Yet March brings the cruelty of delayed anticipation, of yearning for signs of new beginnings, of suspension between the end of one thing and the beginning of the next.
To read the previous chapters of ‘Illuminating the Hidden Forest,’ click here.
During the winter, the forest is spare. We can look through the trees at...
We haven’t been in the woods for many days, Lily and I. I soon saw the wisdom of that absence in the downed limbs and needled branches littering the fresh snow.
For me, winter in the Berkshires involves quite a bit of curling up on a window seat in my snug den, maybe with a book in hand, my dog lying on my tummy, looking forward to an afternoon nap and an early bedtime.
As we celebrate the season's bounty at our Thanksgiving table, our Self-Taught Gardener Lee Buttala is thinking about the alternative feast going on outdoors.
Farmer Tom is a one man-show, unless you count the dozens upon dozens of animals that are slowly transforming the rugged land through rotational grazing patterns, proving, in short, that many hooves make light work.
