Question: if you blog on WordPress, what do you use to actually write your posts?

Hello there. It’s been a while.

I’m thinking about – just thinking, let’s not get ahead of ourselves! – of blogging a bit more. And this causes me to realize: I vastly, vastly, and I mean vastly, dislike WordPress.com’s block editor as a place to actually write.

So. If you’re reading this, and you blog on WordPress, I’m curious: what do you use to actually write? The block editor? Something else? Do you write in some other program, and then copy/paste in?

Separately although perhaps relatedly, I’ve been writing a bit more in general. It could even be said that I have a plan. I also have a lot of opinions about software, some of which I may post here when I’ve had a chance to give them a bit longer of a try.

Meanwhile, in the outer world, it’s beginning to feel like fall. We’re back to watching smoke warnings here, but so far it’s not too bad. I planted my fall garden – more about that later! – and I’m contemplating how to help a struggling citrus tree. The baby quail have grown into teenagers, and the baby lizards are a bit larger, but no more clever than they ever were about avoiding running directly under my gardening boots in search of shade. So far I’ve avoided stepping on them, but it takes real effort!

If you’re reading this – I hope you’re well! Till later, take care out there.

Recent reading: Gravity, by W. Scott Olsen

A couple of days ago I finished reading Gravity, The Allure of Distance, by W. Scott Olsen. I bought it a few years ago. It called to me for all the predictable reasons. It’s a paperback. The cover shows an empty highway, a sign for Exit 0, and the kind of big-distance, big-sky terrain that felt like home the first time I saw it (and promptly got heat-induced delirium, because that was in the Mojave and it was the first time I’d spent real time in the desert, but that’s another story).


The book took me a long time to read.

It puzzled me that that was so. The writing is beautiful. The terrain described is beautiful. The author’s sense of what it is like to get on the highway and just keep going, the pull of six or eight big lanes and semi trucks running seventy or eighty miles an hour and motels in the middle of nowhere that you pull into late at night, of gas station rest stop food and diners in the middle of nowhere, seems like a relative of mine. The pull of empty roads through deserted passes, the exhilaration of steep cliffs and jagged rock formations in the middle of nowhere (but is it really nowhere, if the pull is so strong?), is familiar too.

And that’s when I realized: the trouble I had with this book is that it made too much sense to me. It was like reading the inside of my own head, or recalling my own memories. Not to say that I’ve driven the Dempster highway, or stepped over the Arctic circle, or have any desire to – I haven’t been to the Yukon, and thus far when it comes to big deserted open spaces I bias more toward heat than ice. But the mental and emotional perspective of heading for out there, of defining home as how far I can get driving in a day (how long is a day? is it from waking to sleeping? variable, then – and I recall the time I made it from Albuquerque to Indio before stopping for a hotel, then successfully negotiated a bargain because it was so late at night), makes sense to me.

So I read the book. And as I read it, I kept putting it down, because it covered territory already known to me.

Gardening in June

It’s June – mid-June, at that. The weather has been strange so far this year. March was unseasonably hot, but since then it’s been cooler than usual. As I’m writing this, I realize I have natural disasters on my mind: California is apparently facing the worst drought in some unnerving number of decades, and the local news is full of dire predictions about fire season.


At the same time, there was mist over the hills this morning, and although my recent months’ success with vegetables is nothing like last year’s beginner’s luck (gophers ate at least half of what I planted, tiny birds munched on seedlings, and some things simply didn’t grow – why?!), the flowers that have been coming up around the garden are amazing.

1. Dwarf jacaranda. We planted 3 small trees recently; I hadn’t expected blooms this year but here they are.

2. Sweet peas in the orchard. Love these.

3. This valiant tiny rose is growing from, I think, the rootstock of one that died out above it. Isn’t it pretty?

4. My favorite color of full-size rose.

5. These white flowers self-seeded from a single plant we bought two years ago. I’ve forgotten what it’s called, but it’s native to Greece. I love the way it’s interspersing with these pale purple alliums.

6. And for something edible after all – blossoms on the volunteer blackberry bush! One of these days I probably really should cut it back from the fig tree (is it strangling it? Is that a thing?) but I can’t bring myself to while it’s showing such promise of deliciousness to come.

Later today I’m aiming to weed one of the unplanted vegetable beds, weed-whack the orchard, and trench-compost everything that isn’t likely to seed or resprout. Then in another half-empty bed, I’m going to re-plant the leafy greens I’ve been missing: kale and arugula and maybe some summer-proof spinach. Fingers crossed!

And for views onto other gardeners’ gardens, head over to The Propagator’s blog!