When you rummage around an old barn, you never know what you’ll turn up. And that’s the premise here.
Ours isn’t the only humble carriage house in our small northern New England city. Look close and you’ll find urban barns everywhere in our older neighborhoods. Blessedly, though, our renovations finally created easy access to the old hayloft — along with crucial space that’s allowed me to unpack much writing that appeared years earlier in the literary small press scene as well as previously unpublished notes, correspondence, and drafts hammered out in my zig-zag journey to here. That’s what I’m sharing with you, along with a raft of fresh work.
When I launched this blog at the end of 2011, I wasn’t sure if it would be a Quaker voice that also embraced poetry, or a poetry ‘zine that drew on Quaker practice. What’s evolved is a shuffling of home and garden, personal encounters, public affairs, arts and letters, digital photography from around New England, and a smattering of newspaper trade confessions. Many of the texts spring from my native Midwest as well as my sojourns in the Pacific Northwest and Mid-Atlantic states as well.
Increasingly, the entries also tout my newest appearances as a novelist and poet. My work-in-progress delves into teen angst, food trends, self-identifies, death and a search for meaning in life, spirituality and romance, family business and personal career decisions, guerrilla economics and bohemian lifestyles — you can expect to see these all influencing the upcoming posts here.
More and more, the Barn’s become a gathering spot for folks from around the world to stop by and visit. Feel free to pull up a chair and sit back for a spell. I’ll be happy to provide some refreshments, maybe straight from the garden. Pipe up with your own comments whenever you’re moved, reblog anything that fits, and please invite your online neighbors to join us in stopping by here. Hope to see you often.