When I was a child, drawing came to me easily. I drew a rabbit that looked like a rabbit. I observed the world and copied it.  I loved nature. I loved color.  I begged my mother for a box of 64 crayons, but she would only buy me a box of 36. She said that was enough.

It wasn't enough. I needed more colors. 

In high school an art teacher told me I didn't paint the right way, I had to do it his way.

Who decides what's the right way? I knew it wasn't the right way for me. 

Many years passed before I picked up a brush or pencil again. I decided to write instead. I majored in English and creative writing. at Miami University under the tutelage of Milton White, a God to me, and won prizes for my writing. I graduated with a BA and worked as a waitress, and then for an insurance company sending out premium notices.. That only lasted a few monthes. I moved to Montana and lived in a log cabin without electricity or running water.  I had one baby, then another. But I always I wanted to write, paint, draw. I played with watercolor. I tried pastels. I did collage, used acrylics,  tried silkscreening. For a time I made a living for my family designing and silkscreening greeting cards. I sold my images around the world , on cards and mugs and T- shirts and bags. UNICEF chose six of my designs to use as holiday cards. It was a high honor.

I moved to Colorado and learned to love the mountains and sagebrush and brilliant sunshine.  I illustrated books to help kids learn about the environment and ecosystems of the Rocky Mountains.

Now I live in northern Michigan. I work in the library of Interlochen Center for the Arts, I draw and paint and write. I hike, kayak, cross country ski, and swim. I try to do these things where there are not many people around and no sounds other than the wind and birds and insects, though it is rare to find such places. I want to hear the sound of water lapping against my kayak, or the sound of my own footsteps on the earth, or my dog running, or my heart beating.  

We all need places where we can be still. We all need places to  look without seeing anything built by people, and listen without hearing any sounds made by machines.

We all need wildness.

We all need wild things.