Today is the single largest postcard mailing date for our 40.3 million postcards to rally Democrats to vote across key states and districts!

On October 17th, the air was chill and a giant Hunter’s Super Moon lit up the night sky over the Lodge where Kit resides.

Birthdays, whether we choose to celebrate them or dance quietly around their annual arrival, are a gift.

As the daughter of a career Air Force officer and pilot, I grew up around planes but never learned to fly.

In my friend Nina’s kitchen and fertile writer’s mind, there are traces of distant other worlds and, she will tell you, something is always combusting.

Rain.  A respite from daily rounds of watering that have kept the gardens hydrated this past dry August.

Peekay, my gregarious ginger Tabby/Bengal kitten, would like to weigh in this morning on a number of subjects.

September is off and running with a return of sunshine and hot summer temperatures. 

Those lazy summer days when the sun makes movement slow to a crawl and people think unambitious thoughts.

Washington, D.C. has played a role in my life for over sixty years.

Whether you are in the American Midwest when summer heat and humidity are thick enough to slice or anywhere hot around the world, ice cream is a universal language.

Recently my friend Phyllis wrote that for some reason she had been compelled to read a book on grieving.

For Kit’s 86th birthday on August 6th, I gave him a copy of author Peter Hessler’s newest book Other Rivers: A Chinese Education.

Well, a lot has happened in Peekay’s life since he arrived at the Salter home in the Sierra Foothills a month ago.

Since reading “The Cold Dish,” the first Longmire novel, I’ve sung the praises of consummate storyteller author Craig Johnson.

The final chapter in my book Notes From Boomerang Creek is entitled “The New Old West” and begins with an essay on the American cowboy.

Thirty years ago, my journey as an essayist began following the Great Flood of ’93 in the Midwest.

Louise and I have a special history. She met my plane when I first arrived at the Columbia Regional Airport in October 1988, ready to trade life in big cities for a house and barn on seven acres in the country.

The Montmorency cherry is a tart sour cherry that originated in the Montmorency Valley in France sometime before the 17th century.