My little birdhouse is dressed for fall, surrounded by orange leaves. And inside my own house, October means birthdays, pumpkin pies, persimmon bread, and people I love coming through the door. This is our gathering month. I look forward to it all year. Look at that little birdhouse tucked beneath the orange leaves. Doesn’t it look ready to welcome someone home? That’s how I feel this week. October is here, my birthday has just passed, and our family gathering is underway. Fr

This time nobody left anything for me. No one carved it, stacked it or put it there. The forest made its own little surprise, and my only job was to notice. By the third little discovery, I began to see a pattern. First there were hearts in the moss. Then a cairn left by another hiker. And then I spotted this strange, beautiful burst of orange growing from the side of an old tree. This one hadn't been left by another person. Nobody arranged it for me to find. The forest had m

Someone stopped here before me, gathered a few rocks and carefully balanced them. I don't know who made this little cairn or why. But for a moment, two strangers who will probably never meet shared the same spot on the mountain. It doesn't take much to make me stop on a trail. Sometimes it's something grand, a sweeping view or an enormous redwood. Sometimes it's a few rocks carefully balanced on top of one another. Someone had stopped here before me and made this little cairn

Someone scratched two little hearts into the moss on a rock beside the trail. I don't know who left them or why. I only know that one day I walked by, noticed them, and received a tiny gift intended for no one in particular. I have walked past thousands of rocks on thousands of hikes. Most of them remain simply rocks. But one day I came upon this moss-covered boulder and noticed two symbols - heart and peace - scratched into the green. I don't know who made them, when they m

I was sitting beside one of my favorite places to meditate when a homemade little raft with a great big heart simply sailed into view. Down the hill from our mountain home, across Skyline Boulevard and down Ward Road, is Jikoji Zen Buddhist Center. I first discovered Jikoji years ago when I was looking for places to hike with my corgis, Toby and Piper. I wandered down the road, found this little Zen Buddhist community tucked into the mountains, and over the years it became pa

A basket marked “Help Yourself” held more than fresh vegetables. One tomato carried me back 65 years.Almost every time I go to Pilates, there is a basket of fresh vegetables waiting by the front desk. Almost every time I go to Pilates, there is a basket of fresh vegetables waiting by the front desk. They are clearly homegrown. Odd shapes, wonderful colors, tomatoes that look like tomatoes instead of something manufactured to survive a grocery-store shelf. And tucked into the

I lost my bandana on Friday. After a busy weekend, I was back to the same trail on Monday, where someone I’ll probably never meet had made sure it was waiting for me. After a week of thinking about how far our own small acts of kindness might travel, I found myself on the receiving end of one. I had been hiking on Friday and apparently lost my bandana somewhere along the way. I didn’t even realize it was missing. Then on Monday, halfway through another hike, I reached for my

Forty-one years later, the tables have turned. The little girl who came along to my marketing events grew up and put me to work at hers. 😂 Some stories take a very long time to come full circle. That little girl on the telephone is my daughter Ali. It was about 1985, and apparently I was already teaching her the fine art of talking on the phone. Over the years, Ali came along to more marketing events than either of us could possibly count. She grew up around my work. Fast-fo

This particular gift traveled from an artist in Astoria, Oregon, through a friend, to a bee booth in California, and into the hands of a delighted stranger. And then, on Saturday, I actually got to watch another ripple travel. My friend Mary is a wonderfully gifted artist. She creates beautiful cards that are sold in a gift shop in Astoria, Oregon, and 100% of the proceeds from her cards are donated to the Assistance League of the Columbia Pacific, serving children in need. M

Most of the time, we never know what happens to the little bits of goodness we leave behind. Remember the Hobbit Tree? There was one more chapter waiting for me. I was hiking the trail with my friends John, Sharon and Vicki. John knew nothing about my Hobbit Tree adventure. He didn’t know about the little yellow gratitude rock I had tucked inside it. As we passed, I simply said, “Ah, look at that beautiful madrone tree.” John walked over. Then he bent down and looked inside.

Sometimes the smallest acts become part of something much bigger than we imagined. My daughter Ali and I spent Saturday volunteering with Urban Bee Lab at the Menlo College Art & Wine Festival. There we were, wearing our blue bee shirts, talking with people about pollinators, biodiversity, and the small things each of us can do to help. And I kept thinking about how much of life works exactly this way. One person plants something. Another person teaches something. Someone els

Ali and me at the Urban Bee Lab booth at the Menlo College Wine & Art Festival. 🐝 Grateful to bee 🐝 at the Menlo College Wine & Art Festival with Ali Harris (our daughter) in the @UrbanBeeLab booth! We spent the day talking with visitors, sharing honey from around the U.S. and supporting Urban Bee Lab’s work. It was a wonderful day of people stopping by, getting curious, learning something new and helping something good grow.

Five years ago, I woke up with broken ears. My ears never went back to the way they were. My life came back anyway. Sunday morning, my friend Casey said something I couldn't stop thinking about: “What a privilege it is to be right here, right now.” She invited us to look back five years and remember who we were, where we were and what we were facing. So I did. Five years ago, I was fighting for my life. I had woken up with broken ears. The noise inside my head was overwhelmi

Ten minutes down my own driveway, and apparently Fall had been waiting for me. It poured. In California. In early September. So, after the rain, Ghost and I took a ten-minute stroll down the driveway to see what had happened. Apparently Fall was tired of waiting for me to notice. The first thing I saw was the color. Wet leaves were turning red, fallen madrone leaves covered the ground, and the moss on the trees was almost fluorescent green. But what stopped me wasn't somethi

Apparently the universe has put me on a schedule. Wednesday: gratitude. Got it. 😂 I opened a fortune cookie recently and found this very specific instruction: “Wednesday will be the day to express gratitude for the blessings in your life.” Not someday. Not when you have a minute. Wednesday. Apparently the universe has put me on a schedule. 😂 Sunday morning, my friend Casey said something I couldn't stop thinking about: “What a privilege it is to be right here, right now.”

I was delighted when I spotted him peeking over the brush. Then I realized he was looking right back at me. Sometimes when we stop to notice the world, the world notices us too. I saw the antlers first. Then the ears. Then that wonderful face peeking over the brush. I stopped to look at him. And then I realized... he was looking at me. Lately I've been walking the same trails I've walked for years, but I'm seeing them differently. Maybe it's because I've been deliberately pra

This tree is right outside my great-room window. I look toward it nearly every morning, as I gaze east over Silicon Valley to where the sky begins to brighten, and the sunrise arrives. And then one morning, I saw her. A heart. I've been looking out this window for 20 years, but I'm seeing things differently. Maybe it's because I've been deliberately practicing what I call Bloomscrolling, my antidote to doomscrolling. Instead of scrolling through everything that's wrong with

I went back to find the Hobbit Tree. Turns out, I had already found it. Sometimes what we're searching for is right in front of us. We just don't recognize it. Well, this is embarrassing. I told you about going back to find my Hobbit Tree, the wonderful old tree where I'd planned to leave a little yellow kindness rock. I couldn't find it. So I found another wonderful tree, tucked the rock inside, and decided perhaps the magic wasn't where I'd left it. There was just one probl

I found a Hobbit Tree, painted the perfect little rock for its doorway, and went back to deliver it. There was just one problem. I couldn't find the tree. Fortunately, the mountain provided another solution. And then there are the trees that apparently exist simply to mess with me. On a hike with Ghost, I discovered a wonderful tree with a little opening at its base that looked exactly like a Hobbit hole. Obviously, such a discovery required a rock. I went home and painted on

I thought I had discovered "Mother Tree." Then my brother found an old journal hidden among her rocks, and I learned something wonderful. Other people had recognized her long before I arrived. I first spotted Mother Tree from one of my favorite trails in the Midpeninsula Regional Open Space District. The trail looks west across rolling grasslands and forests toward the Pacific Ocean, and I've hiked it many times over the years. One day, I noticed an enormous, beautifully shap