Here is where you'll find me

The quiet here in the watershed (page background) is divine. If I don’t speak out loud there are no other human sounds, there’s just the quiet slide of the Lampry River water finding it’s way through varying turns to Great Bay, and then the Atlantic beyond. I, like the water, will eventually and always find my way to the ocean, a quick journey from home, but here in the woods with the dark water is where I spend the majority of my time.

There are no human sounds, but the dogs, snuffling in chipmunk holes or chasing each other through fallen leaves make a racket. The birds, varying with the season sing songs to one another. The crows are another story, they caw a raucous greeting every time I leave the wood line and enter the field, which is their domain. I think we’re friends, but it’s hard to tell with crows. Occasionally a beaver will swim by and slap his tail in anger at my intrusion. If the turkeys happen to wander around, the dogs chase them away; a flying turkey is an odd and continuously funny sight to see. If you’ve not seen it, picture a bowling ball with wings. I don't see the bears very often, we make enough noise to chase them off, but on a rare occasion I’ll see one lumbering around.

I’ve seen the tracks of fox, bobcat, coyote and fisher cat’s but they’re shy, sly and sneaky so I haven’t seen them yet. The dogs and I make too much noise to sneak up on them.

This is the place I go, almost daily, to pray, talk to myself, destress, create, cry, imagine-fight with my husband (I always win here by the river) plan my next book, chapter or story. I imagine there will be a day when I can’t physically make it out here anymore, but I hope by then to have forgotten this place…you can’t miss what you don’t remember.

I hope you enjoy travelling along the places my books take you. They say write about what you love, clearly New Hampshire is at the top of my list.

The basics

Born and raised in a tiny town in New Hampshire I grew up roaming the woods behind my house. Given that within a four mile radius of my house there were forty-six aunts, uncles, and cousins, (I’m serious, I wrote them all down while trying to add them up. Forty-six! And I might have forgotten one or two) I, nor any of us kids, could go far without one of our family members making sure we were okay, or in the case of the cousins, tattling on one another. Perhaps that’s where my love of the hiking started. Deep in the woods I rarely ran into anyone else, and I could tell my stories out loud without judgement. My dog was always with me. As a kid, it was Max, an odd-looking mutt of a dog he had wiry hair and one ear that flopped over. He was a loyal companion and I still remember the day I came home from school, and he wasn’t waiting in the driveway. I searched for him for weeks, but he was gone, I suspect nefarious behavior from one of the less desirable neighbors, but I’ll never know for sure. It still hurts to think about that dog. After him I had Sam, she was great hiking companion too. I was good at staying off the trails and away from anyone I didn’t want to see. I learned how to walk softly, sit still and watch, and listen with my whole being. I’m not sure if it’s something I learned or something I inherited from who knows what my ancestry has passed down within me, but I’m at home in the woods. When I was in the fourth grade, I wrote my first book. The Perfect Day. There was no antagonist, no plot twist, and nothing bad happened. It was the story of a perfect day. I got a C. I was crushed. How could my story of a girl who wins the horse show, saves the eagle, and gets pizza for dinner not be A+ work? I still have that book in the drawer of the desk my father built for me. The 'C' was generous, it’s awful. I was twelve-ish when my dad built me my desk. I sat at that desk writing for thousands of hours. My parents bought me a Brother word processor and I spent endless time creating stories, writing about the woods, and making journal entries on that green/black screen with the blinking cursor. I had a cubby-hole in the desk filled with my random and rolling thoughts saved on royal blue floppy discs. Oooohh, to have those words back…sadly they’re gone somewhere to parts unknown. As an adult I find that writing is the space I go to unwind. It’s amazing how as I write, all other thoughts fade away. Stress from my job as a dispatcher doesn’t exist. I don’t think about the things I’ve heard (the screams, cries and pleas of callers) I don’t worry about the places I’ve sent my first responders, knowing their lives are surely in jeopardy. Nor does my mind allow me to dwell on the friends I’ve lost. I am transported to the places I’m writing. The kitchen of Prue and Jack, (Like Pebbles). The teenage bedroom of Faith (A Life Less Tragic-written, not yet published-maybe someday) the barn with Artemis (Tecumseh-working title. Coming summer or fall of 2023 is my hope). The basic facts of me are, I’m married; my husband Dave and I often remark that our marriage is better now than it was in the beginning. A true blessing for us both. We have four kids; he came as a package deal with two built in. We had another two and our family was complete. We still live in New Hampshire, I still find solace in the woods, my dogs, Pippi and Lojack always come with me (the cat Tipsy and the chickens stay at home) and until my mind completely leaves me, I’ll keep writing.