I conducted the fourth wedding of my priestly career (joke) today. This one, unlike the first two, might last.
The bride and groom did all the work, really. All I had to do was gather the spectators and read a couple of Wendell Berry poems in competition with the west wind.
Like champagne, Black Forest cake packs a bigger wallop at 10,000 feet than it does at sea level.
M. and I had to drive up through our favorite mushroom-hunting territory to get there. We took a brief stroll in the woods on the way down–saw nothing good.