Author: MJ Almdale

The Guilt Trip

I have four mostly-unread devotionals in the door of my car, stuck in with a road map, my wallet, a tube of sunscreen. Every day I reach for my wallet, think about that sunscreen that I never use, and I…

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Rest

Instead of going to church on Easter weekend I drove south from Indiana into Alabama to camp with a friend in Bankhead National Forest. We pitched our tents in a plot at Brushy Lake Campground, where the lake, nestled within…

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Garden Mortality

I lived in Maine, that faraway state of lobsters and oysters and loons. Moreover, I lived at the back door of a national park, Acadia, famous for its pink granite cliffs, its glacial lakes, its waves crashing steel-blue and white…

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The Homemaker

She stands at the counter with a chopping board and knife, her wrist driving down, cutting through the skin of a pepper. Once, twice, again and again—she knows this repetition. The pepper falls away into long, thin slices of red….

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A Sheltered Racist

I played basketball in middle school and high school, and we played this one team twice a year. One of their players was big-eyed, spoke loudly, and had an intensity about her that was fierce. I’ll say it again, fierce….

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My Deaf Uncle and the Tall Girl

When I was six years old, my family and I visited my uncle and aunt at their home in New Hampshire. We’d taken a road trip to New England, and it was October, so the trees were turning and the…

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Bound to Each Other: Walks with Lily

Each year the state of Maine issues a select number of moose permits for hunters who have bid into a lottery. There are many hunters who have bid-in every year for maybe ten, twenty, or thirty years, but never win…

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Walks with Lily

I walk a dog named Lily on the weekends. It has become a habit.   Lily lives two hours south of me, with her family, in a small coastal town predominantly inhabited with fishermen, their families, or descendants of their…

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To the Point of Revelation

This woman walks into a town in Iowa. She meets a pastor-man, old enough to be her father, maybe even her grandfather. The woman is a bit unkempt. She sleeps in a cabin. Bathes in a river. When the pastor-man…

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H is for Hawk, a Memoir

“What would you say if I got a falcon?” The words bleeped within the blackness of my phone screen. It was my boyfriend, the Mainer.   I looked at the words. Considered the question. I began to picture him in…

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