Columns

Don't fork or spade soil until it is dry enough for the clods to crumble when they fall. —The Gardener's Bed-Book by Richardson Wright, 1929 This time of year I recall my friend Erna Hermann and her weeding methods. First, she collects her garden wardrobe:...

"New bar owner says no go go girls" reads the headline from a June, 1973 story on the 'Capac Journal' page of the Tri-City Times. The huge and somewhat unwieldy bound book that holds that issue—and six months worth of other weekly editions of your "hometown newspaper"...

"Peace is not the absence of trouble. It is the presence of Christ in the midst of that trouble." Those words were scrawled on a blue sticky note and laid out on an open Bible. A picture of that went viral. Until I looked a little more closely, I didn't notice that...

A gray morning breaks. I walk our land. Three and a half acres. Enough space for two septuagenarians to dwell in relative peace. The scent of wet earth revives me—winter's damage strewn high and low, near and far. I start toward the garden steps to upright three small...

"Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." I heard that, or read it, earlier today; and realized how wise that little five-word quotation was, and how long it had taken me to learn the truth of it. The quote fit right in with some information I'd been given in case...

I've been participating in some mini guided meditations and sharing what I know with some open minded people in town. The Chinese New Year celebration in February, and the Mardi Gras celebration in March gave me an opportunity to get out the quartz crystal singing...

I often fish around for inspiring and/or uplifting poetry to share in my yoga classes. Particularly the Basic and Yin classes, where we spend the first few minutes in seated meditation. It's part of the process of unplugging from everything in the outside world—the...

It is evening. There is that restlessness that comes from being in my hot, confined apartment for too long. I figure that the night is ripe for exploring. So I go downstairs and mount my trusty red scooter, then putter off. It's a good night for what I've decidedly...

My devotion to good food comes from my mother's kitchen. Not flavor, nor nutrition alone, nor the refuge of our family table, more so her stable and flexible practice influences what I choose to cook. Mom held the humble and unvarnished wood handle of her favorite...

As the icy grip of winter's bony hand continues its reach into mid-March, something strange occurs. A shift in the brain, a tilt in the thinking, a tingle on the tongue... I realize it was bound to happen sooner or later, but the mere fact that it has still shocks me....