The 59-mile stretch of defunct rail road tracks became an idyllic bike path about seven years ago. What had once been a corridor of high-tech travel in 1847 was now a scenic route snaking through small towns and winding alongside tripping rivers. I pick up the trail a few miles from my family’s property. It’s… Read More Proof
The wood contains a feather pattern. Little whorls shimmy up against one another like two on a dance floor. The undulations are so pronounced that I expect to be able to feel the waves of energy as I run my hand across them. The surface of the board is all glide, perfectly soft and smooth… Read More One Tree, Many Leads
Like every other kid, I loved the original Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory. The day I made my First Communion, my parents said I could have anything I wanted for dinner. This was a big deal. I requested Chicken McNuggets and fries from McDonald’s, adding that I wanted to consume this sophisticated feast on… Read More Thanks, Gene
I could practically hear my friend Amie giggling through the text. She sent me an image of a note she had scrawled and left on someone’s windshield. She noticed this someone heading in to the café to grab the requisite morning jolt in a cup. Arrested by whatever makes up that funky alchemy responsible for… Read More When the Carpe Calls
I’ve lived in New England my whole life and have never been berry picking. The picking of fruit and such has grown into a very big industry throughout the region. I caught my first glimpse of the nascent picking-pa-looza in the late-1990s on a trip to visit my cousin and her family in New York’s… Read More Obey The Berry
A few months ago a couple of friends tricked me into running with them. Tricked. It’s more of a jog, really, they said. Hucksters. I am many things, but athletic is not one of them and the times I was forced to run in gym class were some of the darkest, most tortured, most terrible… Read More I Think, I Ran
There are some people who can keep their shit in check in the presence of someone they admire and then there are the rest of us. I found out which camp I belonged in the time I met Pulitzer-winning writer Annie Proulx. Writers are rock stars. To me, Annie Proulx is the literary Springsteen, the… Read More I Fangirl, Do You?