Eliza Daley ~ Wordcraft & Musing on Home & Hope
In the past couple weeks I’ve encountered two new books from people who should know better claiming that our big brains and social systems are rooted in hunting. This is the bad penny of origin stories — Man the Hunter. It is time someone bites down on this one and shows once and for all… Continue reading Further Exegesis of A Man
St Swithin's day, if thou dost rain, For forty days it will remain; St Swithin's day, if thou be fair, For forty days 'twill rain na mair. It did not rain today. It was bright and sunny all day long. However, it was airless and so humid it felt like being submerged in tepid beef… Continue reading St Swithin’s Day
Because there isn’t an in between in this age of extremes, Vermont has gone from drought to deluge in one week. The heat has broken. Instead, there is a clammy chill that settles in the joints and swells doors well past sticky — there is much kicking involved in leaving the house. I can’t hang… Continue reading The Wednesday Word: 14 July 2021
My grandmother was born over a century ago in Ireland. We don’t know where. She would never say. She and her twin sister were adopted by the Daleys of Chicago. She changed from foundling to heiress as she crossed the Atlantic. Her name and her ancestors were abandoned on the quay — and she was… Continue reading My Grandmother’s Hands
When I was a teenager, my dad up and moved us from Northern California to Southern Indiana. I was not amused. There is no love lost between me and Hoosier-land, though I did and still do love the caves and karst topography. But I did learn things there. I learned that cow tipping is indeed… Continue reading Making Hay While the Sun Shines
Philosophers and mystics throughout time have been showing us that everything is connected, that humans are part of that everything, that unity is fundamental — and sacred. This tradition is more prevalent and prominent in the East and in most Indigenous cultures, but in the West we have our cosmologists and pantheists, even within the… Continue reading On the Existence of A Man
The front bank. I have an awkward garden, an awkward property actually. I have a house on the east side of the road. In front of the house is a bank at about a 75° downward slope. That is, it’s more like a cliff than a slope. At its highest, it is about eight feet… Continue reading A Xeriscape in Vermont
The cicadas began singing their strange song this week. Summer gets down to business when the cicadas come out. The days are getting shorter, but the heat is intensifying. Planting is over for a few weeks and the main activity in the garden is keeping the rampant growth in check. The weeds are taking over.… Continue reading The Wednesday Word: 7 July 2021
(Winifred Mumbles) They say there were one million pates under that sunset once upon a time. I imagine only once. Because I can’t imagine that impossible clot of humans happening twice. They littered the valley with their aspirations. Plastic. Fading. Tired even in youth. I can see the echoes under the rainbow sky. Foundations poured… Continue reading Ozymandias and the Dreamers
The Dog Days are upon us. For me, this name evokes childhood afternoons spent with my collie, Toby, reading under the fig tree, swimming in river pot-holes, and generally doing as little as possible. I have never loved summer best. I’ve never liked heat. Nor did Toby. We invented all sorts of escapes. Mind you,… Continue reading Dog Days of Summer
By My Solitary Hearth 