July 2026
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Find Your Own Puddle
When I write about “the puddle,” I am talking about a small neighborhood lake behind my home in central Iowa. It has become one of the greatest teachers in my life. But this book is not really about my puddle. It is about learning to notice. Your puddle may not hold water at all. It… Continue reading
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The Wind You Can’t See
Some mornings, I find myself watching a simple spiral hanging beneath a tree in the front yard. It doesn’t make a sound. It doesn’t ask for attention. It simply waits. When the breeze arrives, it begins to turn. Not because it chooses to.Not because it has somewhere to be.Only because the wind has finally become… Continue reading
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The Days We Don’t See Much
Some days the puddle feels empty. The sparrows finish breakfast and disappear into the shrubs. Stella flies over only long enough to say hello before searching for cooler places. Shelly barely lifts her head above the water. The geese, rabbits, and squirrels all seem to know somewhere I cannot follow. It would be easy to… Continue reading
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After the Waiting
The day began beneath a heat advisory. By morning, the puddle had become quiet. The sparrows visited only long enough to gather breakfast before retreating to the shade. Stella flew over for a brief hello before disappearing again. Shelly barely broke the surface of the water, reminding me that sometimes survival looks remarkably still. Everyone… Continue reading
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The Feeder That Waited
For weeks, perhaps months, the woodpecker suet log had only one faithful customer. Pinecone. Our little squirrel seemed convinced it had been hung especially for him, and he happily nibbled away while I smiled at the irony of owning a woodpecker feeder without a woodpecker. But I never took it down. Some things are worth… Continue reading
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Return Begins Quietly
When the ducklings first appeared, nearly every movement was measured. They hugged the shoreline, slipped in and out of the shadows beneath the trees, and rarely strayed far from where their mother could gather them back together. Their world was still small enough to fit beneath her watchful eye. Today, it was different. The little… Continue reading
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The Walmart Bird Café
I laughed the day I finally admitted defeat. Over the past year I had purchased bird food from farm stores, specialty bird shops, and local feed stores. Premium blends. High-quality seed. Feeders designed by people who surely knew more than I did. The birds politely informed me they disagreed. Instead, they flocked to the inexpensive… Continue reading
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The Feather That Introduced Us
Every morning the feeders welcome another gathering of birds. Goldfinches, sparrows, grackles, cardinals, blackbirds. Most arrive as part of a larger chorus, impossible to count before someone lifts into the air and the whole scene changes again. Except one. One red-winged blackbird carries a single feather that refuses to lie flat. It stands just enough… Continue reading
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Good Enough
This morning, a familiar shape slipped quietly along the edge of the puddle. Our little beaver. Years ago, one of its kind claimed a tree in our yard for a meal. Many people would have seen only the damage. I remember seeing the tree, but I also remember thinking, We have a beaver. Today, there… Continue reading
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The Flock That Remains
These old photographs remind me that memory has a way of counting differently than the present. There was a time when our front yard filled with geese. Families covered the grass. Tiny yellow goslings followed their parents in every direction, and it felt as though the neighborhood itself belonged to them. Then the derecho came.… Continue reading
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