By Gayle Lynds Reposted from January 2018, when the snow was even deeper than it is now. Brrr! Our front yard. Yep. It’s true that winter can drive some of us writers into dark, metaphorical caves, but then we escape the despair and boredom by throwing ourselves into our writing. Whew. Or,...
The grandchildren’s winter treehouse in Gayle’s yard By Gayle Lynds It’s seven degrees here in Maine. Snow blankets the forest. Squirrels are hiding in their nests. Deer, foxes, and porcupines are out of sight, too, keeping warm, I hope. I step outdoors, and my nose turns red. My lips are so...
by Carla Neggers Maple-sugaring season has arrived here in New England. In Vermont, where I live, the sap is running, and steam is rising again from sugar-shacks. It’s a short season requiring warm—but not too warm—days and cold nights. And it’s so much fun. The longer days, the snow-covered...
