Ammi Midstokke

Ammi Midstokke: Learning to see the forest for the trees

Ammi Midstokke: The do’s and (mostly) don’t’s of bird rescue

Ammi Midstokke: The body goes back to school

Ammi Midstokke: A berry good time in nature’s drive-thru

Ammi Midstokke: When imagination is the greatest joy

Ammi Midstokke: When the memory keepers leave

Ammi Midstokke: Friends who make you feel better

In a world where we are learning to speak openly about our emotional experiences, I am fascinated by those who navigate life in blatant resistance to this trend.

On a cool summer morning as the fireflies are retiring into the lush green forests, Kristos Qyra is standing outside the stone wall of his house, a plastic grocery bag draped over his shoulder, a sickle in his hand.

The tiny Greek village of Agios Kosmas was never much of a village to begin with, boasting a few hundred people and having derived most of its character from its inhabitants and legends of its namesake, Kosmas the Aetolian.