Greta Mcdonough

It comes about so gradually, just about five minutes before totality, when we get a sense the world is darkening, but not like dusk.

My hostas have survived construction. Also the hydrangea, the big white ones with blooms the size of basketballs.

I’m about to go a-wandering again, after a long old time. COVID messed me up in so many ways, but one of the most egregious was this.

Now that the house is almost done, or done enough, my attention turns to gardening. When I say gardening, I mean mostly digging in the dirt.

One of my favorite podcasts is “Desert Island Discs,” a wonderful visit with British music, stage, movie and TV stars and other famous sorts, from

Our first outing was for ice water. Free ice water and 60 miles away. We giggled the whole way there.

There are studies, I suppose, on the ways of our physical environments shape us.

One of the best things about our trip to South Dakota was how doable it was for us, women of a certain age.

Somehow, in all the planning and dreaming about adding on to my house, I didn’t consider the work and expense of sprucing up the yard in the aftermath of construction.

My summer hibernation has started early with this pre-solstice heat wave. Our neighbors to the north will have it worse this week, places like Maine, where they expect heat the likes of which have never been recorded.