The funny thing about stories, about big, culminating moments, is that it’s hard to pinpoint their actual beginnings—the pivot in a chain of events that led to one particular outcome occurring over an infinite number of others. Years ago, I was snuggled up in a cabin surrounded by snow in Yosemite National Park, reading Gregory … More 900 Smoky Mountain Miles
“That morning, my understanding of listening expanded and I was reshaped yet again. It sounds simple and obvious but it takes time to listen; time for the deeper things to show themselves. Just as we can’t see all the phases of the moon on any one night, we can’t hear the phases of truth or … More An Everglades Return
I sat on my new balcony patio, still in pajamas, sipping coffee in the warmth of the rising sun. I read a book by a woman who had set out to write a scholarly account of two Wyoming botanists. As she followed the research, her writing morphed into a memoir of plants and place. This is how it goes, it seems, when we allow our thinking minds to slowly cede back to our open hearts. Who knows where we’ll end up, where we’ll return, what wisdom we’ll find in the flora. … More Fresh Starts to Fresh Starts
We weren’t the same people when we finally met again. The distance, the stillness had changed us. It was good to see you calm and coming back to life. I knew you needed a break from the constant social pressure, regardless of how much I ached to say. When we met again, it was indeed … More Dear Smoky Mountains—
I walked up to the front door of the little country house, breathing in the calm of the surrounding farmland and mountains. Thirty minutes prior I’d been in the bustling little city of Asheville, my latest hometown, cars zipping down Merrimon Avenue with little respect for life. Arriving here felt like home. I knocked on … More Stories Around the Table
I stood anxiously with the others. We all waited, silently, many staring down at bright little screens, to board the long elevator down to the metro. None of us looked at each other, and the man with the sign didn’t look at us either. He didn’t call out, forcing us to acknowledge his existence, pushing … More Angels in “The Swamp”
I began to miss her before she was ever gone. In my early twenties, I stood on a hand-built, wooden bridge one hot and humid summer night in rural Georgia, cheeks seared by salt-filled tears, drunkenly swapping sad dog stories and contemplating my owns aging—contemplating the elephant in the room toward which each of her … More My Old Friend
“I’ll tell you a secret,” she said, “No one is prepared.” In about a week, I’d be biking 150 miles as part of the Johns Hopkins Ride to Conquer Cancer to honor the life of my grandmother who had passed away from esophageal cancer three years prior. I’d had grand plans of fully training for … More Why I Rode: In Suffering, There is Joy
Cancer is a word I’ve known for a long time. I’ve heard the word used in the context of medical research. I’ve heard it uttered when it has come to affect family or friends or colleagues, or those of my family, friends, and colleagues. I’ve heard it spoken at many fundraising events, looking to find … More Why I Ride: Doing My Grandma’s Life Justice
As I’ve tumbled madly into love with the wilderness, I’ve found it concurrently driving my want to do more writing. Back in November, I cofounded a women’s outdoor group called Wild Wilderness Women, and this winter we took a weekend trip out to rural Maryland to do some cross-country skiing. The experience tied together many … More What Makes Us Wild: Cofounding a Women’s Wilderness Group
ROUGH OUTLINES 