Andrew Spittle

As a kid, trash day was a slog.

Summer is on its way out, and in its place are mostly misty, cold mornings.

Not quite a month later and our little hedgehog is back home, off nesting somewhere in the woods that border our creek.

“Have ya seen cattle?”

On this day last year, Charlotte and I boarded an Aer Lingus flight with a one-way ticket from Seattle to Dublin.

Our living room window looks north over fields that we let grow to long, tall grass.

We groggily woke up this morning to the symphony of a dog barking.

The beauty of welcoming your newborn daughter into the world in summer is that you get to enjoy the weather and get out of the house more easily.

It’s 9:15pm.

There’s a fish shop in Skibbereen with, seemingly, its own heron that perches on pavement instead of water.

I expected bats in the countryside.

We have a creek that runs down two sides of our property, which was a real selling point of the house.

This essay about how we’ve gotten the ancient Greeks all wrong was fantastic.

Prior to this year I could not have told you what a broccoli plant looks like.