Callie Feyen

Hadley has many goals, and one of them is to be the President of the United States. That has never been an aspiration of mine. Luv-a-Bull? Yes. If I could add Luv-a-Bull to my list of accomplishments that would be top-notch. But since this is not Hadley’s dream, I tell her about my friend Laura who also wanted to be… View Post

One summer, my family spent an afternoon riding bikes on Mackinac Island. During the eight-mile ride, I noticed several piles of rocks ranging from just a few stones to almost three feet high. I learned from the brochure I carried in my bike basket that these are called “cairns,” and they’re used to mark trails by hikers and bikers; mostly… View Post

We sit on a creaky pew, my grandmother and I. My grandfather is at the pulpit. It is summer in the Finger Lakes region of New York: sticky in the rolling hills that are scattered with ice-cream stands, bed and breakfasts, and vineyards. My grandfather blesses everyone and encourages the congregation to pass the peace to those around us. I… View Post

Around here we’re taking our third ballet class of the year and getting ready for the spring performance where we get to wear a purple leotard with tulle. It’s somebody’s dream come true. Harper’s, too. Around here we’re back to playing soccer, and we’re giving goalie another shot.  Look at that posing.  “Oh no you DON’T,” is what she’s saying…. View Post

How about some poetry for National Poetry Month? For You: Make sure you get the edition with excerpts from her notebooks.  “A poem has to be pinned to the world with something specific, something ugly. Life holds on to suffering. Otherwise, a poem would disappear, life would fly away.” Or, “My hand craves writing like the woodcutter’s hand craves an… View Post