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.
So this morning I asked Chip, my media-minded husband, if there was any good news. “Well, Ukraine is still holding back the Russians,” he said. I was hoping for better. I was hoping for a miracle. I decided not to turn on the radio or scan the headlines. I...
I used to look at those old photos of ghosts. Have you ever seen them? The ones of the monks in some ancient cathedral, walking down the aisle in their hooded robes, only instead of full height, feet on the floor, they appear to be waist deep in a river of stone...
On the way to Florida I was apprehensive. I pay attention to the news and it’s not all sunny down there. But there was no rumble on the flight. No one needed to be whacked with a coffee pot. In Publix, the big grocery store, there were masks and no masks, but...
How does that Kaci Musgrave song about family go? “You get what you get, and you don’t get to pick ’em. They might smoke like chimneys, but give you their kidneys. Yeah friends come in handy but family is family.” I was humming that a lot...
My cousin and I were corresponding about Papa Bob, and life and death and probate, and he signed the email, “Much Love and Hope” — which pretty sums it up doesn’t it? The only things that are going to carry us through winter, Covid, crazy...
“The world is already split open, and it is our destiny to heal it, each in our own way, each in our own time, with the gifts that are ours.” Terry Tempest Williams
