Back to the Mountain
That’s how I felt, at 10 p.m. on a Sunday night, in a town that you may never visit—with my stethoscope around my neck, gloves on my hands, and ski boots on my feet.
This Is Supposed to Be Fun
I suppose it’s encouraging to recognize ways that I’ve grown since then, but I’m frustrated by what feels unfinished.
Security Blanket
All the while, the Soviet Union had parked their own ships nearby.
Notes from the Canopy
The selective pressures that sculpted the genes of our ancestors left deep imprints.
Monocropping and Me
I know it’s not a popular thing—to say I am against eating plant foods
Pulling Weeds in the Allegory Garden
“Please don’t call the police,” she says.
Dendritic Remembrance
Each of those shorn poplars may well have been genetically identical, but those of us in the serious tree-climbing business knew that didn’t mean squat.
My Evolving Coffee Palate: A Timeline
I distinctly remember drinking an entire pot one night.
Sun Chips and Firewood
At least I now know not to compost in the shade.
Blood Blossoms
The poppies were there first.
