I am always nourished by the life stories that you share Rob and the hourglass jumped out in my attention. I can see you flipping it over like a magic talisman every time you sit down to tell another story, the flow of the sand invoking the soft, gentle flow of your words—which is how your stories feel to me—reliable, steady, elemental, and sure.
Rob, I admire your ability to say so much with so few words, seamlessly moving between past, present, introspection, and dialogue. This essay, like your others, feels like poetry. It has a beautiful, ethereal quality.
Shit, I didn't know you could write like that. Oy vey, now I got more stuff I got to read. Love the shroom talk, of course. Envious of the hands on action. You need some lederhossen with that satchel.
That's a real nice download, brother. Almost all of what matters is in there
Resonate very strongly with this, I lost my mum this year and literally this morning I started to wonder if I am depressed and aching to return to the forest. I used to walk daily and haven’t since we moved into a village. this is a reminder that is what I need to do. Thanks!
I'm happy you reached out, Susannah, and am glad to know this resonated. I'm really sorry for your loss. It's so hard. I sure hope you get to have those walks in the woods. Villages can be amazing, too. I felt a bit lonely when we lived out on a country road, beautiful as it was. I now have to drive to the forest trails, but I love having humans within easy walking distance. Sending you all the very best.
Yes it’s the same for me, I used to live deep in the forest and I only needed to step out of my door to be in the woods - now I have to cycle and somehow I just never get round to it - even when I knowing is what I need!
I really appreciate you reading, sharing, and leaving such a thoughtful comment, thank you, Annette. So glad you can relate to the teen daughter moment. Our favorite new one is that she'll just say to my wife or me, "Can you stop being so weird?"... when we're just doing whatever normal thing.
Rob, what an incredible piece of writing (and poetry, really). I'm so happy to have found you here and to read more of your work. Thank you for sharing this.
Your writing is so beautiful. I read this on Thursday while cleaning chanterelles, and I did what I do with both my favourite food and favourite pieces of writing and gobbled it up entirely too fast. I've come back to it three or four times now, and got something more from it every time.
I also love the Japanese Death poems book (I wrote a piece where I mentioned how they remind me of Jason Molinas music, if you're not familiar with his stuff I'd recommend checking it out) and Entangled life (I have a parentheses problem. Another music recommendation - Merlin's brother Cosmo's music).
I've been trying to look for a clip from Northern Exposure that this piece reminded me of, from an episode called The Great Mushroom. Are you familiar with the show?
Thank you, thank you, Sarah—what a comment to receive. I so appreciate these kind and thoughtful words. Made my week.
Wait, you're still finding chanterelles?! I'm so jealous. Ours ended here in late July. You're in the UK, I think? Is that unusual to have chanterelles so late in the year?
That's amazing that you wrote about Japanese Death Poems/Molina/Entangled Life. Looking forward to reading that one. Oh, and will check out the other Sheldrake's brother's music. Their parents sure nailed the baby-naming thing. Merlin and Cosmo. 10/10 x 2.
I've never seen Northern Exposure, unfortunately, but I'm intrigued! I'll see if I can track it down. Thank you so much again for reading (and re-reading!) and the lovely words. It means a lot to me.
The year before last I was still finding chanterelles in November! They were popping up amongst the winter/yellowfoot chanterelles. I'm in the south of the UK and our first frost isn't until November at least most years, I'm not sure if that plays a part but also ours didn't start until late July this year.
Beautifully written. The feeling of being unmoored resonates. My parents died two months apart in 2021. Both were elderly, so it was not entirely surprising, but being an ‘orphan’ takes some adjusting to.
Thank you, Wendy. Sorry to hear about your folks—very similar timeframe to mine. I'm glad this resonated, at least. Thank you for reading, and for the thoughtful comment. Good to have you here.
Such a beautiful piece of writing, Rob. You capture the way grief can lead us toward nature even if we don’t know why. The poetry in all of it yet so personally and relatably told, and the humor (Evie’s comment lol!), and Emma’s sweet gifts, so touching.
Thanks so much, Kristin. I really appreciate your reading, and leaving such a kind and thoughtful comment. Yes, Emma's gifts were wonderful, and of course you all got me the succulent plant, which is still thriving in my office window. It's a favorite.
Beautiful piece, man. The way you've woven in the people and symbols and little moments made this really powerful. I also want to echo what each of the other commenters said, as they all captured your skill beautifully.
I love this sentence: “All of that was out there, somewhere.”
Rob, the number of elements - Emma, your parents, dogs, hour glasses…so many to list, all brought majestically together in your writing process is remarkable. Beautiful.
All the adjectives I can think of for this piece are too small for it.
Rob. This is beautiful.
Thank you so much, Liz. That means a lot to me.
I am always nourished by the life stories that you share Rob and the hourglass jumped out in my attention. I can see you flipping it over like a magic talisman every time you sit down to tell another story, the flow of the sand invoking the soft, gentle flow of your words—which is how your stories feel to me—reliable, steady, elemental, and sure.
Thanks, man. What a response to get. 🙏
Rob, I admire your ability to say so much with so few words, seamlessly moving between past, present, introspection, and dialogue. This essay, like your others, feels like poetry. It has a beautiful, ethereal quality.
Thank you, Jenn! That's so lovely to read.
I haven't yet lost my parents, but know that when I do, reading your words here will be helpful.
I sure hope that's a long way off. As always, thank you for being here.
Shit, I didn't know you could write like that. Oy vey, now I got more stuff I got to read. Love the shroom talk, of course. Envious of the hands on action. You need some lederhossen with that satchel.
That's a real nice download, brother. Almost all of what matters is in there
Thanks so much, man. Lederhossen might be next. I love finding new ways to make my kids cringe on my behalf.
And yeah, there's always so much to read, and never enough time. So happy you found your way to this one.
Resonate very strongly with this, I lost my mum this year and literally this morning I started to wonder if I am depressed and aching to return to the forest. I used to walk daily and haven’t since we moved into a village. this is a reminder that is what I need to do. Thanks!
I'm happy you reached out, Susannah, and am glad to know this resonated. I'm really sorry for your loss. It's so hard. I sure hope you get to have those walks in the woods. Villages can be amazing, too. I felt a bit lonely when we lived out on a country road, beautiful as it was. I now have to drive to the forest trails, but I love having humans within easy walking distance. Sending you all the very best.
Yes it’s the same for me, I used to live deep in the forest and I only needed to step out of my door to be in the woods - now I have to cycle and somehow I just never get round to it - even when I knowing is what I need!
Such beautiful and tender writing.
Thank you so much, Kelly, that's really lovely to hear. I'm looking forward to reading your work.
Rob, this is so beautiful - it flows effortlessly like the life processes you mention. Thank you for your words.
PS. My teen daughter and yours seem very much alike! lol
I really appreciate you reading, sharing, and leaving such a thoughtful comment, thank you, Annette. So glad you can relate to the teen daughter moment. Our favorite new one is that she'll just say to my wife or me, "Can you stop being so weird?"... when we're just doing whatever normal thing.
Mushrooms as death poems - thank you for sharing this treasure Rob.
Thank you for reading and commenting, Julia. It's good to have you here.
Rob, what an incredible piece of writing (and poetry, really). I'm so happy to have found you here and to read more of your work. Thank you for sharing this.
Thanks so much, Rebecca. That's so lovely to read. I've subscribed and am looking forward to reading your work as well.
Your writing is so beautiful. I read this on Thursday while cleaning chanterelles, and I did what I do with both my favourite food and favourite pieces of writing and gobbled it up entirely too fast. I've come back to it three or four times now, and got something more from it every time.
I also love the Japanese Death poems book (I wrote a piece where I mentioned how they remind me of Jason Molinas music, if you're not familiar with his stuff I'd recommend checking it out) and Entangled life (I have a parentheses problem. Another music recommendation - Merlin's brother Cosmo's music).
I've been trying to look for a clip from Northern Exposure that this piece reminded me of, from an episode called The Great Mushroom. Are you familiar with the show?
Thank you, thank you, Sarah—what a comment to receive. I so appreciate these kind and thoughtful words. Made my week.
Wait, you're still finding chanterelles?! I'm so jealous. Ours ended here in late July. You're in the UK, I think? Is that unusual to have chanterelles so late in the year?
That's amazing that you wrote about Japanese Death Poems/Molina/Entangled Life. Looking forward to reading that one. Oh, and will check out the other Sheldrake's brother's music. Their parents sure nailed the baby-naming thing. Merlin and Cosmo. 10/10 x 2.
I've never seen Northern Exposure, unfortunately, but I'm intrigued! I'll see if I can track it down. Thank you so much again for reading (and re-reading!) and the lovely words. It means a lot to me.
The year before last I was still finding chanterelles in November! They were popping up amongst the winter/yellowfoot chanterelles. I'm in the south of the UK and our first frost isn't until November at least most years, I'm not sure if that plays a part but also ours didn't start until late July this year.
This was so so beautiful. Love the Roxy and Tito picture too. <3
❤️❤️❤️
Beautifully written. The feeling of being unmoored resonates. My parents died two months apart in 2021. Both were elderly, so it was not entirely surprising, but being an ‘orphan’ takes some adjusting to.
Thank you, Wendy. Sorry to hear about your folks—very similar timeframe to mine. I'm glad this resonated, at least. Thank you for reading, and for the thoughtful comment. Good to have you here.
Such a beautiful piece of writing, Rob. You capture the way grief can lead us toward nature even if we don’t know why. The poetry in all of it yet so personally and relatably told, and the humor (Evie’s comment lol!), and Emma’s sweet gifts, so touching.
Thanks so much, Kristin. I really appreciate your reading, and leaving such a kind and thoughtful comment. Yes, Emma's gifts were wonderful, and of course you all got me the succulent plant, which is still thriving in my office window. It's a favorite.
Beautiful piece, man. The way you've woven in the people and symbols and little moments made this really powerful. I also want to echo what each of the other commenters said, as they all captured your skill beautifully.
Thanks, my friend. What kind things to say. Looking forward to reading your new fiction!
I love this sentence: “All of that was out there, somewhere.”
Rob, the number of elements - Emma, your parents, dogs, hour glasses…so many to list, all brought majestically together in your writing process is remarkable. Beautiful.
All the adjectives I can think of for this piece are too small for it.
👏👏
Thank you, my friend. I appreciate your being here, always reading and commenting so thoughtfully.