About Me

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I am a mother, a teacher, and a nature lover. I grew up on a mountain we called Owls' Knob in the Ozarks of Arkansas. The first seven years of my life were spent living in a log cabin, far from a store or streetlight, without electricity or running water and after twenty years of travel, I returned to the abondoned homestead. Now I live on a hill by a small lake and work at a public garden. These are stories about nature written from a women deeply influenced by place.

Thursday, November 4, 2010


A mother is a powerful source. We are our mother’s children, our grandmother’s children, children of mother earth. Deep in our past is a woman who gave birth to us, who came from the earth and created life. No matter how much respect we have for the source of our life, we still resent her. We despise all her bad habits because we inherited so many of them. Even her beauty is not appreciated, for it is the beauty within ourselves. We are her, amplified. Our relationship with our mothers, grandmothers, and the earth is complex and much more profound than we will ever admit.
But what happens when our mother is sick, when our grandmother dies. Perhaps it is a necessary event that initiates us into adulthood. Despite our relationship with her, for most of us, until she dies we are not entirely alone. Falling back on our mother maybe shameful, but it is a option for most of us as long as she is alive. Everyone dies, every mother dies, some sooner than others. With death, comes loneliness to the living.
Upon reflection, I see this is all a cycle, of life and death. One day I will die, like my grandmother before me and my grandchildren after. Our great grandmother, the earth, will also pass when her time comes, just as the stars and the sun will one day expire. Such sorrow fills me when I think of the inevitable ending. Yet, it is inevitable, natural, and necessary. If only I could embrace death, life would be fuller.

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