In our first meeting with the miracle doctor in June of 2011, I looked around the waiting room at the gaunt bodies, the ghoulish faces. A gray-stubbled man hobbled to the glass separator to speak to the person at the front desk through the small window, the outline of a cigarette pack a silhouette in the back pocket of his jeans. My father sat beside me…

In my homesteading immersion, we were recently asked to name a few plants, flowers, or trees we’d like to deepen into relationship with.

I’m back on the homestead this spring, a sweet and intentional piece of land between Boulder and Lyons, deepening my connection to nature, community, and my roots in a nine-month immersion.

On the urge to look back, the instinct to reach, and learning to trust the walk forward.

You know those three things that you’ve always thought of?

I took this photo on my first day at an ashram in India, about an hour north of Rishikesh, after crossing the Ganga into the Himalayas. I was 34 and as exhausted as I look. Before I left, I mailed my ballot, casting my vote for who I hoped would become America’s first female president. I wrapped two sets of 15 small presents—one for each day I’d be gone…

For Christmas, my 12-year-old, K., got a 3D printer.

A reflection on grief, writing, and intuition—how backtracking through old words became a way forward.

December on my favorite Boulder trail is all woody pine and dry grass.