the sky, thickly veiled in white smoke, gradually darkened. i paced the house, obsessively looking out the window as the wind picked up, swirling through branches and laying grasses down flat. it seemed the promised rain might actually arrive. like much of the west, montana’s summer has once again been plagued with drought and fire. we desperately need rain, yet the occasional thunderstorms blowing through place us on edge; every lighting strike could spark another conflagrat

An almost imperceptible shift in the light. A slant of golden, the earth’s turning reflected in sunflowers’ faces. The skies blue again after a good night’s wind and rain scrubbed the smoky haze that had descended over the mountains, stacking them like so many cardboard cutouts. Around the edges the air is cool, threaded with the promise of chill. The creek meanders along, more leisurely than lazy, having left the frenetic pace of runoff behind. A grasshopper symphony plays f

An unexpected and sudden storm blew in late afternoon last week.  The skies in Montana had been thick with smoke from wildfires burning across the West, and the sun hung low and red in a hazy sky.  There wasn’t much daylight left for the evening dog walk, so I leashed Pono up and we stepped out onto the front porch.  In the same instant a gust nearly took us off our feet and a low rumble of thunder rippled across the sky.  We stepped back across the threshold, shut the door,

Weekends go by so fast.  This one was a good one.  Summer days in Montana, celebrating the best the season has to offer. Saturday began with a trip to the county fair, where two-day old Vietnamese potbellied pigs suckled or slept under the warmth of a heat lamp.  So tiny, so delicate, so clearly brand new to this world.  One tiny piglet awoke from his nap, stood up on spindly legs, tottered, and then gave a long, slow, delicious stretch.  A stretch worthy of any practiced yog

Summer has rolled into this Montana town. The mercury is soaring, the air thick with haze.  Kids on street corners sell lemonade and Otter Pops; families flock to the swimming hole to float the afternoon away.  Some days, like today, are graced with an afternoon thunderstorm; temperatures drop 25 degrees in an instant and the wind carries the heady scent of pine and rain.  Plants drink up every last drop, as if they know the storms will become ever less frequent as the season

Change is the only constant. That adage, attributed (or misattributed, depending what you read) to the Greek philosopher Heraclitus, rings especially true for me this month. Flux upon flux. Shift upon shift. Seasons progressing, flowers unfolding, lives evolving, coming, going … all beneath clouds scudding across the sky.  I took my first stand up paddleboard yoga class this past weekend and it seems a perfect metaphor for life: standing steady and moving through the flow—tru

The lowing of some happy cows; that was my weekend alarm clock.  It made me smile as I lay in bed, early morning sunlight slanting through the blinds, hearing them moo.  As the days wore on, I would see the little herd standing on the ridgeline across the street, silhouetted against the sky.  There is a little calf amongst the group.  It seems to have the energy of my herding dogs, running circles round the cows just the same. This weekend was beautiful blue sky, sunny and wa