I have always considered myself as someone who’s somewhat homegrown: I am a backyard garden tomato, with deep roots in good soil and Farmer’s Market pride
The Zen of Weeding [garden]
I know my vegetables. I know each of them. Spend hours here each week on your hands and knees, and you will know what it means to commune with your food.
Generations [church]
At a small church in rural Wisconsin, the changing of the guard reaches a standstill. What will happen to this place when nobody’s left to tend it?
Street life [window]
One window, one street corner.
Survivors [independence]
Each week, domestic violence survivors gather for a support group. To an outsider, the successes here can sometimes feel so miniscule, you might wonder why they matter. But they do.
My Toddler Tis of Thee [independence]
Like everything else in life, I planned to pull myself up by the bootstraps and figure motherhood out by instinct. And I didn’t want to hear another word about it.
Contact [freestyle: bus stop]
Some are enclosed in glass shelters. Some are just signs hammered into the ground. Some smell like urine; some look like modern art. But every bus stop has this in common: Each is a nexus–a place where our paths literally bump across the paths of others.
