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Simone’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Simone’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
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Simone Martel
Goodreads Author
Born
in Oakland, The United States
Website
Genre
Influences
Member Since
July 2013
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Fantasy Farmer
Stonecrop is a gorgeous new online magazine about urban nature. I'm thrilled to have a short memoir included in the second issue. It's about my grandfather, an urban farmer in Oakland, CA., long before it became chic! (Chic? He would laugh at the very idea.) Take a look. (It's on page 102.)
https://www.stonecropreview.com/wp-co... Read more of this blog post »
https://www.stonecropreview.com/wp-co... Read more of this blog post »
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I think something about both lighthouses being the real lighthouse-- both seen from a distance and then up close
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“Why do we make gardens? The act seems so extravagant, so illogical. Don’t we have enough hard work in our lives already? Are we looking for more? Why on earth do we bother?
It takes a kind of courage. You have to learn to cherish. You have to dare, to take the risk, to bother, to care. To make a garden, you have to be able to love and to see yourself as capable of nurturing.
It takes patience, too. If the garden is to thrive you must commit yourself to it for years, for the creation of a garden takes place over time. Like a child, a garden has needs that have to be met, whether we feel like it or not, day after day.
You have to have confidence. You have to take charge and be responsible. You have to act upon the garden.
And you have to let it act upon you. Because it will act upon you. And will knit you together with the rest of the world. It will not let you stand apart.
The challenge is hard, but it is irresistible. To get dirty, to get involved. To act and be acted upon. That is life. If we stop accepting that challenge, we stop living.”
― The Expectant Gardener
It takes a kind of courage. You have to learn to cherish. You have to dare, to take the risk, to bother, to care. To make a garden, you have to be able to love and to see yourself as capable of nurturing.
It takes patience, too. If the garden is to thrive you must commit yourself to it for years, for the creation of a garden takes place over time. Like a child, a garden has needs that have to be met, whether we feel like it or not, day after day.
You have to have confidence. You have to take charge and be responsible. You have to act upon the garden.
And you have to let it act upon you. Because it will act upon you. And will knit you together with the rest of the world. It will not let you stand apart.
The challenge is hard, but it is irresistible. To get dirty, to get involved. To act and be acted upon. That is life. If we stop accepting that challenge, we stop living.”
― The Expectant Gardener
“Stu stops munching, looks up at me from under his shaggy hair.
“So, can you read?” He slides a section toward me.
I cock my head toward the paper. The letters are small, blurry drawings. The alphabet might as well be Chinese or Arabic. Strange that I can’t read or speak, though I still have language inside my head. Words are a consolation, but not a tool.
“Guess not. You want me to read stuff out loud to you?”
I would, but not right now. If I wanted to show interest in the newspaper I could cross the table and rub against his shoulder. Instead I gaze at him over the bowl of milk.
“It’s so weird,” he says in a hesitant voice. “You don’t look like a cat. When you stare at me, you look like Eliza.”
That’s the nicest thing he could have said. With a happy lightness to my step I move between the bowls, over his napkin ring and spoon, until I stand on the edge of the table and nip at his prickly chin. This is my way of saying: Hi, there. I like you.”
―
“So, can you read?” He slides a section toward me.
I cock my head toward the paper. The letters are small, blurry drawings. The alphabet might as well be Chinese or Arabic. Strange that I can’t read or speak, though I still have language inside my head. Words are a consolation, but not a tool.
“Guess not. You want me to read stuff out loud to you?”
I would, but not right now. If I wanted to show interest in the newspaper I could cross the table and rub against his shoulder. Instead I gaze at him over the bowl of milk.
“It’s so weird,” he says in a hesitant voice. “You don’t look like a cat. When you stare at me, you look like Eliza.”
That’s the nicest thing he could have said. With a happy lightness to my step I move between the bowls, over his napkin ring and spoon, until I stand on the edge of the table and nip at his prickly chin. This is my way of saying: Hi, there. I like you.”
―
“Why do we make gardens? The act seems so extravagant, so illogical. Don’t we have enough hard work in our lives already? Are we looking for more? Why on earth do we bother?
It takes a kind of courage. You have to learn to cherish. You have to dare, to take the risk, to bother, to care. To make a garden, you have to be able to love and to see yourself as capable of nurturing.
It takes patience, too. If the garden is to thrive you must commit yourself to it for years, for the creation of a garden takes place over time. Like a child, a garden has needs that have to be met, whether we feel like it or not, day after day.
You have to have confidence. You have to take charge and be responsible. You have to act upon the garden.
And you have to let it act upon you. Because it will act upon you. And will knit you together with the rest of the world. It will not let you stand apart.
The challenge is hard, but it is irresistible. To get dirty, to get involved. To act and be acted upon. That is life. If we stop accepting that challenge, we stop living.”
― The Expectant Gardener
It takes a kind of courage. You have to learn to cherish. You have to dare, to take the risk, to bother, to care. To make a garden, you have to be able to love and to see yourself as capable of nurturing.
It takes patience, too. If the garden is to thrive you must commit yourself to it for years, for the creation of a garden takes place over time. Like a child, a garden has needs that have to be met, whether we feel like it or not, day after day.
You have to have confidence. You have to take charge and be responsible. You have to act upon the garden.
And you have to let it act upon you. Because it will act upon you. And will knit you together with the rest of the world. It will not let you stand apart.
The challenge is hard, but it is irresistible. To get dirty, to get involved. To act and be acted upon. That is life. If we stop accepting that challenge, we stop living.”
― The Expectant Gardener
“But gardening is none of that, really. Strip away the gadgets and the techniques, the books and the magazines and the soil test kits, and what you're left with, at the end of the day, is this: a stretch of freshly turned dirt, a handful of seeds scratched into the surface, and a marker to remember where they went. It is at the same time an incredibly brave and an incredibly simple thing to do, entrusting your seeds to the earth and waiting for them to rise up out of the ground to meet you.”
― From the Ground Up: The Story of a First Garden
― From the Ground Up: The Story of a First Garden
“Stu stops munching, looks up at me from under his shaggy hair.
“So, can you read?” He slides a section toward me.
I cock my head toward the paper. The letters are small, blurry drawings. The alphabet might as well be Chinese or Arabic. Strange that I can’t read or speak, though I still have language inside my head. Words are a consolation, but not a tool.
“Guess not. You want me to read stuff out loud to you?”
I would, but not right now. If I wanted to show interest in the newspaper I could cross the table and rub against his shoulder. Instead I gaze at him over the bowl of milk.
“It’s so weird,” he says in a hesitant voice. “You don’t look like a cat. When you stare at me, you look like Eliza.”
That’s the nicest thing he could have said. With a happy lightness to my step I move between the bowls, over his napkin ring and spoon, until I stand on the edge of the table and nip at his prickly chin. This is my way of saying: Hi, there. I like you.”
―
“So, can you read?” He slides a section toward me.
I cock my head toward the paper. The letters are small, blurry drawings. The alphabet might as well be Chinese or Arabic. Strange that I can’t read or speak, though I still have language inside my head. Words are a consolation, but not a tool.
“Guess not. You want me to read stuff out loud to you?”
I would, but not right now. If I wanted to show interest in the newspaper I could cross the table and rub against his shoulder. Instead I gaze at him over the bowl of milk.
“It’s so weird,” he says in a hesitant voice. “You don’t look like a cat. When you stare at me, you look like Eliza.”
That’s the nicest thing he could have said. With a happy lightness to my step I move between the bowls, over his napkin ring and spoon, until I stand on the edge of the table and nip at his prickly chin. This is my way of saying: Hi, there. I like you.”
―
“Travel changes you. As you move through this life and this world you change things slightly, you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life—and travel—leaves marks on you.”
―
―
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