Spring! Good tidings of great joy

March is marching forward! February flew by in a blink and we’re already a week into this new month. I’m loving the warmer days scattered between the colder ones as spring breaks through winter. There is evidence of new life everywhere and the trees bursting into bloom, the buds forming and the first flowers popping up. I went to Kings Mountain State Park a couple of weeks ago and spotted my first blooming trout lily, its delicate petals folded back like origami and the spotted green leaves reminding me of trout swimming upstream. The ground was littered with them, gleaming in delicate ovals among last fall’s leaves, a hopeful little beacon of yellow and red and green. A few years ago I didn’t know they existed and now I look forward to them as one of the first signs of spring. This time of year is so exciting and I always have a list of native plants I look out for, including the snowy white blood root, trillium, hepatica, trailing arbutus and more.

I feel like a kid again on a treasure hunt.

I’ve heard that if we return to the passions and pursuits of our childhood, we find our purpose. 

I’m still figuring that out, but I do know not much has changed since I was a youngster and could be found in one of two places : absorbed in a book or wandering our three acres in Alberta looking at plants, digging for salamanders in gopher hills (turns out they love that moist, dark, rich Canadian soil churned up by rodents) or raising a baby bird until it’s ready to fly on its own. I spent hours in our driveway going through the gravel looking for – and finding – fossils, entranced every time I found a delicate imprint of shell in a rock. I kept my treasures in a yellow Sesame Street lunchbox. I had interesting rocks, fossils, a perfectly shaped hawk skull, a marvelous piece of petrified wood I found one day while walking across the farmer’s field behind our house and other interesting things that caught my eye. I also spent hours in my treehouse, patiently enticing chipmunks and squirrels to eat sunflower seeds out of my hand. I remember once climbing up into the branches of the huge poplar tree that held up the tree house and feeling it sway in the wind, the ground so far below I felt a little dizzy. 

As a child, it wasn’t a conscious decision to do these things, I just did them because I loved them. I was often perfectly content to roam alone. People are complicated, nature is not. Some days I’d spend an afternoon following an ant across the yard to see where it was going. These days I have to carefully plan out my nature forays, slipping them in brief pockets of time when I’m not needed by work, responsibilities or family. I keep trying to figure out what my next step will be, what I want to do with life as my daughter gets older and starts to build her own life. I want to learn and travel and find plants, but I’m not sure how to do those things or how to make it sustainable. I feel this urgency to take action now, do things while I can and while I still have the ability. I’ll turn 42 this year and I realize that more time is never promised. I know this so well. 

In the never ending daily routine, it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that this is all finite and we don’t get do-overs. At least, not that I’m aware of. I always get a little restless with the changing of the seasons, but at this phase of my life, it’s more acute. Take action now, be rebellious, break out of the rut, and grab hold of what truly inspires you. 

Over the past few years, I’ve been on some truly fun forays into nature, usually trying to complete a mission sent to me by my botanist friend, Bill Moye, who lives in NYC. I often fail, but I always learn something and when I do succeed it is especially sweet.

One time I went with a friend to find this plant called the Death Camas. It grows above the banks of the river in a very particular location, draped over the water and when it’s in bloom, it is dazzling. Tiny white flowers exploding like sparklers. My friend and I waded up a creek, through quicksand, and in the cold river water, almost up to my upper thighs at times, but when I spotted this plant, I felt this elation that will stick with me for life. The work it took to find it made it that much more rewarding. These days I often find myself in the woods, whispering the scientific names like a witches spell. Hexalectris spicata! Monotropis odorata! I feel like Harry Potter. I often go off trail to look at something, crouching over the ground, talking to myself until another hiker comes by and I realize how weird I must look. There’s just so many interesting things to see and learn out in the world, and with the current state of affairs, I feel like our planet is increasingly at risk to lose everything that is pure and beautiful. I want to learn and see and protect. 

I could ramble on, I’m sitting writing and sipping a little champagne at the Wine Collective in Shelby, but I’ll stop here and bid you adieu. Maybe the next time I post I’ll have figured out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. Doubtful, since I mostly wing everything, but possible.

Happy March!

Like to bookstore browse? Me too. Check out some of my faves.

I’m so excited. It’s Sunday afternoon and I have a book delivery scheduled to arrive at any moment. Retrieving that package from my front door step and ripping into it is kind of like Christmas even though I bought it for myself and know what it’s in the box. I just ordered All Fours by Miranda July, which has received many rave reviews, and The Salt Path by Raynor Winn, which I think was just made into a movie. At this point, I’d need to be trapped in my house for a solid six months with nothing else to do to burn through my stacks of books but I can’t stop hoarding, like Scrooge with his vault of coins. I just finished Heaven and Earth Grocery Store by James McBride and really enjoyed it. It was insightful, relevant for our times, tackled deep topics of prejudice and racism in an easy to read way, had wonderful quirky characters and the ending was just what I needed. I may have shed a happy little tear when I closed it. 

Although I order my tomes online when there’s something specific I want (and feel some guilt about it) my true joy is browsing in a bookstore and seeing which one follows me home. 

LIttle local bookshops, especially used bookstores, are my very favorite places. 

I was thinking of all the ones I enjoy within an hour of me and decided to compile a list. 

Here it is and feel free to suggest others I may not know about!

Got Books, 814 S. Washington St., Shelby

Lucky for me, this used bookstore is right in my backyard and I have access to it any time I want.

It has a great selection of reads from more current releases to the classics, fiction, nonfiction, religion, romance and a children’s section. I’ve found many great books here. They also sell CDs, crystals, coffee and Kratom. The wooden cat statues aren’t for sale but I LOVE them and they add charm to this quirky store. 

They are open Monday through Saturday and have a Facebook page: Got Books! Books, Music, Movies and More

Belmont Bookshop, 7 N. Main St., Belmont

I recently spent a day off browsing in this adorable bookstore (and they have Libby, the bookshop dog!) and ended up purchasing Claire Keegan’s collection of short stories, Antarctica, which is fantastic. I love their curated selection and have to really discipline myself to limit how many I purchase. The shop has such a cozy vibe with a little loft for the children’s section, plants for sale and a big table where sometimes there is a community puzzle going on. It’s only been open a year but has become a vibrant gathering space and social hub. They have all kinds of book clubs going on (including a blind date bookclub), author events and other activities, such as board game night. They often donate a portion of their proceeds to different local helping agencies too, which is really cool.

You can find Belmont Bookshop on Facebook and they have a website, belmontbookshop.com.

Cleary’s Bookstore, 105 N. Main St., Mount Holly

If you want to do your own book crawl, after you leave Belmont Bookshop, head on over to Mount Holly and stop at Cleary’s Bookstore. It is a woman-owned and operated business that is absolutely delightful. The bright yellow door just invites you to come in and it’s just as warm and cheery inside. There’s a great variety packed in a small space and a separate children’s room. Cleary’s is also a wonderful community gathering place and has book clubs, author and other events, lectures and more.

Check them out on Facebook or their website clearysbookstore.com.

Next Door Used Books, 139 Thomas St., Forest City

This delightful used bookshop is tucked away on a quiet street in charming downtown Forest City. It is such a sweet little store with a really good variety of used books and some gift items. There are also plenty of comfy seating that invite people to linger, chat and read. 

As an added bonus, after you spend some time browsing, head over to Pie Safe Baking Company at 102 W. Main St. and treat yourself to a delectable baked good.

Next Door Used Books can be found on Facebook.

Thornwell Books, 202 S. Sterling St., Morganton

I recently discovered this bookstore and made a visit last week. It has a coffee shop inside and lots of little reading nooks and gathering spaces. There’s an upstairs that has couches and seating.  It’s a great place to browse, hang out and meet friends. They also have a cool statue at their new release table and some great book clubs. After you’re done sipping coffee and picking out that perfect next read, I’ve heard Mountain Burrito is a great lunch stop.

Find Thornwell Books on Facebook or their website, thornwellbooks.com

I’m always on the hunt for a new place to visit! Where should I go next?

So long ago

After a slow Sunday morning reading Heaven and Earth Grocery Store by James McBride and sipping coffee at the coffee shop I sternly disciplined myself when I got home and started doing some cleaning. I was putting away a flashlight that had been sitting around since the hurricane knocked out the power in September when I happened to see an old photo album in the desk drawer and I idly flipped it open to a photo taken when I was about 18.

In the photo, I’m sitting at a table wearing a blue NYC sweatshirt holding a pair of chopsticks with plates of food spread out in front of me, including a crab. My hair is cut short and I look like a 14 year old orphan waif. 

I remember sitting in that small kitchen, watching as Alice cooked the meal and feeling amazed that I was in this big city, so far from rural Alberta where I grew up.  

It was my first trip to New York City and I had taken the Greyhound bus from Gastonia by myself to the Big Apple to visit my Chinese friend who had adopted the name Alice in honor of our Sunday school teacher. I wish I knew her real name. I met Alice when she was living in Boiling Springs and I volunteered to help her with her English. We would read children’s books together but mostly just talk about life in the United States and China and our families and lives. I would help her with her English and she taught me some Chinese characters and words and how important inflection is. She worked six or seven days a week in the tiny town’s Chinese restaurant and lived with the owners in a small brick house down a quiet street. Sometimes I would come over and hang out and she made me bowls of glass noodles or peanut butter sandwiches with grapes on them. Even when I protested, she was always making me some kind of food. When she moved to NYC she invited me for a visit. I hadn’t been in the United States long and was still adjusting to life in North Carolina but I was ravenous to see the world and experience life, even though I was afraid. My parents dropped me off at the bus station (so young, so naive, so inexperienced, how did they let me go?? Probably because they were resigned to the fact that there was no stopping me once my mind was made up and I decided to do something).

The only thing I remember about the bus ride was that it was interminable and I was freezing cold the whole way there.

And then we were in New York and I was thrust into this bright, whirling, busy new world. I was a bewildered prairie girl cast adrift in the big city and it was so foreign to me – the mass of people, the big buildings, the bustle and noise and energy. I was stunned and awed and loved it and hated it.

There was no one there to greet me when I arrived and I remember calling Alice over and over until she finally, sleepily, answered the phone. She promised to come soon. I hung around outside the station for awhile but after a man approached me and offered to take me shopping, I went back inside and found a little cafe where I remained until Alice got there. She immediately introduced me to some friends and took me on a marathon shopping trip through China Town, popping in and out of shops, browsing among clothes and purses while I tried to pretend I wasn’t exhausted. We had lunch in an authentic Chinese restaurant where I had pieces of cow stomach for the first time. We bought crabs at a market and Alice cooked them for me in her tiny apartment that night and it was the first time I’d had crab. Ah the memories! The rest of the trip was a blur of food, more shopping, swimming through crowds of people like a salmon and drinking in the vast, teeming pot of humanity.

On the way home, before we set out for the long journey back south, our bus driver gave an impassioned speech about how much he hated cell phones (this was in the days of flip phones that were built like a brick) and how he didn’t tolerate them on his bus. Well, lo and behold, a woman sauntered onto the bus and immediately started talking on her cell phone. We had gone several blocks but the driver whipped that bus around at a traffic light like a mom with a passel of youngins arguing in the back seat and drove it back to the station where she was loudly escorted down the aisle and out of the bus.

That trip was my first big, solo adventure, but it wouldn’t be the last.

Week One

We’re just over a week into the new year and I feel like it’s a good time to take stock of how things are going so far. It’s been so cold and dark and a little gloomy lately which has honestly made it easy to crush my reading goal of 25 minutes in 25. The only thing I want to do lately is immerse myself in a hot bubble bath, under a pile of covers in bed or somewhere warm and cozy, all with a book in hand. I’m writing this right now in the sweet little local wine shop,  Wine Collective, in Shelby. I’m sitting in a room made festive with white lights around the window and a view of our historic court square sipping a glass of rose. 

My book club chose God of the Woods for our latest read and I ended up devouring it in a matter of days. Liz Moore is a master storyteller and wordsmith and I found myself staying up late more than once, caught up in the twists and turns of the tale. Set in the Adirondacks at a summer camp for the wealthy, it tells the story of a banker family whose beloved young son mysteriously disappears one afternoon after an annual decadent summer party. He is never found and the event casts a shadow over the family, nearby town and the camp and nature 

preserve where the boy went missing. Then, about 13 years later, his sister also vanishes. It’s a story of family secrets, betrayals, heartache and hope. It’s also about women’s rights (or lack therof), the gap between the privileged and those who serve them and the lengths we’ll go to protect the ones we love. 

I learned a few new words too. For me, her writing is everything I want in a book. 

After I finished it, I felt a little lost and bereft and had to cast around in my stacks for a bit to find something I could lose myself in again. I ended up picking up Abigail Thomas’ newest book, “Still Life at Eighty” and as usual, it’s like sitting down with an old friend and catching up. Her words are a balm, a piece of good chocolate you savor slowly and I’ve been taking my time reading it. There are so many gems it’s hard to pick one, but one of my favorite quotes so far is “Always take a cookie when the plate is being passed.” If there is an opportunity, a chance to do something new, fun or beneficial, take the cookie. Life is finite and there are a limited number of cookies you will be offered, so even if it’s not the “right time” just take it.

Another motto my sister and I have adopted this year is “It’s not that serious,” because let’s be real, it rarely is. I keep thinking about how temporary all this is and how much we waste. Time, energy, let’s live and be stunned by it. I’ve tried to write a book many times over and I keep getting stumped. Maybe this year I actually do it. 

In other news, my friend and I have planned our first book swap party, set to take place next month, and I’ve got some big hiking goals for this year (the Lord willing and creek don’t rise) and I want to travel. I’ve been stationary too long and it makes me feel a little crazy.

Hope your 2025 is off to a fulfilling and gentle start.

Welcome, 2025

Cheers to the New Year

New Year’s Eve.

It’s 9 p.m. and I’m on my couch at home with my slippers on and the distant sound of fireworks crackling somewhere in the neighborhood while Natalie’s music thumps overhead. Last year at this time I was celebrating New Year’s Eve in New York City with friends. At the stroke of midnight, we ran through Central Park with hundreds of other people while the most brilliant fireworks exploded in the sky, the booms echoing eerily off the skyscrapers around us and the energy of a thousand souls pushed our feet forward. It looks a little different this year but that’s OK. Nat and I took a drive at sunset, chasing cotton candy pink clouds and reminiscing about some of the familiar places we passed. Then we ordered a pizza when we got home and baked a chocolate cake. I might not even stay up until midnight and if I do, it will probably be unintentional. 

I’ve been thinking about resolutions and decided I’ll definitely have a reading goal because book goals are always good goals.

Gretchen Rubin, the New York Times bestselling author, speaker and podcaster, has started a challenge called Read 25 in ‘25, which is the very achievable goal of reading 25 minutes a day, every day. I like it, and I am going to join in. Sometimes just picking up a book and getting started is the hardest part and then next thing I know, 25 minutes turns into 45.

So, let’s do less mindless scrolling and more reading this year!

In all the chaos and heartbreak of life, books are such a little treat, a magic carpet that whisks us away from our own world and into the worlds of others. I meet people, become immersed into their lives, learn things, hear their secrets and fears and triumphs and tragedies. Like other forms of art, words have the ability to feed and heal the soul.

My sister and I both bought Elizabeth Strout’s latest book – Tell Me Everything – for each other for Christmas so we’re both reading it at the same time. I always find her books to be like a comfortable sweater on a cold day or a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. I get so absorbed into the story, I feel like I’m there, in that little town in Maine with all of its idiosyncratic characters. I hate to leave her little world and enter back into mine.

It’s a drizzly, grey end of December day, perfect for snuggling up on the couch with my very good dog and a blanket and Strout. 

In addition to my reading goal, I have others because I can never resist making goals for the New Year, even small, silly ones. It’s just fun and it always feels like the new year is a blank slate, so fresh and hopeful and just waiting to be filled with wonderful things. 

I want to take fun trips and visit new places and eat good food and cook in the kitchen and make more good memories. South Dakota is at the top of the  list of places to go this year and I can’t wait. I want to spend time with the people I love. Natalie graduates this year and we’re planning a trip to celebrate this milestone.

I want to go to concerts and visit museums. My friend Ann and I have also started filling up a little glass olive jar with slips of paper and on the paper are things we want to do and adventures we want to take. Every day we text each other with a new idea – “add that to the jar!” We say. There is everything in the jar, from sipping wine at a new wine shop to hosting a book swap party to biking across Cuba and visiting a historic leper colony museum in Louisiana. 

I want to write more and hike more. I sort of abandoned both this year but my heart and soul need my words and wild places. I told Ann I was going to write about our jar and its adventures as we complete them and then I’m going to post them here even though I sometimes cringe at my words.

I want to study Botany. I love native plants and I want to learn more. I want to spend less time frittering away hours on nothing and make the most of the time I have. 

So, that’s what I want for 2025. More wonder, more joy, more purposeful experiences and love and healing and small connections. 

Cheers!

City love

New York City

I grew up in rural Alberta where the loudest sounds were the wind combing through the tops of the poplars in the backyard like ocean waves and coyotes yipping at night in the dark. My childhood was shaped by wide open expanses of sunny canola fields, gravel roads as straight as an arrow and the river carving through the sturgeon valley. Although I loved the northern summers that allowed me to read Lad the Dog until the last climactic fight at the very end, and it was magic to wake up at midnight to smoky aurora borealis crackling across the dark sky outside my bedroom window in winter, the wandering dreamer in me craved the bustling noise and color of a city. Maybe I felt it would ease my loneliness. Maybe we always crave what we don’t have. Civilization often felt a long ways away and to my impatient eyes, life was passing me by and I was tasting none of it. But life has a way of carrying you along and life sometimes allows you pieces of your dreams. I don’t take it for granted. I’ve seen a few cities around the world – Antigua, London, Florence, Almaty – and I hope to see many more before I die. I’m hopeful life will grant me that. In the meantime I revel in the fact that I’ll be going to Philadelphia soon and I am still feeling lingering pleasure over my New York City trip, the second time I’ve been. I fell in love with that city. Walking down Bleecker street with a cup of coffee and then strolling through Washington Square Park was a DREAM. I wanted to never leave. It was all magic, the brownstones, the people playing card games in the park, the buildings whose tops were obscured by mist, the steam escaping from the grates, the graffiti, the noise, the happy chaos, the sway of subway trains and the friendly vibe of the neighborhoods and the little bookstores and Central Park and the diner where we ate lunch and the High Line, and the museum with the Georgia O’ Keefe painting and the Brass Monkey where I drank too many Pick Me Girls and running the length of Manhattan and seeing the New Jersey palisades and getting drenched in a downpour the last two miles and the quirky Jane Hotel and wonderful food and friendly people and diversity and so much human joy and angst and pleasure and and and… Sigh. I think I was truly supposed to have grown up there. But my heart has room to encompass it all. The city and the wild, natural places I love. I need them both. They are my yin and yang.

How I lost my wallet and found my faith in humanity

Life can be harsh. 

Every time I open the newspaper or scroll through my phone, I see the worst of humanity splashed all over the pages: nature exacting her pound of flesh, inflammatory politics, abuse of power, lack of empathy and so much anger and hate. When a 6-year-old child is beaten to death for drinking out of a toilet, it’s hard to hold onto hope for this world. 

But even when it feels hard to see and the darkness crowds out the light, I am reminded that goodness is out there and we just need to choose to see it. Acts of kindness are all around us, and sometimes one small act sparks another. Even a small candle can light up the darkness.

Last night, I made a late night trip to Walmart to pick up my daughter’s favorite salt and vinegar Pringles and a few other items. I was in a hurry but after drinking a coffee and a bottle of water a couple of hours earlier, I was desperate for a bathroom and resigned myself to using the Walmart facility. After using the bathroom I rushed out and grabbed a drink, sandwich from the deli, strawberry cupcakes and chips, juggling everything in my arms. Women’s shorts don’t have pockets, a real travesty, and it wasn’t until I approached the self check-out that my heart sank with the realization that I had my keys and phone but no wallet. It had to be in the bathroom. In a panic I dropped everything on the closest surface and returned to the bathroom stall where I had the memory of setting it down on top of the toilet paper dispenser and no subsequent memory of picking it up again. It was gone. Very, very gone. I retraced my steps in the faint hope that I had dropped it or set it down somewhere along the way, but it was nowhere in sight. I stopped at customer service where an overworked and underpaid employee was handling a merchandise return and asked if anyone had turned in a wallet. No, she said, no one had. 

In despair, my mind and stomach churning, I walked empty handed back to my car already taking stock of the losses. $150 in hard-earned cash. Debit card, credit card, social security card, house keys, gift cards, drivers license. My whole life. I immediately logged into my bank account and canceled the cards, and then feeling surprisingly naked and vulnerable and empty, I returned home. When I told my friend what had happened, he suggested going through the bathroom trash can, thinking someone may have taken the cash and dumped the rest. He persuaded me it was worth a shot and we headed back to Walmart. I half-heartedly poked around among the damp paper towels and random bits of flotsam and jetsam but my wallet was not there. I cursed Walmart people and their lack of scruples, convinced that if I had lost it somewhere else, it might still be in the bathroom. I stopped at customer service once more on the way out and the woman at the counter said she had just arrived at work and didn’t know if anyone had turned in anything. The first customer service woman came out of another room with a big grin on her face. “

I was just thinking about you,” she said, holding up my wallet.

Someone had turned it in. 

I nearly cried with joy. Instant relief flooded through me and I felt as if the world suddenly brightened three shades. When I opened it, everything was still there, including the cash.

I don’t know who turned it in, but I am so grateful to them.

It got me thinking about all the other times I’ve witnessed goodness. I think of the friends who regularly donate blood, which literally save lives, and of the people in our community who work to help those without homes or resources and the group who walks early in the morning in my neighborhood and picks up trash along the way and the local emergency responders collecting donations for Kentucky flood victims and the people spreading joy and beauty through their art and even the smallest things, like the way a man recently told me that when he was a teenager working at Publix he had to tell people “have a good day” and at first it annoyed him having to say those words but after awhile he saw the power that simple friendly phrase could have.

So, today I am celebrating the good – and the return of my wallet – while I wait on that new debit card to arrive, a reminder to me to have faith and hold fast onto the belief that there is hope for us after all.