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.

I’m home, after cleaning out my parents’ old house on the farm they loved, and saying goodbye to all of it. Yes, it’s  a lot. I promised myself I wouldn’t take too much stuff, that I’d be good about tossing, weeding, giving it away. Then I filled an old steamer truck with photos, journals, important papers ( like the program from my parents’ wedding) that my kids can throw away when I’m gone and not looking.The last night we lit a fire, and my brother-in-law and I shared a hundred dollar bottle of wine we found in the basement, because, well, we couldn’t take it with us.

There’s more, of course.

In the meantime, I wanted to share this thought with you from Anne Lamott:

“It’s funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools – friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty – and said ‘do the best you can with these, they will have to do’. And mostly, against all odds, they do.”
― from her book, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith