We call them the Mother’s Garden creatives. Mother’s Garden is the name of this little farm that sits on the fringe of the farmland butting up to forested crags of the Serra de Llaberia. The creatives...

The landowner surveyed the corner of the terrain to which he had long staked a claim. It was large. It rose steadily, enough to ache his legs and make him wise to its value. It was rich. There was a patch...

Well, yes, I am convinced there are more than two.There is the real world. The scent of pine. Seasons. Foot and hoof prints. Bricks and mortar. Heartburn. Birdsong and butterfly wings. Thunder. The circle...

I have just been tended to by a tree surgeon. Yes, me, not our olives.It was a significant relief, a comprehensive sensory hour very well-spent (again) up the hill in the village.Well, I needed it: Sinusitis...

Joe and Michael, two wise and wonderfully enthusiastic retired entomologists from the University of Illinois, came to our Priorat farm twelve years ago. They set traps in four remote places on the Serra...

The moon is a balloon, porc senglar may fly, the Earth is flat (there are some who genuinely believe that to be true), and 2019 will see humanity pull out of its tailspin.Ecology, democracy, tolerance...

Time will tell if I can keep on keeping on, but my weekly 2019 podcasts have begun. Whether it is just me or you share my sense that this year will be defining in a fistful of ways, I have resolved to...

We have spent days helping to clear the little farmhouse on the hill. Chattels and wares have been draining from it for days, one car-load at a time, the parting painfully long.It has been a lighthouse,...