Monday, October 12, 2015 – Filed under: Uncategorized ::

This Thanksgiving Weekend we put everything aside to make time to find peace outdoors, visit the farmers whose food we are so lucky to eat and usher in this start of cozy fall. There is so very much to be grateful for and the rituals around this holiday can help to ground us and our children. So we hiked up a mountain and saw the trees’ hints of orange and red down below. We fell into a silence as the cool wind but still-warm sun hit our faces.  Being out in the woods and leaves, far away from the sounds of cars, is a great way for us to come home to ourselves.  If we, as parents and teachers and friends, are not connected to ourselves, how can we possibly expect to connect with those we love? I’m so profoundly grateful to live in this beautiful and safe place where we have such space and freedom.








Today we made sourdough bread stuffing, sweet potato pie, maple cream pie and roast chicken and talked about the work of all the farmers we know who helped to make it possible. Eating local isn’t just about health and wellness, the building of community, support for sustainable agriculture and environmental protection… it’s also about education and respect.  When you know the person whose work puts food on your table, that food has such value and so does their labour. So do they.




Monday, October 14, 2013 – Filed under: Uncategorized ::


Pablo Neruda’s Ode to a Chestnut makes me think of my family, especially my children & how nature works in such wondrous ways. There is so very much to be thankful for today, and every single day.



From bristly foliage

you fell

complete, polished wood, gleaming mahogany,

as perfect

as a violin newly

born of the treetops,

that falling

offers its sealed-in gifts,

the hidden sweetness

that grew in secret

amid birds and leaves.

a model of form,

kin to wood and flour,

an oval instrument

that holds within it

intact delight, an edible rose.

In the heights you abandoned

the sea-urchin burr

that parted its spines

in the light of the chestnut tree;

through that slit

you glimpsed the world,


bursting with syllables,




the heads of boys

and girls,

grasses stirring restlessly,

smoke rising, rising.

You made your decision,

chestnut, and leaped to earth,

burnished and ready,

firm and smooth

as the small breasts

of the islands of America.

You fell,

you struck

the ground,


nothing happened,

the grass

still stirred, the old

chestnut sighed with the mouths

of a forest of trees,

a red leaf of autumn fell,

resolutely, the hours marched on

across the earth.

Because you are


a seed,

chestnut tree, autumn,

earth,water, heights, silence

prepared the germ,

the floury density,

the maternal eyelids

that buried will again

open toward the heights

the simple majesty of foliage,

the dark damp plan

of new roots,

the ancient but new dimensions

of another chestnut tree in the earth.