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.

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 quiet summer morning becomes a reminder that success isn't always measured by being busy. From gardening and fly tying to teaching beginners in the Smokies, this Field Note is about choosing a slower, more intentional life.

This first Field Note shares a summer morning inside our converted old church—living without air conditioning, tending the garden, returning from Minnesota, and finding beauty in ordinary life.