No connection erases the primal fear that is a constant in our culture: the fear of the power of women.
A community limited to those who look like us will never be a community, which can only be formed through an amalgamation of differences and the necessary level of trust.
I dig a hole and add my load, closing it over with a prayer, as well as more dirt: that I, too, my be more happy, considering my extraordinary good luck in just about all areas of my life: work, love, family, friends, health…
Has this box come to me as a necessary interruption, a reminder, as a Zen teacher said, that our plans are never as tasty as reality?
After decades of neglect, the great wheel and all the internal parts have been repaired and replaced by our talented millwright, Ben Hassett, and last Sunday, October 18th, water was released from the millpond through the sluice and the great wheel, creaking and groaning, began to turn again.
We women are creators, and when we have the means, we are creators of historic proportions.
Wolf Pen is the way many people in this country lived, when we were still agrarian and made do with much less, in the material sense, than we consider essential now. We lived in a few small rooms, we farmed, milled, carpentered, built, ran cattle or horses—managed to survive.
Women in the United Sates now control 11.2 trillion dollars in investible wealth, 39 percent of the total. But are we wielding the decisions?
There is a thread connecting Jill Abramson to the girl buried in my woods: both confident, outspoken, strong women, they faced an opposition they perhaps could not have imagined because it is almost never mentioned: the opposition of the male establishment, in the person of a famous publisher or in the person of a nameless drunk, who made them examples of the price we must still be prepared to pay.
Wolf Pen Mill Farm, Prospect, Kentucky When I was a woods-running girl, years ago in Kentucky, I explored every inch of the old overgrown farms I could get into, sometimes shamelessly cutting barbed-wire fences (the cattle long gone) in order to get my horse to new territory. The most daring adventure involved riding under a