Nature & Books belong to the eyes that see them.
- Emerson
December 5, 2024
I Feel Bad About My Neck
December 2, 2024
A Month in Summary - November 2024
November 30, 2024
The Wild Trees
- The coast redwood is the tallest species of tree on earth. The tallest redwoods today are between 350 and close to 380 feet in height--thirty-five to thirty-eight stories tall.*
- Nobody knows the ages of any of the living giant coast redwoods, because nobody has ever drilled into one of them in order to count its annual growth rings. Drilling into an old redwood would not reveal its age, anyway, because the oldest redwoods seem to be hollow; they don't have growth rings left in their centers to be counted. Botanists suspect that the oldest living redwoods may be somewhere between two thousand and three thousand years old--they seem to be roughly the age of the Parthenon.
- By the measure of overall size--the volume of wood--the largest species of living tree on earth is not the coast redwood but the giant sequoia, a type of cypress that is closely related to the coast redwood.
- There are very few birds in the redwood canopy. Redwoods produce poisons in their wood and needles that discourage insects from feeding on them, and consequently many species of birds that feed on insects go elsewhere to look for food.
"It helps us know how the forests work as a whole and how the trees work as organisms," she said. "Then we can help them out if they're having problems--and they are having problems. It occurs to me that I have a fairly cynical outlook on so many things in the world today--this insane world. But as long as we still have these trees, there's hope for us."
November 28, 2024
Left on Tenth: A Second Chance at Life
All these different friendships. Mine with Eugene is both business and personal. These bonds matter. They are little homes. Places of safety. I am taking stock now. Friendship. God, I love my friends.
The silence in the apartment is loud.
And one single thing about all this: We were both seventy-two and age meant nothing. We were getting as loopy, as obsessed with each other as anyone falling under the spell of romance.
Dogs dig deep into your heart. They’re in the room, on the floor, in your lap, on the bed, pestering you for treats, chewing your sock, burrowing under sheets, making you laugh, following you about, eating the cheese you left on the table, tearing in wild happy circles after baths. They trust. They are innocence. They are unjudgmental observers of your every unguarded moment.
November 20, 2024
The Brave In-Between
Growing up in San Diego and rooting for the Padres, my brother and sister and I knew a little something about hope. We'd earned PhDs in hope. Most years, the Padres were out of contention by Mother's Day, but still we scrambled to get to games, pinning all of our dreams on Tony Gwynn* and remembering that miracles had a way of showing up despite it all. With a stirring in our hearts, we'd sit in the cheap seats, so high I thought we were closer to touching the moon than the field. What might happen?
Cancer is everywhere. I have friends and relatives currently battling this awful disease. I also know survivors. My younger brother was diagnosed with colon cancer at the age of 40. He is now 60 and cancer-free. So, to jump on my soap box--get your screenings, especially colonoscopies and mammograms. Cancer treatments have advanced, along with new technologies such as immunotherapy and target drugs. Early detection is critical!
Part medical narrative, part spirituality and philosophy, The Brave In-Between is both heartbreaking and uplifting. Recommend.
You can follow Amy Low on Instagram and Substack (Postcards from the Mountain).
*Sadly, Tony Gwynn died from complications of cancer of the salivary gland at the age of 54.
November 19, 2024
You Could Make This Place Beautiful
There are so many windows, the house is lit naturally all day long, and you can follow the sunlight as it moves from the back of the house at sunrise to the front at sunset. There are so many windows, I couldn't bear to hang blinds or full curtain panels. With only cafe curtains covering the lower halves of the windows, my head can be seen floating from room to room at night from the street. There are so many windows, living in this house is like living in a glass display case, especially after dark. There are few places to hide.
I wonder what I would put in my own dating profile. Poet, writer, single mother of two, Gen Xer, lifelong Ohioan, city mouse, vegetarian. Loves books, live music, travel, dogs not cats, black coffee and black tattoos, dark beer and dark chocolate. Self-employed. Author of several books. Liberal, pro-choice, agnostic, monogamous. Aquarius. Gregarious introvert. Funny as hell. Occasionally melancholic. Good cook. Bed sleeper. Woman who, let's be real, probably won't trust you. Woman who will try.
"A memoir is about 'the art of memory,' and part of the art is in the curation. This isn't the story of a woman who fell in love again and therefore was healed and lived happily ever after. This is a story of a woman coming home to herself."
Poems and songs aren't the same, but they both rely on voice and form, rhythm and sound play, metaphor and image, repetition and surprise.
There were aspects of this book that resonated deeply with me, taking me back to a sad time in my life. But like Smith, I carry that young self inside me with the realization that I have grown from those difficult experiences.
How I picture it: We are all nesting dolls, carrying the earlier iterations of ourselves inside. We carry the past inside us. We take ourselves— all of our selves —wherever we go.Inside forty-something me is the woman I was in my thirties, the woman I was in my twenties, the teenager I was, the child I was…I still carry these versions of myself. It’s a kind of reincarnation without death: all these different lives we get to live in this one body, as ourselves.
November 17, 2024
Golden Golf Club RV Park - Day Three
November 15, 2024
Golden Golf Club RV Park - Day Two
November 12, 2024
Bittersweet
One of the cornerstones of Keltner's research, which he summarized in his book Born to Be Good, is what he calls "the compassionate instinct"--the idea that we humans are wired to respond to each other's troubles with care. Our nervous systems make little distinction between our own pain and the pain of others, it turns out; they react similarly to both. This instinct is as much a part of us as the desire to eat and breath.The compassionate instinct is also a fundamental aspect of the human success story--and one of the great powers of bittersweetness. The word compassion literally means "to suffer together," and Keltner sees it as one of our best and most redemptive qualities. The sadness from which compassion springs is a pro-social emotion, an agent of connection and love; it's what the musician Nick Cave calls "the universal unifying force." Sorrow and tears are one of the strongest bonding mechanisms we have.














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