestly, my optimism was at one of the lowest levels I have ever known. Somehow, I was still hanging on to my feeling of good will in all my daily encounters. My genuine love of the people I see during the course of a regular week’s activities lifts me up. But when I was at home reading the news, I was feeling helpless and exceptionally low.

Mr. P and I stuck to our walking schedule, which we know is a nonnegotiable necessity, and I was happy to return to my library job and to church on Sundays. These things always help. Still, I knew I needed to get more writing in, and was stuck—am stuck—as far as my historical fiction manuscript goes, so I searched online for a new journal. I found and ordered Journal Like a Stoic: A 90-Day Stoicism Program to Live with Greater Acceptance, Less Judgment, and Deeper Intentionality by Brittany Polat, PhD.

By the time the journal arrived, we were more than halfway through January, and I was physically unwell. I am only into my third day of using it, but I would say it is helping me in the way that almost any honest attempt at writing truthfully from my heart and mind can do. It focuses my mind with reading, questions me with depth, and sets a task before me. I like it.

From the book: “Stoicism is a philosophy of life in the fullest sense. As a framework for daily living, it can guide us in every decision we make, from our career choices to what’s for dinner tonight. What’s more, it helps ground us when we’re living through what feels like unprecedented times.”

The kitty is also interested in stoicism.

The three disciplines of stoicism are logic, ethics, and physics. The four virtues of stoicism are wisdom, justice, courage, and temperance. All these things I can get behind, believe that I mostly already embrace them. I say mostly, because I am ignorant when it comes to physics, and historically slack when it comes to temperance. Still! I am in. I will faithfully read and respond to the prompts in the book. I will write honestly.

I plan to continue with the other things in my life that sustain me: my love of friends, family, community, church, library, nature, reading, art, music, cooking, and pets (to name a few). And I will write the occasional blog post! I love connecting with all of you!

Cheers

To us! To a year of introspection and growth, and to a lifetime of love-motivated action and purpose. God Speed.

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Filed under Holidays, Identity, Memories, Nature, Reading, Uncategorized, Work, Writing

Tagged as 2025, health and writing, Journaling, mindfulness, New Year, personal-growth, philosophy, stoic, stoicism, Writing

January 1, 2025 · 2:28 pm

All Those Years

Just before Christmas, Mr. P and I drove to the Hickison Petroglyph Recreation Area, which is located a short drive from our home over the Austin Summit on Highway 50, “The Loneliest Road in America.” I love nature and history, as well as walking and exploring new (to me) places, and this little day trip exceeded my expectations. As soon as we arrived, I was surprised that I had not heard much about the place in the four-plus years we have lived in Austin. Only one person had ever mentioned the spot to me, and that was a traveler who stopped in to see our historic general-store-turned-library and told me he had camped there the night before. I imagine the locals have all been there, and they have been good at telling us about other wonderful places to explore in the area, so it mystifies me that no one thought to suggest this historically and scenically stunning spot to visit.

Therefore, I will do so. If you travel Highway 50, be sure to make this one of your stops!

Some history:

“The Hickison Petroglyph Recreation Area provides public access to petroglyphs created by prehistoric people living near Hickison Summit at the north end of the Toquima Range and the south end of the Simpson Park Mountains in the U.S. state of Nevada. . . In the general vicinity of Hickison Summit are multiple prehistoric hunting and living sites dating to 10,000 B.C. as well as more recent sites such as mining camps and ranches.

Trails used by mid-19^th century explorers John C. Fremont and James H. Simpson pass through the area as do the routes of the Pony Express and the Overland Stages. At the time of the earliest prehistoric sites, the Great Basin contained large lakes, including Lake Toiyabe and Lake Tonopah in the Big Smoky Valley west of the summit. As the climate became drier, the lakes evaporated, and the former lake dependent cultures were replaced by hunter-gatherers. When the first European-Americans arrived in about 1850, Western Shoshone people lived in the region” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hickion_Petroglyph_Recereation_Area).

Wow, right? My dear friend, Cheryl, just informed me that when you see faces in things, it’s called pareidolia. I definitely see a face here, and a neck as graceful as Audrey Hepburn’s.

Here is the proposed text for the marker plate, State Historical Marker No. 137, from the Nevada State Historic Preservation Office:

The summit is named after rancher John Hickison because the road to his ranch passed over the summit. About one-mile northwest lies Hickison Summit, a natural pass between two low buttes. Passes and canyons were common Native American hunting locations for funneling and ambushing bighorn sheep and deer herds. Archaeological sites in the region reveal a dominance of bighorn bones and horn, reflecting the bighorn’s importance to Native Americans as food and raw material for tool production. The bighorn lacked resistance to diseases introduced by domestic sheep in the nineteenth century, and this resulted in catastrophic bighorn population declines through the West. Prehistoric native American petroglyphs, images and designs are carved into rock surfaces and are interpreted along a short hiking trail. Archaeologists hypothesize that the meanings for these designs include ceremonial, female puberty markers, ritual hunting magic symbols, and rock art or simply graffiti.

On the day we went, there were no interpretive booklets available, and other than a lone camper, no other people, so we didn’t learn as much as we would have liked. Still, it was stunning, and felt somehow sacred. The park was silent and isolated enough that all the years of this century easily fell away, and then echoes of past centuries offered themselves to our quieted minds. I was saddened, too, as I often am, thinking of how much is lost in the mists of history. What a stunning sight it must have been, all those herds of bighorn sheep and deer, and what a shame that diseases introduced by newcomers decimated the population even unto today.

Standing here, looking across the Great Smoky Valley to the Toiyabe Mountains, blue in the distance, I felt connected to all those who came before me. . . human, bird, mammal. . . all.

Such an amazing planet. Such an amazing gift to live here. Sending love and best wishes for a healthy, joyful, and adventurous 2025. Happy New Year!