For the Love of Farming

By Christina Carson   I loved farming, the way a drowning person loves a lifesaver. It is hard to the touch, impersonal, and not at all interested in how you came to need it, but it saves you. And so did farming. Who would have thought a kid from the east, parents upwardly mobile with 1950s urgency, first generation to go to college, the expected keeper of the dream with opportunity abounding on all fronts, would balk, and walk not only...

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Amos and Andy Live – Episode 12

From the Northern Exposure Meets Jame Herriot Series Intro: You don’t expect adventures in the throes of January. Just staying alive in a land of ice and snow is challenge enough. But every now and again, life appears to disdain routines, this disruption bringing Amos and Andy into our lives, a comedy routine we were destined never to forget. If it’s darkest and coldest just before dawn, then January in northern Alberta is the...

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How Sweet It Is…to be Sugar Free

  By Christina Carson I guess you could say I’ve had an interest in healthful eating most of my adult life. Not that I’ve always eaten that way, but I was curious nonetheless. The initial guru I followed—grudgingly at first as my science education established strict rules for credibility—was Adelle Davis. Any of you out there old enough to remember her? Her push was good health through supplements. It was a tad...

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The Art of Nonaction

by Christina Carson While reading the Tao Te Ching this morning, I grasped a new subtlety, one that spoke to me about this hectic life I have created around day job and emergent writer. I haven’t liked what I’ve done, but didn’t see a way to approach it differently. In fact, I was so preoccupied on the hamster wheel of writing and promoting in every spare minute that I wouldn’t justify the time to ponder it. But this...

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Beware the Poet, Mary Oliver

by Christina Carson I’m probably preaching to the choir, but if there is one of you, those affirmed poetry haters, who sneaked into the back row over there on the end, please do take care. Mary Oliver could own your heart before you even have time to switch hats. You’ve been warned. In fact, I’m such a zealot, I think poetry, especially Mary Oliver, should be read to each baby as they eat their Pablum. Who knows, maybe...

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