Nurture in Nature

Nurture in Nature

View from a Sleeping Bag

“You were made and set here to give voice to this, your own astonishment.”
—Annie Dillard

I hear Dorea’s pad crinkle when she rolls over and Moni’s mini sigh-snores sing softly in my left ear, parts of the music of the night—our third on this trip to Joshua Tree National Park, and our first lined up “cowgirl camping” style, under the stars, tents forsaken.

My spendy new sleeping pad provides a level of comfort I have never known when sleeping on the ground—ahhhh. My hip bones don’t ache in the morning and my toes are toasty all night long, even in the wee hours of morning, those chilly hours when I pull my shirt up around my nose because its tip gets cold peeking out of my sleeping bag. Turning onto my side, hoping the rustling doesn’t wake my companions, I think about taking another peek at the stars. They have been glorious this night, with no netting between me and them. But as my eyes flutter open, it is the half-moon rising I spy instead. It is lustrous behind a lacy curtain of clouds, and so beautiful that I gasp. Then hope, again, not to have wakened Dorea and Moni.

As I lie here, snug and warm, watching the glowing clouds shift with the breeze and the moon’s slow and steady climb, I think of the many amazing views I have seen and the many sweet songs I have heard from the cocoon of my sleeping bag.

  • Distant lightning in the chasm of the Grand Canyon.
  • The Milky Way glowing from horizon to horizon on dark desert nights.
  • A marmot’s morning chittering from the hollow trunk of a nearby snag.
  • An Alaskan sunset in the shadows of Denali (yes, in a sleeping bag, but perched upon a lounge chair, wine glass in hand, while our wilderness cooked dinner).
  • A crisp November night on the flat roof of my home in New Mexico watching the Leonid Meteors streak across the sky.
  • Almost putting my hand on a camouflaged horned toad as I slid out of my sleeping bag on a cool desert morning.
  • And like that night, so many other moonrises—from the barest of slivers to full moons bright enough to wake me with their light—live as treasured memories of car camping and backpacking trips with beloved friends and family.

What is the thread that sews all this together? Nurture in nature.

Places without air or light pollution. Time away from media—social and otherwise. I am deeply grateful for deep breaths of clean air, dark night skies, time to focus on the beauty around me, and the most important thing to put my attention on is placing my feet firmly with each step I take, literally. Maybe metaphorically too, because I come back from these times of nurturance feeling more solid in myself.

Now, more than ever, I need to nurture and strengthen myself. Perhaps you find your strength in nature too—whether hiking a rugged trail or listening to a songbird trill while you sip your morning coffee. Nature has the power to heal us, and we have the power to protect it. May we find it in ourselves to protect our beloved National Parks, National Monuments, and many other public lands—my backyard and yours—from those who don’t understand their value or the value of their stewards (like Park Rangers and wilderness fire fighters and research scientists, to name just a few, who are being let go by the thousands under the guise of saving money (when one less presidential golf outing would pay for any number of their annual salaries)).

So, I’ll take my strength from those nights in a sleeping bag, and use it to fight for the places where I love to do so, and more. What are you moved to fight for?

artwork by Holly Moxley

No Words

No Words

There are no words, except for those in my second novel (working title Chances) which have been flowing steadily since late January. Because, I think, creativity can be an act of self-preservation. Because creativity can be an act of resistance. Because creativity, when destruction is everywhere, is vital.

But there are no other words.

What Inspires Me to Write

What Inspires Me to Write

“Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.”

James Baldwin

There are times when writing flows and times when it ebbs. For me, for months now, it has been ebbing. But with the dawn of this new year, a year in which it seems to me that creating art, in whatever way we do, will be imperative, I had to find words that inspired my own to flow again. This quote from James Baldwin’s 1963 bestseller, The Fire Next Time, are those words. I write because I believe being willing to be vulnerable reflects strength, rather than weakness. I write because I must remove that mask I “know I cannot live within.”

What inspires you?

Shop Local!

Shop Local!

The Jeff Bezoses of the world don’t really need more of your dollars, but every cent spent at a small, local business matters to your neighbors, your community, and your state. Shopping local supports the families of the folks who work at these shops—the shops that prioritize the people in YOUR community. Shopping local also supports your cities and states through tax revenue.

I’m a long-time bookseller, and now a partner, in a beloved local, independent bookstore in Albuquerque, New Mexico—Bookworks. And Holly worked at, and now owns, Bottle & Bottega in Portland, Oregon. These businesses support more than ten families in their respective communities. 

From necessities picked up daily at The Merc a few minutes from my house to the art on my walls from the Wild Hearts Artists’ Collective, small local businesses make my life better. Is there a shop around the corner from you that makes your life better?

Vincent Van Gogh said, “Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.” Take these words to heart, please, and support the local businesses in your communities—small purchases add up to big differences!

Happy Holidays and Shop Local!

Not for Sale

Not for Sale

My values are not for sale.

Integrity. Competence. Excellence. Kindness. The scientific process. Considering facts in decision-making. Not calling names (My mom taught me that before kindergarten. Didn’t yours?). And did I mention integrity?

My values are not for sale. Not for a tax cut. Not for a “drill, baby, drill” pennies-at-the-pump gas price decrease. Certainly not at the cost of destroying the democratic experiment we’ve been conducting in the U.S. for 248 years. 

Unlike the stock market, which spiked at the prospect of bigger corporate tax cuts and loosening business regulations, my hopes are at an all-time low. They’re going at fire-sale prices. Make me an offer for them, as I’d love to believe hopes are worth something.

But my values, they are not for sale. Not now. Not on January 20, 2025. Not ever.

So, those are some thoughts. And feelings, well, let’s start with profound sadness. But what will I do? I’m working on that.
What are your thoughts, feelings, and plans?