I live and write on Lingít Aaní, and gratefully acknowledge the past, present and future caretakers of this beautiful place, the Jilkaat Kwaan and Jilkoot Kwaan.

The Mess of Children, A Poem for Thursday.

Here is the thing: There is nothing like the mess of small  children.  Hurricanes have nothing on them. The boots  askew on the floor. The little coats and hats and suits draped on tables and chairs.  The many, many things they need to survive at grandma’s all...

Looking for a Few Good Questions

 I have been a little stuck lately on my new book. (Okay, I’ve threatened to give the advance back and apply for a job at the pre-school.) No, this in not writer’s block. I don’t believe in that. It has more to do with the topic– life lessons,...

Jupiter Aligns with Mud Bay Road

Last night we looked at the moons of Jupiter. We could see them up over the white mountains, in the deep blue sky, lined up at an angle, just like the pictures of the planets we looked at in school and that mobile of the solar system that spun in the sun and dust...

Thirty Feet and Counting

Yes, the pensive Spring sunshine warmed us yesterday, but today we are back to the very punctual snow. The latest 2.1 inches puts us over the 30 feet mark for the winter, and it is still snowing. At least when the sun comes out it is warm, and we are gaining more...

A Change of Pace

I spent most of my thirties and forties moving as fast as I could– running, cycling, snowshoing– and rearing five children. Then at 45 I was hit by a truck, which slowed me down in lots of ways. But that was seven years ago, and I have been steadily...