Totally Quanked and in Search of Our Own Personal Pickleball
Yes, it's a proper word. I didn't make it up, but I wish I had. Quanked is in the 1893...
Horsewoman, Has Your Neighborhood Gone to the Dogs?
I traipsed across Minnesota and North Dakota through factory farms and cemeteries this summer. Trying to link childhood memories with...
Falling in Love All Over Again for the First Time
Coming home, the washboard road is as close to a drumroll as we'll get. We are bleary-eyed and dog-tired. I...
The Cemetery of My People, Part Two
Road trips have a feeling of being unstuck anyway, but this trip to the land of my people was like...
Traveling to the Cemetery of My People, Part One
Mister is barking in a steady rhythm. His metronome bark. Consider it a warning siren. He knows. There is a...
Shhh… We’re Being Watched.
The week started with a needle in my forehead. You just knew it was going to improve. Then each day...
Jolene and the Healing Quality of Dog Spit
I can't remember having leaves so early on our high desert prairie. Shade is scarce since losing our trees. There's...
Being Cantankerous Because I Feel Like It
Last week I raved about my beautiful but desolate riding arena at the front of my little farm. My other...
Aging Cantankerously: Downsize This!
Ten days after solstice and it's already staying light longer. Want to wish me a happy one-year-older? On January first,...
Hungover, Jolene Meets The Weather of Her People
The leftovers are gone, the pie plates back in the cupboard, and Parental Peas, Parker and Penny, have headed back...
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