I tucked the empty seed bags under my arm and leaned over to pick a daffodil. It was the oldest signal of hope I had ever known. My grandmother, Mimi, had loved her “daffies” so much, she’d painted her kitchen—and…
A Daffodil-Yellow Life
Peonies: Debutants in Ball Gowns
On Monday, May 8, 2017, I wrote about peonies in my old blog, Rattlebridge Farm. I compared them to debutants in ball gowns. Here’s a snip from my old blog post: My mother and grandmother always referred to peonies as…
Field Note: Dawn on the Ridge
You’re looking at the Ordovician slant. This is the view that pulled at me forty-two years ago, when I stood on a terrace, the silence gathering full as a bell. Look at how the ridges drop away into the Nashville…
Field Note: The Frequency of Ruin
Date: May 5, 2026 Species: Hylocichla mustelina (Wood Thrush) Status: Displaced from the cedar glade and mixed forest. Conditions: 75 F. Seismic vibrations from 4,000-lb hydraulic breakers on the ridge. Here in Wilson County, if you’re lucky enough to visit Cedars of…
His Mercies, Morning by Morning
This morning, I opened Lamentations and found the ancient sentence waiting: “His mercies never end. They are new every morning.” Outside in the wild blackberry thickets, my peonies look as if they’d been unfurled by a botanist, her hands peeling back each…
The Power of Staying
To build a lush forest in a glade takes a geological mercy. And time. Lots of time. The valley was once a layered green habitat, filled with oaks, hickories, and cedars. We’re looking at trees that were at least 120…
