Resilience: Bug Nuts or Not?

By: | July 18, 2025

Last Monday, 7/14/2025, NPR ran an interview with a woman who lived through the flood on Texas’s Guadalupe River, a terrible story and I paraphrase:

The flood blew down her back door and filled the house, water pressure wouldn’t let her open the door to her 95-year old mother’s bedroom, so she had to get out and leave her mother there, she thought her mother was dead. Turns out her mother had floated on her mattress up to the ceiling where there was an air pocket, and when the flood receded, the mother on her mattress floated back down, quite alive.

But the woman’s house and everything else was gone. And I’m thinking, after that experience I don’t see how she’s upright. And then she says she won’t move away: “I love it here. I’ve made a life here, you know? And this is my community . . . Look, it’s gorgeous.” And I think — with admiration, respect, and sympathy — that is just purely bug-nuts.

Once you know that your home is in disaster’s cross-hairs, wouldn’t you leave your home? go find a better home? In 1811 and 1812, enormous earthquakes hit New Madrid, Missouri and spread to the surrounding states; a man who lived through it swore he’d move his wife and family to Indiana and he did; and two years later he wrote, “We did not lose any lives but we had aplenty troubles. As much as I love my place in Kentucy – I never want to go back.”

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On old dogs

By: | July 16, 2025

I am not a person who grew up with dogs. Taiga—my first and only—came into my life when I was 29, an adventure companion that outshone all others. She is the muttiest of mutts, small and trim with foxy, rabbit-soft ears. Until recently, when people asked me what kind of dog she is, I would simply say that she’s “the best kind.” Then a lady at the post office exclaimed that Taiga was, in actuality, “a special tiny wolf,” and by Jove, that lady had it right. I introduce her properly now.

Taiga is north of 15 these days, and I’m well north of 40. She has been here for me through so much, the confidant and keeper of my good and bad times, the head hugger and delight bringer of my homecomings. She is more present through my days than any person in my life. The boyfriends that have come and gone—those I wish had stayed and those I was glad to see leave. The dear friends nearer and farther, in loose or close touch. Even my family, each of whom I adore.

Taiga is my constant. She carries all our shared miles and mountains, the states and towns and cities where we’ve lived. The stars we’ve slept under, the lakes and rivers where we’ve dunked, where she’s swum in circles after fish she had no hope of catching. The cowshit and chickenshit and god-knows-what-else that she’s rolled in. All the people we’ve loved, together.

Our story is one story, is my story. I used to tell her that she wasn’t allowed to die first, and that I planned to live past 80, so she should be prepared to stick around for a while. But Robert Frost had it right; nothing gold can stay.

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Celebrate the 100th Anniversary of the Scopes Trial by Screaming Like a Furious Monkey

By: | July 14, 2025
Fossils from the Burgess Shale, because creationists would definitely hate the Cambrian Explosion. (Credit: Brooks Hanson)

The Scopes Monkey Trial was held 100 years ago this month, but it feels like just yesterday. Actually, it feels like today; it feels terrifyingly like tomorrow. The theocrats are ascendant, friends, and their rejection of evolution is tied to all the other monstrosities they’re imposing on public life. Theodosius Dobzhansky said that nothing in biology makes sense except in the light of evolution. And nothing in the right-wing, white nationalist, misogynistic, transphobic, fascistic effort to reject reality makes sense except in light of the battle over creationism and evolution.

John Scopes was a teacher in Tennessee who broke the state’s law against teaching evolution. His show trial popularized the science of evolution, but it also energized the fundamentalists and other conservatives who opposed teaching science in science class. 

You know who hated evolution, then as now? Racists. The Ku Klux Klan was a big supporter of anti-evolution laws. White supremacists today insist that race is a biological reality, despite abundant scientific evidence that racial categories are social constructs (and we’re all just great apes anyway). One alum of the anti-evolution Discovery Institute (remember them?) supports racist ideas about intelligence and led the fight against schools teaching about the history and consequences of racism.

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Immediate Family

By: | July 11, 2025

A recent case before the New York State Supreme Court revolved around the question of whether a dog could be considered “immediate family” under the law.

We certainly consider Rooney, a 105-pound, 5-year-old black Labrador–ridgeback mix, to be an important member of our family. And we’re not alone: according to a 2023 Pew Research Center survey, of the 62 percent of Americans who have an animal in their household, 97 percent say those animals are part of the family. And 53 percent of those who share their lives with dogs consider them to be as much a member of the family as the humans.

These numbers are striking, but probably not surprising to anyone with a companion animal, or anyone who knows someone with a companion animal. 

What is surprising is how out of step the law is with society on this matter. In the United States, and many other countries, dogs are legally property. For the most part, the law treats them the same way it treats furniture. While all the states do have animal protection laws that ban cruelty, those laws are uneven, generally weak, and rarely vigorously enforced. 

Years ago, while reading a story about a woman in Texas whose dog was killed, I learned that if somebody accidentally, or even intentionally, kills your dog, the damages you are entitled to recoup are limited to the monetary value of the dog — either the money you spent to acquire the dog, or the cost to “replace” the “property.” I was struck by the glaring mismatch between how most people value their animal companions and how the law values them. 

So I was very interested to learn that a judge of the New York State Supreme Court decided that a family was entitled to seek mental, emotional, and psychological damages suffered from traumatically losing their dog due to someone else’s negligence. This is a ground-breaking decision that goes against precedent, and I wanted to understand how the judge came to this conclusion. So I read his 19-page decision through to the end. I found it fascinating.

Here are some highlights:

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Worm Sex

By: | July 9, 2025

Summer walks have me thinking about worm sex. I witnessed it in Brooklyn, but never in Wisconsin, where I now reside. Enjoy this post from 2012. It’s timeless because, well, worm sex is timeless.

My husband and I often take nighttime walks. On one such walk, I noticed something strange on the ground. It looked like a shiny stick. I leaned in for a closer look and realized I was looking at a long, fat worm. “Is this a worm?” I asked my husband. (I like to ask questions for which I already have an answer.) As he made his way over, I spotted more worms. The scruffy patch of dirt between the sidewalk and the curb was laced with them. “Oh God!” I yelped. “They’re everywhere. Look at them all!” I was shouting now. “Where did they come from!?”  

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Snapshot: Fate and the Follow-Up

By: | July 7, 2025

A few weeks ago, I was out on my morning trot when I saw a small piece of paper stapled to a wooden bollard at an intersection. It was one of those Lost Cat signs that go up in the neighborhood every so often. This particular sign brought me up short, though, because I recognized the cat who was lost: Earl.

Readers may remember my earlier run-in with Earl. In the couple of years since, we had more or less made our peace; or it might be more accurate to say I had made my peace with him, since I don’t think he ever really cared how I felt about anything. But our interactions were cordial enough. When I saw him, I’d stop and give him some pets, he would twine around my ankles, and then, before I continued on, I’d clap and holler and in general make what I hoped was enough ruckus to frighten off whatever small creature he might have had his eye on. In this way, we had our own little ritual.

I looked at the sign and considered its implications. Given that Earl had not been home for a few days, I was pretty sure he had met his end in the maw of one of the coyotes known to inhabit the trail where I run. Someone had also seen a large bobcat moving through the area in recent weeks. Earl was not the top predator of these woods, in other words.

“Aww, Earl, I’m sorry,” I said aloud. Around me, the birds chirped and called.

It’s been a month now and the signs for Earl are still up. Hope is always the last thing to die, I guess.

Happy Fourth of July?

By: | July 4, 2025

This day, the Fourth of July, is my favorite holiday. I love it for a few reasons. I love the summer, and the warm nights that allow me to stay outside under the stars without hunching over from chill. I love that there are at least two more months of hot weather here in the mountains, which means morning hikes and afternoon pool time. I love that the Fourth is a good reason to spend extra time with friends and family, and eat stone fruit, and make ice cream, and wear swimsuits. 

But I mostly love Independence Day because I love the ideas that power this country. And America *is* an idea. I was proud, growing up, to understand that here, every person is created equal; that we are endowed by the creator (or universe, what have you) with certain undeniable and everlasting gifts; that those are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that government is not meant to be a punchable, physical entity but a notion, which arises from the consent of us, the people; and so on. 

These are good ideas. They are still revolutionary ideas. The pursuit of happiness as something to which we are entitled — this is a wildly audacious thought, even still. That phrase in particular has always stuck out to me as profoundly American. 

You might be able to guess where this is going. 

This year the Fourth is a little different.

I am hiding out this year in the mountains, with friends and family like I usually want to do, but only with a select few. I did not hang flag bunting on my house like usual. I didn’t buy my kids matching red, white, and blue outfits. I am not really going to participate as usual, I guess is what I mean. I am too exhausted by sadness. It is hard to lose a parent and a country in the same 12-month period. 

But part of me still can’t let go. I want to honor the idea that the United States of America is, and to celebrate the things that *should* be, the things that still could be if we hold on. The ideas our people had 250 years ago are still good ideas. We can still work to meet them. 

I guess hope is profoundly American too. 

There is a small flag in my yard, planted by my youngest, who loves every holiday. It is under the tree we planted for my mom, which matches her favorite tree at my family home. The tree and the flag are both small this year. They are mostly in the shade, not big enough to reach full sunlight. Not yet. The tree and the flag both seem a little hesitant. But they are there. They are trying, like I am. Happy 4th, however you need it to be right now.

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Image: Apollo 15 pilot Jim Irwin salutes the flag on the surface of the Moon in August 1971. NASA image via Wikimedia Commons

Summer snapshot

By: | July 2, 2025

We took Will out in an inflatable kayak for the first time today, wearing a tiny wetsuit. He looked so solemn as he inspected the boat, and kept grabbing Pete’s paddle – at least three times the length of his body – once we were in the water. 

I swam alongside the boat. Every time I dipped under and came up for air, blowing bubbles, Will’s face lit up with the same big goofy smile he gives me every time I reappear from behind a curtain or pillow. When Pete paddled him into some gentle standing waves, he giggled and cooed.

I typically enter my summer hibernation when it hits triple digits, sleeping as much as possible and refusing to leave the air conditioning. But even though I am a weakling — tonight I’m contemplating sleeping on the kitchen floor linoleum because our air conditioner is broken – I am actually enjoying this summer. 

It’s hard to reconcile enjoyment with the dread and horror of the news. But both are true. Tonight I made strawberry rhubarb pie using balls of dough I’d been storing in the freezer for at least a year. We drizzled custard over chunks of not particularly flaky crust and spoonfuls of fruit. Now the cat is sitting on my feet, the fan is roaring, and a mild sunburn is still gently heating my shoulders. My hair is still wet, which should help me get to sleep. I’m grateful, as always, for the river that makes this feeling possible on even the hottest days — its constant presence, so welcoming and cool.