Confessions of a post-Impressionist in France
“The more I read, the more I acquire, the more certain I am that I know nothing.” ...
A Sheep Farm in Wales
Walking Welsh Winds. South Wales reminded me of the Driftless Region of Minnesota and Wisconsin, with rolling hills, rivers, and a mixture of forest and field. Yet there was the ocean and warm gulf...
Musing in Montenegro’s Capital City
I began this essay in Montenegro where people speak a local Serbian dialect they defiantly call Montenegrin, and finished writing it in Wales, where Welsh is defiantly visible on every signpost, yet...
In Montenegro I Think of Sandwiches—Not the Bread Kind.
In Montenegro, I think of sandwiches. Not the mustard/mayo, whole wheat-or-rye kind. I think about rivers, lakes, and bays, sandwiched between mountains. These are waterways of unsurpassed...
Confessions of a post-Impressionist in France
“The more I read, the more I acquire, the more certain I am that I know nothing.” ...
A Sheep Farm in Wales
Walking Welsh Winds. South Wales reminded me of the Driftless Region of Minnesota and Wisconsin, with rolling hills, rivers, and a mixture of forest and field. Yet there was the ocean and warm gulf...
Musing in Montenegro’s Capital City
I began this essay in Montenegro where people speak a local Serbian dialect they defiantly call Montenegrin, and finished writing it in Wales, where Welsh is defiantly visible on every signpost, yet...
In Montenegro I Think of Sandwiches—Not the Bread Kind.
In Montenegro, I think of sandwiches. Not the mustard/mayo, whole wheat-or-rye kind. I think about rivers, lakes, and bays, sandwiched between mountains. These are waterways of unsurpassed...
Recent Posts
Confessions of a post-Impressionist in France
“The more I read, the more I acquire, the more certain I am that I know nothing.” ...
A Sheep Farm in Wales
Walking Welsh Winds. South Wales reminded me of the Driftless Region of Minnesota and Wisconsin, with rolling hills, rivers, and a mixture of forest and field. Yet there was the ocean and warm gulf...
Musing in Montenegro’s Capital City
I began this essay in Montenegro where people speak a local Serbian dialect they defiantly call Montenegrin, and finished writing it in Wales, where Welsh is defiantly visible on every signpost, yet...
In Montenegro I Think of Sandwiches—Not the Bread Kind.
In Montenegro, I think of sandwiches. Not the mustard/mayo, whole wheat-or-rye kind. I think about rivers, lakes, and bays, sandwiched between mountains. These are waterways of unsurpassed...
Welcome!
I write about nationalism, immigration, public history, sustainable economies, MeToo issues and the politics of travel