Hi, my name's Dori Moody and I live at the Danthonia Bruderhof in NSW, Australia. My husband, Henry, and I nurture four children, one cat, and forty pecan trees.
Listening to each other has become increasingly difficult. Perhaps there is no real need to listen anymore. Texting is a convenient, silent way to converse, easily done during funerals, birthday parties, or while enjoying an intimate candlelit...
My neighbor often asks me to pick up books for her. She loves books that detail terrible things about people: books about the gravely ill, victims, and survivors. Some of them are redeeming in nature, others are not. The main criterion seems to be...
Our library is like the pantry of my childhood. My mother’s pantry, small but compact, housed the best of summer’s labors in beautiful sun-filtered jars; tall towers of red tomato juice, deep purple plums, auburn applesauce, and the seemingly...
My mother’s shocked face met my vacant look. “Dorothea, do you know what time it is?” We both looked at the wall clock faintly visible in the gloom. It was two o’clock in the morning. I remembered being sent to bed at nine. How I came to be back at...
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