Field Notes

During a relentless East Tennessee drought, the streams are low, the elderberry cannot be moved, and nearly everything is wilting. Yet purslane remains—holding water, nourishment, and a lesson about surviving our own dry seasons.

My yard—and my life—had begun growing in too many directions at once. Between elderberries, new work, a growing fly-fishing community, and the loss of my apple trees, I’m learning that tending a life isn’t about controlling everything. Sometimes it means accepting help, letting go, and clearing just enough space to see the path ahead.

This weekend at Tremont Institute, I came to learn about aquatic ecology. I left thinking about rivers, resilience, and how nature never resists change—it simply finds another path.

After a sudden bicycle accident leaves my husband needing surgery for a shattered elbow, I find myself sitting alone in a waiting room reflecting on caregiving, guilt, herbal medicine, and unexpected change. This Field Note shares honest moments from the surgery center, the plants helping us heal at home, a mysterious Pandora sphinx moth, and the quiet realization that healing isn't only about broken bones—it can also become the beginning of a new chapter.

Summer in the old church brings cobwebs, June bugs, wasps, birds, and an ever-changing cast of animals beneath the house. In this Field Note, I reflect on a slower week, the rhythms of old-home living, and the unexpected wildlife that has become part of daily life.

A solo morning on Little River Trail reminded me that not every day in the Smokies has to end with a grand slam. Between euro nymphing, native plants, bear tracks, and quiet moments on the river, I found exactly what I needed.