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A chilly, quick photo on a cold morning in early January. Babers was not exactly pleased to be out in the bracing weather. The dog was slightly more amenable.

My wife made this for me. My name is Wolf’s Head, and so she made me a… wolf’s head. Leather on glass. Beautiful!

A brisk, early-morning run along the Deerfield River. I love running on trails. The impact on my body is noticeably less when running on soft, earthy pine duff.

As winter begins pushing in during late November, I took a trip down to one of my favorite spots to swim in the Green River. Too cold to take a dip today, but I’ll be back next summer…

Sharing a moment with my daughter in the rain. She loves rainstorms so much that I’ve taken to putting her to sleep with the sound of white noise in the form of recorded thunderstorms. It’s been a stormy season, and she and I have been doing our best to enjoy every minute of it.

Perhaps you remember the viral video of Paul Vasquez filming the appearance of one, then two rainbows from his front yard near Yosemite National Park. His excitement eventually led to tears as he called the vision “the eye of god.” I was not quite as ecstatic, but it was a beautiful sight to see.

It has been an incredibly rainy summer, and this was one of those days where it was raining hard and steadily, but there was no wind and the sun kept peeking out from behind clouds. Cooper and I enjoyed every minute of it. Why be inside on a rainy day? All the fun is to be had by being outside and in it.

These hawks were lazily spinning through the sky on a day that threatened rain. There must have been as many as five all circling this general area near Turner’s Falls, Mass. They’re so beautiful. Hawks always make me think of my Mom, so I was sure to call her shortly after this.

A post-rain moment looking at the Bridge of Flowers. While I didn’t do a great job of capturing it here, there was a heavy fog that was slinking around the banks and bridges of the river, and it was one of those days where as the sun set an hour later, everything turned a beautiful amber color as the sun set gently behind the mountains.

I’ve always loved iron truss bridges ever since I lived in Grand Forks, ND. In that city, there is a similar-looking bridge which joins Grand Forks, ND to East Grand Forks, MN, spanning the mighty Red River. Having lived through the dramatic flood of 1997, I still remember that bridge submerged well above the road by the rising waters of the river.

You can’t quite tell, but my wife and I took the four-wheeler out, and I fashioned a heart for her in this haying grass with our tire tracks. Don’t worry, this is her father’s property, and I did inform him (sheepishly) of what I had done.

This is what canola looks like. A brilliant yellow hue, it’s even more striking when it’s adjacent to early-season flax which has a beautifully contrasting and vivid purple color. Unfortunately I was unable to find an area where the two crops met.

This is, as my mother and I would eventually come to realize first-hand, a focused hailstorm. We both thought something along the lines of, “jeez, it would suck to be caught in that” before then making a hard right turn off the highway to get to our destination and realizing we were headed straight for it. We clipped the edge of it, caught some mild hail, but fortunately we were driving in the opposite direction it was moving, so we only had about 30 seconds of the stuff, but it was sustained. I watched it from roughly this vantage as we drove for a good 15 minutes, we drove right at it for another 15, and it was in the rear-view mirror for some time after that as well; incredible that it didn’t seem to dissipate at all.

Right on the edge of the Fort Berthold Reservation (TAT Nation), there is a series of extended wind farms. They started dotting the landscape about a decade ago, and now they are almost everywhere. I think they are awesome; a sort of futuristic Holland vibe, but many people find them either eyesores or earsores — apparently they can make distressing noise when spinning at full bore.

Sometimes my wife likes to bring me home some random ingredients and see what I can do with them. It’s not quite as dramatic as it sounds seeing as I’m able to also use whatever we have in the cupboard/fridge, but I still enjoy the added challenge. This night was chicken breasts because the local market was out of thighs. I made them in a vaguely “thai” style, frying them with finely chopped onion and then creating a reduction from brown sugar, rice vinegar, soy sauce, ginger, garlic, and lime juice. After that, it was as simple as gently saucing the chicken, adding some crushed peanuts, cilantro, and chives, and, as always, a splash of Sriracha for color and heat. This turned out quite good. The flavors were intense, but the balance between the salt, sweet, heat, and acid played well.

Taking a little break on a hot Saturday with the baby, fishing for trout where the Cold River meets the Deerfield River. Known locally as “Sunburn Beach.” The baby was just slathered from head to toe in sunblock which might explain the dubious look on her face.

Up north of Colrain, Mass. exploring the North River with Cooper.

Looking downstream on the Deerfield River towards the town of Shelburne Falls. The “Bridge of Flowers” is just visible.

This is under the French King Bridge on the Mohawk Trail (Highway 2), which serves as a marker of the confluence of Millers River and the CT River.

It’s the opening scene of a David Lynch/Stephen King movie. Wouldn’t that be quite the collaboration?

Nothing more no, nothing less.

Fire on the mountain on a frosty AM.

A beautiful, sub-zero morning at Fort Berthold looking at Lake Sakakawea.

Random graffiti driving through Brattleboro, VT.

The sun setting on Shelburne Falls on a winter evening. Facing the Iron Bridge towards Buckland, Mass.

Prepping a little dinner as the winter season clings.

Returning from MLA in NYC after giving a paper. The trip down was a disaster, a total delay from boarding to exiting of 11 hours due to a horrific snowstorm. I got to my room close to 2AM, my talk was 8AM the next morning.

Springfield, Mass. on the return train from MLA.

It could be mid-day, who would know.

Cooper contemplating the snowy yard.

An ice formation from repeated melts and freezes in North Adams returning from Mass MOCA.

Chicken thighs, wine-reduced mushrooms, parsley, sriracha, etc.

The CT River making its way south, taken from Mount Sugarloaf.

At the “Magic Wings” butterfly conservatory.

A brisk bike ride heading towards Colrain, MA. Looking here at the still-flowing Deerfield River as I tried to decide if it would be better if I increased the pace to warm up or turned back to seek the warm comforts of home.

Relatives, friends, and ancestors Little Wolf and Bad Gun showing their own tendency towards revision and perhaps bricolage. Or perhaps simply pragmatism and good fashion sense. Which, honestly, is often all the same thing.

My wife, Butterfly Woman, proving her name.

Doing some pretty deep-dive cleaning in an area of the house where I store my bike. The filter is, for the record, totally unnecessary, but it just looks cool, so whatever.

Sitting outside enjoying the sunshine, I got obsessed with how I could stack this thing with anything that was nearby. Only rule: must not get up, had to be objects in the near vicinity. Result: a brick crown.

An amazing trip to Mass MOCA (as they usually are).

I wanted grilled cheese, but I wanted to prove to Sara that it could be fancy. Here it be: fancy grilled cheese.

What eventually becomes the Tannery Falls at Savoy in Western Mass. Looking down over the mountain.

A nice waterfall in Savoy. Sara and I once, a couple of years after moving to Mass, took a long trail run to this location. It was hard on the legs, and we got to the pool at the bottom of these falls, and with no one around at all, we sank our legs into the frigid waters, relaxed for a while, and then made the run back.

A shelf in my house in the living room. My belt, a picture of me and my wife in Minneapolis, a bolo tie from my grandfather, various other items of importance to us for various reasons. Also a place that I just put stuff down when I walk in the house.

I took a long ride from Shelburne Falls, MA to Florence, MA on a very circuitous route. One of my friends was leaving for a teaching position, and she didn’t have time to ride a road she likes a lot in Franklin County that runs along the CT River, so en route to meet her for her goodbye party, I took a 35-40mi ride down to see her, making sure to take one of her favorite rides on the way down. This, as I recall, was somewhere south of Sunderland.

Green River Fest is a cool little local festival that seems to get bigger and bigger each year. One of my favorite things about it is that it always includes hot air balloons! They make me giddy like a kid when I see them.

Foshay Tower in one of my favorite cities in the world, Minneapolis (The City of Water(s); a combination of Dakota [mni] and Greek [polis]).

Homelands. Looking at Four Bears across Lake Sakakawea from Crow Flies High Hill in New Town, ND.

Coop dog protecting the early growth in our raised beds.

The hardest part about moving to New England was not being able to see North Dakota clouds. They’re poetry in motion; or, perhaps more accurately, poetry is ND clouds in action. Big, beautiful sky, clouds for days as the sun slowly sets.

Hard to be beat. ND summers will do something funny to your brain. The days are incredibly long, the nights short, and the terrain breathtaking. People who aren’t from the Midwest say there’s nothing here… and I’m quite content to let them keep on believing that.

Canola in the background. Trees, along a gravel road near Deering, ND.

Poor directions (or navigation) sent my friend and I down an alley, but the light was nice, and the truck bearing down on us down the narrow, trash-filled alley made for a fun picture. My friend was literally pulling me by my shirt to stop “fucking around” as I was taking this shot.

BPL is great. Open to the public, fun to get a little lost in, breath-taking scenes, and you can actually find yourself a good place to buckle down and get some work done if you want.

We were at a campsite near (maybe in?) RI, somewhere near the CT border. This was a freshwater lake minutes away from the shore. We caught a lucky sunset as we lounged near the lakeshore thinking about our baby-to-be.

I’m a big fan of the library at AC, and I would regularly go work there during the academic years if I was offering courses in the area. Quintessentially New England, it also has multiple areas with great views and a quiet atmosphere.

A look out from a hotel room in Boston after a day at an American Studies conference. Chilly — but charming as always.

That picture you have to take in Boston because of the contrast, blah blah. I still find it very cool.

A shot from the window of a room at BU where I was giving a paper. When possible, I like to get to know a room a little bit before I talk to a group of people in it, so this was during my little scouting mission to size up the space. A beautiful day in Boston if you ask me. This is the Boston that I find incredibly romantic and inviting.

I have a deep, passionate love for winter. I’m taking a breather after coming back down the hills from a little trip with those hiking skis there. It was almost sunset, but I could take the skis off and walk home from here. I remember a feeling of pure, warm exhaustion, and a deep sense of contentment. By the time I got back to my home, it was dark, but the kitchen lights were on!

Somewhere around Plainfield/Hawley, Mass. We’d gotten a lovely, fluffy snow, and temps were just below freezing. The roads were clear, but the trees were not. It’s hard not to love these winter moments.

My wife enjoying the last minutes of sun on Ashfield Lake. She is the definition of a realized summer moment as a general rule anyway, but when she’s on the kayak it’s even better than the setting sun.

Looking out back of Grandma’s house in White Shield, ND. She has some little birds that live back here, and when they have eggs in the nest, they’ll constantly dive-bomb your head until you go back inside.

Driving with my mother and father from Colorado by way of Montana heading back to Fort Berthold.

Heading back to Fort Berthold from Montana.

A dancer in the sky as the sun begins to set.

The sky and land.

In the middle of a lesson back at MHA Nation on Hidatsa language. We’re learning how to ask about places and how to ask or say where someone is from. Hidatsa orthography in full effect here.

I worked in the Holyoke community for several years, and during that period, Sara and I decided to move there. We lived there for a while, and we both really fell in love with the city and the people that live there. A city of immigration, one of the first “planned industrial cities,” and a wonderful contact zone between many of the varied communities in the area, I think Holyoke represents a beautiful and poignant study in what Massachusetts is, has been, and can be.

I mean, is that not New England in autumn? Fall in Western Mass is truly amazing, and when we move away, I will miss it very, very much.

Fort Berthold on a sub-0 morning. It was, as I recall, -14. It was one of the most breathtaking and awe-inspiring mornings I have ever experienced.

Sub-zero morning, looking out the window as we drive across Four Bears Memorial Bridge.