In-between spaces are dark and magical things. The in-between of mountain rock and prairie grass, the in-between of fall and winter, day...

The back patio overlooked the park, both careful cement and proper green a testament to aging suburbia. Maples and fir frame the sky...

Our forest was still scarred by bulldozer tracks, now mostly overgrown. A crew had felled several of the old growth oaks on that 22 acres of

Kindling fires smell different, all dried branches of elm and box elder. Neither are popular trees, especially box elder, as they scatter...

Few know my own wrestling with the holiday, how I loved it as a child, how I feared it as a teenager after one of my cousins was gunned down

Cold night rain beats hard against the clapboard siding, peeling blue and faded behind autumn-dead hydrangea. The hydrangea was planted...

Hallmark autumns are a time of fashionable flannels and hearty pumpkin carving, chilly, cozy nights and crisp, sunny afternoons.

The kitchen was dark, the evening uncharacteristically warm and blustery for so late in the season. Not a good night for a fire...

The day is dying. Late evening sun traces over top tree rafters of the grand old maples in the yard, the day's hazy orange light...

Rain is the bane of festivals and I sweated that whole Friday, day before StateoftheOzarks Fest '24. Also, sweated literally.

As in Appalachia, the Ozarks were largely settled by the Scots-Irish, resourceful, independent people who had left the British Isles...

Dust devils inspire all sorts of world folklore, some more hellish than others. I have, however, always loved them ever since my mom...

It is fair to say there's not another arts-and-crafts festival in the Ozarks quite like StateoftheOzarks and I like it that way.

This is my summer place, the place I once saw and felt and breathed in, in my childhood, a place that never was and I was never there...

The auction pauses and, as the light brightens, the faces in the crowd become again visible. Craggy faces, rough beards, old women...

This rain is heavier now, the sky darker. Oily storm drains fill as the rainwater runs down old French mansard roofs...

Breakfast, dinner, supper. Brunch was a foreign thing that yuppies had while wearing polo shirts with white slacks or big, flappy sweaters..

It wasn't my first trip to the orchard. My mom and I would visit often, picking our way through the bags of grade A fruit and fancy...

Culture is a weird word, a word denoting something high brow, something with snooty people and fine pearls.

The summer morning sun is bright and hazy. There's fog in the North valley. From somewhere comes the smell of sausage gravy and maybe...