Gosh, thanks.

I have always known that there were thinkers like me out there. I married one. And I thank the universe everyday for him and his perceptions of the world, of situations, of a life shared.

And I've known these people existed at places I've worked; at Bates College, at Hamline University, at Maine Audubon. I found them, they found me.

Nebraska, every time I think I will leave you, you open a door for me. You open your strong Plains arms and welcome me in. I want this entry to be just of gratitude for this moment.

To all the people who have shared perspectives, feelings, a cup of coffee or wine with me, thank you. This is truly a journey (oh the cliche!), but gosh - it really is. I couldn't be happier to share it with you, the people in my life who look at the big picture, who think outside the box, who practice gratitude.

Cheers,
Molly

Easter with the Sandhill Cranes

"The evening show is pure theater.  But the morning is religion . . . "

-The Echo Maker By Richard Powers

religion

eating in the corn fields 

right before the sun came up

Looking down at the Platte River, known as a mile wide and an inch deep. 

early morning sky with cranes

Spring Snow

Heavy
Wet
Fast

Sounds like a lover you knew that one time...

but it's just spring snow

HA!

Running, gratitude, cardinals.

On this morning's run the cadence was, "cardinal chorus, cardinal chorus, cardinal chorus." It was true, happening all around me in the trees. I was lucky to be among the birds this morning, in the only sunshine of the day (the clouds came out around 9 and have stayed for the duration of the day). Often on these runs I feel gratitude. For the small things, for the big things, for everything in between. I thought of the poem Buddha's Dogs and tried to do a "running meditation" and name my thoughts. This morning's thoughts were discomfort, anxiety, anticipation, gratitude and honesty. The first three were slowing me down and it helped to name them and send them off into the cardinal chorus.

that fleeting time

It happens in slow motion

at high speed

if you look down at the dog

then turn back up to the sky

there is nothing but loud darkness whistling in your ears. 

joy

so simple, so accessible - everywhere. don't miss it!

Pesto and a Poem

Making pesto is easy and tastes worlds better than most pesto you can buy. Last weekend our basil garden started to flower so we spent an afternoon making pesto sans pine nuts. The freezer is now stocked and we are satisfied knowing this summer treat can be enjoyed on Aaron's birthday in January.

Below is a Wendell Berry poem from today's Writer's Almanac that Aaron read to me this morning over coffee. Its short but fruitful lines continue to pass through my mind. Enjoy. 

The monster basil harvest and a curious feline

Smiling with basil 

Picking the leaves

Washing

Swishing 

Chopping Asiago as the dog drools

Blending with salt, garlic, asiago, & olive oil. Yum

The Real Work

By Wendell Berry

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,

and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.