Linda Hoye's Blog, page 42
August 6, 2021
It’s Hard to Rest Easy
We wake to news of evacuation alerts and orders and reports of what hungry fires consumed while we rested. It’s hard to rest easy. With daylight comes updated reports of the monsters consuming our forests and communities. We don’t want to look, but we have too. We’re glad for wind that cleared smoke from our
Published on August 06, 2021 07:17
August 5, 2021
A Coffee Date
I leave the house in good time for a scheduled coffee date with a new friend downtown. When I get in the car, I see the bags we use for vegetables we harvest at the community garden in their space in the console and realize Gerry, who is down there working and harvesting, has nothing
Published on August 05, 2021 06:44
August 4, 2021
Clearing the Air
It’s the kind of morning that, a few months ago, would have had me saying “man, it’s smoky out there.” This morning I silently celebrate the joy of seeing distant hills through a smoky haze because it’s been impossible to see much of anything for weeks. Everything’s relative, isn’t it? I step out on the
Published on August 04, 2021 06:11
August 3, 2021
On Tuesday That Feels Like Monday
Gerry arrives home from a three day backpacking trip and I emerge from a weekend of solitude, looking forward to the return of a measure of routine. The garden calls. There are things to harvest, things to prune, things to pull, and, perhaps, things to plant. My gardening mojo is absent this year but we plod
Published on August 03, 2021 06:48
August 1, 2021
Whiteboard
To tell you the truth I’ve lost track of what’s burning, what’s out, what’s under control, and what’s growing; of evacuation alerts and orders and which of these have been rescinded. Here’s what I know. A whiteboard hangs on the wall in our laundry room between the clothes dryer and the pantry cupboard. We use
Published on August 01, 2021 08:43
July 30, 2021
Summer, 2021
The smoky ghost of summer present settles in, looking like it wants to linger. Unbidden, unwanted, stealer of things we longed for during the bleak mid-winter of 2020. Gray dawn, apocalyptic sunset pretty in one sense, tragic in another. Ash on the green beans and unused patio chairs and geraniums that I water every day
Published on July 30, 2021 06:52
July 29, 2021
“Text Me When You Get Home”
It’s the morning after opening night of Shakespeare’s The Tempest in which Makiya played Sebastian. I’m tired, and more than a little uncomfortable after a restless night and a flare up of a health issue. She’s tired too, after weeks of rehearsals and now, long days, culminating with a performance, but when Laurinda heads off
Published on July 29, 2021 06:56
July 27, 2021
Road Trip Reset
I’m heading out this morning for an overnight trip to see my girls and take in some Shakespeare. It’s opening night for The Tempest, the play Makiya’s been working on at theatre camp. I enjoy solitary road trips. I load up on podcasts and find a perfect balance between listening to them and basking in
Published on July 27, 2021 06:47
July 23, 2021
“Lazy” Days of Summer
Whoever described summer days as “lazy” wasn’t a gardener. I am, and this time of year is far from lazy around here. Yesterday, after an early trip to the garden to water, weed, and harvest, I spent the rest of the morning washing, chopping, and bagging while I sent Gerry out to foist some cucumbers
Published on July 23, 2021 06:47
July 22, 2021
Photography Practice
It’s windy, so shooting outside isn’t an option for the kind of photography I’m hungry for. Fortunately, there’s a pretty bunch of pink alstroemerias on the dining table that will do nicely. In the past, when I shoot indoors, I’ve liked to work in the woman cave using the natural light from the big north-facing
Published on July 22, 2021 06:46


