All posts by Trudy

Thoughts About the Universe These Mornings by Laura Marello

Colorful swirl in space
 

Everything is connected. Most of what the universe energy is, creation/destruction energy, we don’t understand. We underestimate the intelligence of other living things—other animals, plants, fungi, bacteria—perhaps we underestimate what is actually alive—and sentient—this planet, the creative energy that created this solar system and everything beyond. What is the purpose of spiritual feelings—feelings of oneness with all life on the planet, with the universe, feeling of a connection to the universe? What is the purpose of what living things—plants, animals, human animals, and perhaps fungi and bacteria—discover when exposed to psychedelic chemicals in mushrooms and … Continue reading Thoughts About the Universe These Mornings by Laura Marello

A Winter’s Tale by Trudy Hale

Photo of open wood stove, fire inside
 

4:30 a.m. A barely audible humming wakes me from a deep sleep. It’s a faint yet unfamiliar sound. I am used to the quiet, to the ordinary sounds, so this new sound disturbs me. I am trying not to be worried, but I am and lie wide awake, listening. Yes, now I’m sure it’s not a sound I’ve heard before. My house is old, an 1854 farm house and wood may swell or shrink, a floorboard creak, a piece of furniture, a door. I know these sounds. The daytime sounds are recognizable—a tractor ploughing feed-corn … Continue reading A Winter’s Tale by Trudy Hale

Call of the Wild by Trudy Hale

Photo of bear cub on tree limb
 

I wanted to write about hunting season here in the rural countryside, the howling packs of dogs, the men and women who sit in muddy trucks on the side of the road with loaded guns, waiting, and the orphaned black bear cubs. I also wanted to write about my Mississippi cousin who transported cross-country in the back of his Toyota pickup, a taxidermied bear’s head bagged on a Native American reservation in New Mexico. But October calls me, like the wild and wild things, to write about my wild nephew. He will be turning twenty … Continue reading Call of the Wild by Trudy Hale

One August Afternoon by Trudy Hale

Close up photo of spiral of a notebook
 

I am waiting at the Chicken Co-op, pronounced ‘coop,’ inside the Exxon gas station and convenience store in Lovingston, Virginia. A couple of blocks away the mechanic is changing my car’s oil, rotating the tires. I’m not very good at waiting. Delayed planes, bank lines, stop-n-go stalled traffic. Pedicures. In the Chicken Co-op a narrow island counter is a few feet away from the hot food display. I climb onto the metal chair and sit at the lunch counter. To survive the wait, instead of reading and not remembering much of what I’ve read, I … Continue reading One August Afternoon by Trudy Hale

A Bridge to Somewhere by Alex Joyner

Car driving over bridge under darkened sky
 

Something there is that doesn’t love a bridge. At least on Virginia’s Eastern Shore. Oh, when I lived there, we were proud of the engineering marvel that connects the waning end of the Delmarva Peninsula to the Hampton Roads metropolis across the Chesapeake Bay. With two tunnels, four high bridges, and twelve miles of trestle bridge across the mouth of the nation’s largest estuary, the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel is an impressive structure. But natives of the Shore have always viewed it with some ambivalence, much as they have viewed the rest of the land “across … Continue reading A Bridge to Somewhere by Alex Joyner

The Pleasure of Ruins by Trudy Hale

Black and white photo of rundown cottage in woods
 

Not too long ago, I was walking my black lab down Norwood Road when an acquaintance stopped his truck to chat. He said he was concerned about my neighborhood. Wasn’t I embarrassed for writers to come to the retreat and see all these ruined and abandoned houses here in Norwood? It’s a shame. It hurts him every time he passes through our hamlet, he said. He then announced that he was going to buy up as many of the forlorn houses as he could (he has the means) and renovate and turn them into Airbnbs. … Continue reading The Pleasure of Ruins by Trudy Hale

I Can’t Believe It. I Forgot to Read Jane Austen! by E. H. Jacobs

Photo of piles of books
 

I can’t help thinking about what I haven’t read. Every year, I try to read at least one piece of classic literature that I had overlooked, never got around to, or was not included in the curricula of whatever classes I took. The books I should have read. The books every literate person should read. I feel like the woman in that Roy Lichtenstein lithograph sadly proclaiming: “I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. I FORGOT TO HAVE CHILDREN!” Except what I forgot was to read Jane Austen, and so much more. One year, I savored Homer’s Odyssey¸ … Continue reading I Can’t Believe It. I Forgot to Read Jane Austen! by E. H. Jacobs

A Small Marvel by Trudy Hale

Close up of red rose petals
 

After an eighteen-hour flight with a connection in Dubai, my daughter, Tempe, and I landed in Delhi. Throughout the trip I posted photographs on Facebook with simple descriptions. Palace of Winds, the Baga Border at sunset, a boat ride at dawn on the Ganges. Before the trip I had wondered if I would be gifted with a dramatic adventure tale, as travel in my hippie-chick days provided when I hitchhiked through Europe, a sleeping bag and dulcimer strapped on my back and a chip of acid hidden in a lipstick tube and no return ticket … Continue reading A Small Marvel by Trudy Hale

My Wife Is In Love by E. H. Jacobs

Photo of sewn hearts, two red, one pink, connected together
 

Five years ago, my wife fell in love. I’m not talking about me (we have been married thirty-nine years, so I hope the falling in love thing happened much earlier). Through her genealogy research, my wife, Vicki, discovered a ninety-three-year-old cousin living on her own in Montreal. Vicki’s research started with one item that she found among her late parents’ belongings: a postcard, sent from Poland and written in Yiddish, that had been addressed to her paternal great-grandfather. This was her first inkling that she might have family that had not emigrated to the United … Continue reading My Wife Is In Love by E. H. Jacobs