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: Dawn on the Ridge
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…
Finding Stillness on Earth Day
1958, as I played hopscotch in my grandmother’s Mississippi garden, I didn’t know about global initiatives or environmental footprints. I poured milk from glass jars. I ate Mimi’s tomatoes straight off the vine. I only knew the damp, warm feel…
The Keepers of the House
A Liturgy of the 4:13 PM Before the unmaking began on Water’s Hill, the woods held the calls of a Wood Thrush and Bob-Whites. Those afternoons brought a Sunday-afternoon-nap kind of grace. It was a cedar glade with wild violets…
