Tag Archives: writing


Everything feels like an elegy. I’ve heard, and felt, this sentiment often these past few weeks. When I think of the bears, sleeping in their dens, dreaming of spring lilies. When I walk down our road, and glimpse pheasants in the bare hedges, watch flickers puff out their spotted feathers between birch branches, pass the remains of a fallen buck, sharp ribs poking through his tattered hide. Even the river, winding along its icy banks, brings easy tears.

To be sure, recent events have rendered these feelings acute, aided too by the fact that winter is dying before spring’s first breath… but if I’m honest, I’ve always sort of felt this way about the world. Not to say I don’t feel equal measures of wonder and celebration, because I surely do, just not so prominently on this day.

Anyway, I haven’t written much poetry lately, but I just came across an old poem of mine about swift foxes that ran in High Desert Journal a decade ago, and it fit my mood. But see, there is even hope here. After years of endangerment, and considerable conservation efforts, their populations are now more stable, at least in portions of their historic range less threatened by habitat loss.
At least for now.

Swift Fox
Vulpes velox 

From knoll’s crest she watches
The prairie again, with those long
Egyptian eyes that slant just a little,
Just enough to fix nobility
In their unblinking grace.

Small as a cat and quiet too,
We call her swift, call her rare.
Vulpes velox,
A title with too many edges,
That matches only
Her forty-two pointed teeth,
And none of the softness
In her buff yellow fur, sweet
Between the bluestem,
Capped in an inky tail spot. 

On the ocean of the plains
She speeds beneath the shrieking
Night, tossing mice through the air
Like dull falling comets, breaking
Against pups’ mouths stretched wide. 

From the edge of a smooth-hole den
She is always listening
For the next howl, hungry coyote cousin,
Whose pups have bigger stomachs.
She can’t hear her prairie falling away
Beneath roads and cattle hooves,
But I think she knows
She isn’t fast enough.

— Kathleen Yale
* Published in High Desert Journal, Issue Number Three, Spring 2006

Photo by Gerald Romanchuck


Fighting the Good Fight

I’ve been thinking about the immune system a lot lately. Partially because of my family’s recent experience with tragic immune failure, but also because it’s the season of sickness. Okay, yeah, and because I spent a full month reading, researching, and writing about the lymphatic and immune systems, culminating in our crowning final four Crash Course Anatomy and Physiology episodes.

So, if you are perhaps bedridden with the flu and looking for some educational entertainment, or are just curious about exactly how you’re fighting off that cold, how vaccines work, or auto-immune deficiencies, or what your immune cells have in common with Mad Max, then please, pull up a chair and spend a little time with one of the most amazing and fierce systems in your body.





The Bees

Like Margret Atwood? Enjoy The Hunger Games and Animal Farm? Get excited about bees, putting honey in your tea, and rebelling against The Man?


Then allow me to recommend some winter reading!  Check out my latest book review in the January/February 2015 issue of Orion Magazine

It’s a great issue — Tony Doerr, Jane Hirschfield, David Gessner, BK Loren, a sweet photography portfolio on enchanted Russia, and an awesome special section on prison writing and art workshops, and, as always, some good book reviews…

The Bees
Laline Paull
Ecco, 2014. $25.99, 352 pages.

It’ s hard to be an individual when you’re born into a society whose motto is “Accept, Obey, and Serve,” but Flora 717 is special from the start. Born to the lowly sanitation caste, she’s “obscenely ugly,” “excessively large,” and yes, a honeybee. So opens playwright Laline Paull’s dystopian debut novel, The Bees.

Although her hive unquestioningly values only hard work, self-sacrifice, total obedience, and cult-like Queen-worshiping, bold Flora is caught between this ingrained dogma and her own curiosity. Able to speak while her fellow caste sisters cannot, she is tolerated as somewhat of an experiment (a rare thing in this totalitarian state) and is soon allowed to survey hidden parts of the labyrinth hive as she moves in an unprecedented progression up the ranks, from janitor to nursery aid to morgue tender, and finally to forager. As one of the hive’s nectar gatherers, with their “blazing faces and radiant ragged wings, who smelled of no kin but the wild high air,” Flora gets caught in storms and love-drunk on nectar. She battles and avoids wasp, spider, and bird enemies collectively known as “The Myriad,” and evades the hive’s Gestapo-like fertility police, continuously proving her strength and wit, even as she hides an unthinkable secret.

For like any good, self-congratulating cult, the hive is wrapped up in the political
intrigue of its own staunchly enforced caste system and prophetic dogma (“Our mother, who art in labour, Hallowed be Thy womb . . .” ). Pheromones are pumped out like opiate incense to mollify the masses, and any anomalies are swiftly eliminated. This is no place for funny business. So when Flora starts getting a strange feeling in her belly one day, she’s justifiably shocked and
horrified to find herself laying her own egg in a place where “Only the Queen Shall Breed,” and an offense to the contrary is not just mutinous, but a blasphemous death sentence. And yet, Flora is overcome with this awakening new love she feels for her offspring, even as the feeling mingles with her own guilt and betrayal.

Paull’s sensuous writing and contagious fascination for her subjects provide a sturdy anchor even when certain plotlines wear thin and peter out. What might have felt like a gimmicky writers workshop exercise never does, and it’s a compelling way to learn, for instance, how honeybees secrete wax from their abdomens, feed royal jelly to their larvae, and swarm enemy invaders, cooking
them to death with their collective body heat.

Apis enthusiasts will recognize the foragers’ famous waggle dance,
described here as a raucous Dance Hall affair where sisters congregate to learn of good foraging spots in vivid detail. Of particular interest are the drone
male bees or “Your Malenesses,” who are depicted as ridiculous, if not humorous, gluttonous sex fiends, exhibiting none of their sisters’ restraint, yet setting all of them a titter — that is until they no longer serve their purpose come fall, and are turned on and torn to pieces in a grizzly scene straight out of The Bacchae.

Although we know the hive is beginning to fail, big environmental issues like
pesticide damage, ecosystem destruction, and colony collapse disorder are only hinted at. Still, The Bees shines a compelling and imaginative light onto a complex animal society that often goes unnoticed. Readers will never again blindly spoon honey into their tea without thinking of all that went into filling the jar.

— Kathleen Yale

Body Movin’

Hey, you. Did you know that by the time you reach old age you’ll likely have produced enough saliva to fill a couple of swimming pools?

Or that an adult human has 206 bones in their body — the smallest and lightest of which is the tiny stirrup-shaped bone in your middle ear called the stapes?

And are you generally aware that your body will probably slough over a hundred pounds of dead skin cells during your lifetime, so that when you dust your house, you are literally wiping up yourself, not to mention messing with the primary dinner source for entire colonies of dust mites?

Annnnnd…. did you know that your very own brain has around 100 billion neurons connected by up to 1000 trillion synapses? That’s more synaptic action than grains of sand on a beach. A big beach. All jammed into the lumpy double lobes of your great gray walnut-looking brain.

Yep! It’s part of the science of the human body — our anatomy and physiology — and it’s what I’ll be reading and writing about for the next year or so as we embark on a brand new Crash Course series, coming at you in January 2015.

So if you have a body and want to get to know it better, check it out, you magnificent beast, you: