no guts, no glory

along side the struggles, there have been many beautiful moments, as well, of course. i have greeted them quietly. i have accepted them and made note of them. i have taken some of them to bed. i have written some poems about them. i have photographed them from many angles. but i haven’t celebrated. only recently, even, have i started to feel more comfortable with the idea of celebrating.

we are poet women: hear us roar!

jill and i both refer to the place we grew up as “up north.” her “up north” is ticonderoga, new york; mine is lincoln, maine. the similarities are many: paper mills, mountains, lakes. i was teasing her that her “up north” wasn’t *really* “up north,” considering mine is up-norther-er than hers.

with apologies to the dalai lama

after i left, one of the uncharacteristic things my husband did was begin quoting the dalai lama. over two decades, my husband had never shown me a spiritual, peaceful, one-with-the-universe, kindness-toward-all bone in his body. that he suddenly connected with the dalai lama became a big joke to me (especially during periods of, shall we say, spitefulness toward me). i doubted his sincerity.

CSA farmers have artists’ blood

the title of this post is a quote from my CSA newsletter, roxbury farm week #3. here’s what comes shortly after it: “the statement that farmers are artists resonates with me but it is also not complete. we are also caregivers. our drive is very external; we respond in ways a paramedic works … the moment you put a seed in the ground, the moment you bring an animal into the world, you have made a commitment.” isn’t that beautiful?