Some time ago—I can’t remember precisely, but I reckon about six weeks—I planted more zinnia seeds than were strictly necessary. They are so teeny, and I knew I should have handled them carefully. Well, two flung handfuls and a light raking later, I figured the rest was up to fate and Mother Nature’s whim.

I didn’t consider that fresh zinnia seeds might be enticing to squirrels. Apparently they are, to at least one furry little snacker that dug up most of the flower bed with zero remorse that I could see. Mr. Squirrel filled his belly.

It’s been very hot and dry, but I’ve kept the survivors watered. Something that I’m pretty sure is not a zinnia popped up between the little green sprouts, but I’m just gonna wait and see what happens there. Maybe the hungry squirrel left a tip.

But yesterday afternoon, this gorgeous little ball of sunshine was waiting for me, along with several more little buds that will hopefully be showing their faces soon.

I may or may not have yelled into the canopy of the oak trees, taunting Mr. Squirrel. My neighbor may or may not have heard me, but I choose to think they’re used to me by now.

This week, my manuscript and this baby bird appear to be in very similar stages of development—alive, promising, slightly wild-haired, and not yet ready for flight.

The first draft of Honey For What Hurts is officially finished, which sounds much more graceful than the reality of it. At the moment, the manuscript is being poked, prodded, questioned, criticized, rearranged, encouraged, side-eyed, and occasionally praised before immediately being criticized again. In other words: editing.

Some chapters are stretching their wings beautifully. Others are sitting in the metaphorical fern looking bewildered and demanding snacks.

Still, there’s something satisfying about this moment. The story exists now. Messy, imperfect and overgrown in places, but alive.

Also, I suspect this baby house finch and I are both one highlighter away from needing a nap and a strong, sweet coffee.

Yesterday, while tubing down the Dan River, I saw this little cabin tucked into the trees. It looked abandoned. The wood was weathered gray, the riverbank was crumbling away, and the trees crowded in closer than could possibly be healthy for the roof.

But then I looked a bit closer before the river carried me past. A porch swing was still on its chains and a set of wind chimes hung from a rafter.

The questions came before I could stop them. Who sits on the swing and watches the sunset? Who listens to the wind chimes when the breeze picks up? Who casts a line from that porch in the hopes of a fresh catfish?

Maybe there’s no great mystery or story to be told, but I feel like I’ll be thinking about that cabin for a few more days to come.

For the past two months, any visiting crows have had to play their own version of Survivor with the squirrels. Their little ramekin of peanuts sat next to the berries I put out for my trio of catbirds, and shared space with sunflower hearts for the wrens and finches. It was also a little lower than I think they felt comfortable with, as my dog would often nose their waiting treats.

What’s a crow-loving girl to do? Bribe her son to build a new crow café to put on a fence post, that’s what! In the photo, you can see a bit of kibble, a ramekin of peanuts, and a few little raspberries for dessert. I particularly love the carved trim with little vines around the edges.

I’ve not witnessed any visitors yet, but at least one peanut has disappeared!

Months ago, when I learned my nephew and his wife were expecting their first child, I promised to make them a quilt. The due date was ages away, so I felt no pressure at all. I ordered a kit with coordinating fabrics, tucked it away for later, and went on with my life.

About two weeks ago, I came across the kit and glanced at the calendar with no small amount of panic. I pulled out the fabrics, only to discover that one of my three cats had decided to… christen them with a truly powerful stink. I don’t know who did it, but everyone received dirty looks just to cover my bases.

I immediately called the mama-to-be and explained the situation, offering to buy whatever quilt she wanted and have it shipped immediately.

No thank you, she said. She wanted her baby to have a quilt I made.

I’m not going to lie — part of me was hoping she’d accept the offer and save me some time. But my heart did a little squeeze when I heard her say that, so I knew what I had to do.

Early this week, I drove to my favorite fabric shop, picked out all new fabrics, and got to cutting, stitching, sandwiching, quilting, and binding.

And I’m so glad I did.

It’s handmade and slightly imperfect, but full of love.

Exactly as it should be.

Meet Tom Petty, my recently appointed Minster of Slow Living. He’s a ceramic snail that gets moved from place to place within my garden—probably about once a month. He does occasionally get pooped on by an disapproving mockingbird (there is a very opinionated mockingbird that patrols my back yard), but he keeps on smiling and I keep on scrubbing him clean.

He judges the weeds, cheers on the flowers, supervises front porch activities, and reminds everybody that even a snail’s pace counts as progress.

He might belong among the wildflowers, but he’s perfectly happy nestled in between my hostas. For now.

OK, so we’re not talking Drag Race fierce, but she’s showing up!

Last year, I planted three little bare root roses that I grabbed from a sale shelf at Sam’s Club. They did pretty well, and have climbed up a trellis that had to be creatively attached to my porch. Side note: they were not labelled as climbers, but are obviously so motivated.

This Spring, the leaves started to come back quickly–along with a swarm of what turned out to be sawflies. They skeletonized more leaves than I’d like to admit before I bought some insecticidal soap and fought them back. I was worried, though, that the damage had been done.

Until yesterday afternoon! She’s a little bit raggedy, and a smidge on the small side, but she’s beautiful. And I counted at least 3 dozen more buds that will be backing her up soon enough.

I think she’s going to do just fine.

The insect world has obviously had a meeting and decided that I’m public enemy #1.

First there was the spider in the bathroom. He was small, but definitely a jumping spider, which immediately ups the stakes.

This morning, there was a camel cricket in the kitchen. Thankfully, Ursa had wounded it so its bouncing opportunities were limited and I was able to smoosh it with a carefully aimed trash can.

Now, I’m about 95% positive that I have a tick on my back. It’s in a weird spot so I can’t get a clear enough picture of it, or see it in the mirror, so I have to wait until my son wakes up to check it for me.

I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve this, but I’d like to issue a formal apology… just in case.

My dog, Muggle, will no longer respond to simple requests like “come”, “here”, or “let’s go inside”.

Every morning, she gets half a slice of American cheese wrapped around a pain pill, followed by a CBD tablet for her anxiety. This is followed by a bacon-adjacent chew strip that bounces off her forehead, without fail, because she refuses to try and catch it.

She’s learned this routine down to the second. She sits in the exact same spot, stumpy tail wagging, while I gather everything up. She only stands when I approach with “Here’s your cheese!”. She adores this routine and I imagine it’s comforting to her rescue dog nervous system.

So, if you hear me shouting “Cheeeeeeese” out my door at various times of the day, mind your business.