Our rural electric cooperative has been using a helicopter to trim trees along their powerline right-of-way in the neighborhood. My husband and I watched with fascination the rotating blades lower with surgical precision and prune branches on huge oaks, tulip poplars, and pines that line our road. The rotor-generated wind smacked our faces as we shot these photos from our driveway during last week’s subfreezing weather.

"These are the times that try men's souls.The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country;but he that stands it now deserves the love and thanks of man and woman."

I read thirty-four books in 2025, three fewer than last year. The list does not include three books I am currently reading but haven’t finished. I’ve been too scattered and distracted to do much of anything right this year. My new year’s resolution is to focus on the important stuff—getting back to my writing, but (of course) still making time to read.

Blessings to you this day, and hopes for a better 2026.

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday because I love being aware of my many blessings and feeling grateful for them. What little family I still have is geographically and relationally distant, but I like sharing gratitude over a special meal with friends.

My award-winning story about the Rosebud Wacipi appears in the latest edition of Masticadores Canada. The piece reminisces about an experience that changed my life forever.

I sleepily padded into the kitchen this morning and poured myself a steaming mug of coffee. Allowing it a few moments to cool, I carried it over to the window and looked out at the new day. Autum leaves drifted down from almost-bare hardwoods, framed against a brilliant azure sky. I love fall.

Dr. W. tapped the scab on my nose with a gloved finger and frowned over the top of his glasses at me.

November is National Memoir Writing Month—not to be confused with the more widely-known but now defunct National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo. Since memoir is what I mostly write, I would be remiss if I neglected mentioning it here and now.

Now live on podcast! This ghost story has roots in Nebraska’s Panhandle, when Fort Robinson State Park was a U.S. military outpost. The piece is creative nonfiction, based on an experience I had in 2013 that shook me to the core and changed my attitude toward the supernatural.

I’m thrilled to announce that the literary magazine, Academy of the Heart and Mind, named my short story, Mannequins in the Hobbit Barn, as one of the winners in their “13 Days of Halloween” contest. 

This week I had the privilege of sharing some of my “girl forester” stories at the John C. Campbell Folk School in Brasstown, North Carolina. The monthly event usually features only oral storytellers, so it was an honor for this author to be invited.

Current events nearly overshadowed Banned Book Week 2025. It’s already Friday—but I didn’t forget. I just finished reading Percival Everett’s 2024 masterpiece, James: A Novel, and I can honestly say it’s one of the best books I’ve ever read. It retells Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from the perspective of Jim, the slave who accompanied Huck on the journey down the Mississippi River.

My new Substack newsletter is up and running. It differs from this blog in that it is more about YOU than about me or my work. Its purpose is to explore the world of personal anecdotes and inspire you to share a few tales of your own. This blog will continue to be the place where I share my own musings and articles.

I just set up a Substack account . . . Haven't posted anything there yet, but that is coming soon. Please follow me at https://sgb212739.substack.com/

The Carolina asters are just starting to bloom, and here it is, nearly the end of September. It’s a nice bonus for the hummingbirds as they start their southward journey.

AI. I’ve lived for over a half century in ranch country, much of that time in places where cattle outnumber humans. When I see the initialism* AI, I immediately think, “Artificial Insemination.”

Scaling back, paring down, downsizing—whatever we call it—I’ve reached that stage in life. It actually started eight years ago, when my husband and I decided to relocate halfway across the country.