Ah, but what can we take along
into that other realm? Not the art of looking,
which is learned so slowly, and nothing that happened here…

For when the traveler returns from the mountain-slopes into the valley,
he brings, not a handful of earth, unsayable to others, but instead
some word he has gained, some pure word, the yellow and blue
gentian.

~ Rilke

 

Leaves underfoot. Lacework of forest, scaled from trunk to twig. Dawn moon. The infinite palette of the way air can smell: dry leaves, wet concrete, fresh mud, salt spray, swamp, pasture. I would hold onto it all, forever. The glorious and fractured minutia of living.

I’m a reporter, a scientist, a mother, a daughter. This particular season, the season of starting this project, the tension between living and dying defines my days. My daughter is three: a thunderstorm, a sunbeam, my heart. And a few months ago my sister died, too young, from cancer. Grief is a fierce houseguest these days. I feel like a metal being tempered between previously unimagined extremes.

I’ve started this blog as a way to explore ideas free of the freelancer’s endless grind of polish and pitch. And I want a place to get looser, more personal.

My resume: a BS in botany from the University of Washington, Seattle; masters degrees in journalism and environmental science from Columbia University, NY. I’ve worked in journalism, habitat restoration, and environmental consulting. Publications include news articles (the NY Times, Salon.com, Modern Farmer); poetry (the West Marin Review; Barnabe Mountain Review); and scientific documents (environmental compliance, biologic reports, and vegetation management plans). I live in northern California with my family, which includes two dogs, five chickens, six fish, a snake, and a garden.