Sarah grew up writing songs, stories & poetry inspired by midnight meanderings alone in nature. And after years of travelling and living around the world she has finally found her rural neck of the woods niche to make a personal creative retreat. Her poetry comes from her acreage as inspiration. “I recently completed a poetry book. These musings are a collection of poems about  life, love, memory & nature.” The book includes suggestions for rustic, goofy tent pastimes on rainy camping days.

Sarah’s past workshops on songwriting & poetry were popular with children & adults. She hopes to offer free writing retreats periodically for creatives needing a peaceful place to explore their creativity, in exchange for volunteering around the farm. Feel free to contact for more information.

And here are a couple poems from my poetry book -

PassionCraft Poems- Nightbloomers.

AFTERTHOUGHTS

All the words I write

Lead me back to you

Today, last night

These memories are vivid

And demand my full attention

The way you used to

The golden blonde in your hair absolutely gleaming

As it's drying in the sun

You lying tanned, muscular & naked on the big rock

Next to the darkest blue lake I've ever seen

Still sending the soft, delicious secret shivers through me 30 years later

If I had a wish to spare

I'd wish I was back in that canoe

Quietly drifting by the otters playing on the shore

As I spy on your after-swim private stillness

PRIME-ORDEAL

I am an 8 year old child with my family

Fossil hunting in the ravine

By the pond

Past the barn full of bats and pigeons

Past the cow pastures littered with salt-licks that I secretly taste on solo adventures

(On the tongue the white ones are smoother than the brown)

This Decorah shale I live on, no, with,

Is my childhood bedrock

And regardless of which farm we move to, or which State

Iowa, Wisconsin, or Minnesota,

We seem to find ourselves on rare goldmines of the Primordial

Descendants living on the meteoric pothole of the enormous, ancient Lake Agassi

That once completely covered the mid-west of North America

And now, the side of the sandstone hill is crumbling with pre-historic rock that was once the sandy, muddy lake-bottom

Teaming with petrified life

Creatures so far in the past

And still so much like our present

That I get a little afraid

A sickening deep fear

Primal.

Worry in my gut.

The Earth is old, too old.

So ancient that my young kid body hurts to feel its comprehension

And so it will have to be about the hunt- not the discovery- for me

I don't like being confronted by such science of time

Or the thoughts of my own whole demise

The eventual doomsday of our sun

And the rock I am from

-my Gaia-

Fossilized forever someday

And now, today, we lug home

Her giant cephalopod souvenirs,

from over 500,000,000 million years ago,

destined for use as heavy Cambrian doorstops

in our Anthropocene 1970's kitchen.