Ammi Midstokke

The desert is a barren and desolate place, strewn with the bones of cacti, the dried out carcasses of optimistic flora, and awash with a chromatic palette as parched as a grieving soul.

By Ammi Midstokke The Spokesman-Review In a short time, half our country is going to be rather disappointed.

Editor’s note: This was first published in The Spokesman-Review Sunday, Nov. 2. It is reprinted here with the permission of the author.

The seasons are a solace for me this year: their inevitable departure and return, the familiar way in which they remind us of their unique necessity

By Ammi Midstokke The Spokesman-Review I did not mean to be out of the U.S. for the elections, but I'm glad I was.

Summer and fall are making us soft. When I grew up here in the Northwest, we didn't jump in the lake until Independence Day and by mid-August we were loading up the wood shed.

By Ammi Midstokke The Spokesman-Review The problem with holiday traditions is they happen every year.

Someone always has to be ill on holidays, and apparently it was my turn to pull a shift. Or it was karma for complaining about my husband's sweet potato casserole.

By Ammi Midstokke The Spokesman-Review Maybe the world and its struggles have become too big for me.

By Ammi Midstokke The Spokesman-Review I used to be a runner. But that was like three weeks ago.