Andrew Taylor-Troutman

I learned from Amy Leach’s delightful “The Salt of the Universe” book that a baby groundhog is called a “chuckling.” That’s much cuter than the expletives I used to let fly when the coterie of chucklings devoured my garden like fuzzy lawnmowers.

I rose early this week to gaze upon the August Super Moon, which is also known as the Sturgeon...

When she was three years old, my daughter called them “bird-noculars,” and I picked up an old pair...

With all the headline news this summer, both abroad and closer to home, you might have missed the...

Last Sunday, I walked from the famous Fisherman’s Wharf to the equally renowned City Lights Books;...

In Yosemite National Park, I spotted a fellow visitor sporting a UNC basketball jersey. Travelers arrive from all over the world, so I would expect to see Michael Jordan’s Chicago Bulls jersey, knowing his fame as a professional. But his #23 in Tar Heel blue?

I rose early to watch the sunrise over the Grand Canyon. Mather Point was a brisk walk from our campsite in the cool dark. Perhaps because I settled in the amphitheater to watch, I became more and more aware of the sounds.

My wife got her cat when she was in seminary, so she named the feline after the biblical Hebrew word for soul—nephesh. We shortened her name to Neffi.

We took our dog back to the beach this week. I always wonder if she remembers the ocean or if the big blue is a brand-new thrill each time. Maybe the sight should be a wonder for me too, a sight seen and appreciated with new eyes as often as possible.

My eight-year-old son demonstrated the high-five he invented with his best friend, and while I will certainly not divulge the particulars, let me say that the combination of slaps and snaps skipped me back to my own youth when my buddy and I had our own moves.