The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
At around 7:10 p.m., the Anderson asked how the Fitzgerald was doing, to which Captain McSorley responded: “We are holding our own.” That was the last communication heard from the ship.
Three States, One Story
I assured her I wasn’t taller—there was so much Mormonism in the Utah air that it somehow made her shrink.
A Long Memory
I remember not liking it—the plum—very much.
On Sunsets
I thought of the book in my car and wondered if I should go back for it.
Adventures in Amateur Birdwatching
Downy Woodpecker & Hairy Woodpecker: I can’t tell these guys apart and I don’t believe that you can either.
The Smell of Douglas Fir
Am I a product of all of the sticks, stones, and leaves I have encountered throughout my life?
My Last Post
My grandma ended every voicemail with “thank you, bye now.”
Summer House
We amble down to the beach as a herd, arms piled high with blankets and plastic cups and wine and our books.
Ten Years On
The room was eerily quiet as the students sat waiting for me to get ready, so I tried to lighten the mood. They all take this so seriously, too seriously.
I Can’t Shut Up About My Shell Pot
The urge to stick shells to objects is nearly irresistible.
