Sunshine Blogger Award

My friend Michael nominated me last month and asked all sorts of interesting questions of his nominees. I’m sorry to report that I’m too boring to have answers for all eleven of his Q’s, but I did my best.


  1. What is a completely normal thing that secretly gives you the ick? It’s no secret, but: I cannot stand my feet being wet. At all. For any reason. Gross. (Standing in snow is okay, but once I’m out of the snow and they’re just wet, ew.)
  2. What is a skill you’d like to learn? Fluent ASL (American Sign Language)
  3. Do you think our dreams have hidden meanings? I believe some dreams have meaning. I don’t think the meanings are as hidden as we make them. Having an interpreter helps though.
  4. If you could live in any time period, when do you think you might fit in better than you fit now? Or feel better about? 200+ years ago. I also believe that our history was erased and rewritten around that time, so I don’t have the same world-view of life then.
  5. Cook me a meal. What am I being served? Probably roasted whole chicken with salad and mashed potatoes. Possibly chicken jalfrezi, if you like Indian food.
  6. What is the strangest thing you’ve ever done? Hiked naked in the mountains of Idaho, but at the time it didn’t seem that weird, it’s just what I did.
  7. Has anyone ever dared you lick a pole in the middle of winter? Would you? If you did, what happened? Yes. No. I learned my lesson watching over kids on the playground do just that while growing up in Alaska. No thanks.
  8. How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? I’ve never been able to answer that one. I only make it so far before >crunch<

I hope you enjoyed this installment of Q-and-A. More questions? Ask in the comments!

Love and light to you, friends. ~tara

The Dread of Night

The dread of night
where I lay alone in the dark
and the abyss presses in
and small sounds
become large
and my loneliness
becomes unbearable
and there’s no reprieve.

Only me.

In my mind it’s all
pine needles
dampness
and a gentle sobbing in the distance

And the dread deepens.


tara caribou | ©️2026

Exaltation No. 11 (Real)

with your love surrounding me
soft, gentle, cloudlike
a fulfillment previously unknown
it was a gentle in-filling
this dawning comprehension
the fullness of love
together: complete, whole
apart: missing pieces of myself, of you
I still don’t fully understand it
me and you
but I do know, in you, I am at peace
the world’s troubles don’t disappear
but they become faded,
smudges of reality
the real world is me resting in your arms
the real world is gazing into your eyes
the real world is your heartbeat in my ear
the real world is you


tara caribou | ©️ 2026

Book Review: What the River May Bring by Erin Robertson

South Broadway Press

BOOK REVIEW:
WHAT THE RIVER MAY BRING: IMPRESSIONS OF INTERIOR ALASKA BY ERIN ROBERTSON

A BOOK REVIEW BY SHELLI ROTTSCHAFER

Robertson gathers her words to advocate for the land and the confluence of both the Koyukuk and Yukon Rivers.  During her time in the Koyukuk National Wildlife Refuge she was embedded with biologists, collaborating with her craft through the Artist-In-Residence program “Voices of the Wilderness.

Her poetry draws us in, witnesses to her experiences upon this land, and helps us envision her impressions of interior Alaska.  It all begins, “when the float plane’s buzz fades” as she first settles into her sub-arctic residency.  She meets the, “devoted swans, tender loons, [and] dancing cranes.”  She follows moose tracks and moss lined trails.  These relationships with the other-than-human creatures she encounters bring her company.

Glaciers, and clouds, and wild country greet her.  Upon arrival in the Alaska Interior she leaves behind “creature comforts” and chooses a new freedom; trading suburbia, her partner and children, for a growing winter white and jagged mountains.  It’s a new opening, a new era of possibility for her.  “Wilderness Eve” seems to recollect a childlike wonder, a new version of awaiting gifts below a Christmas Tree:

waiting to see

what this wilderness holds

sleepless and sleepy

dreaming the space

and the silence (21).

Her time in Alaska and her observations while there is an unveiling where she comes to realize: 

I knew I hit the lottery

but hadn’t quite known

how many riches there’d be (25).

Robertson marvels at nature’s natural wonders.  For her, the Yukon River inspires just like Georgia O’Keefe’s infamous cloud-scapes or French Impressionists’ swirling lines.  The river:  

It bends and dapples and distorts…

Adding and subtracting shades (27).

Still, “You never know what / the river may bring… Everything comes down the river / if you watch long enough” (29).  And yet, like the old adage, one can never step in the same river twice, its purge and rejuvenation brings new waters that can both cleanse and drown.

Author Erin Robertson

In her poetic meanderings, Robertson also takes on the persona of “Other Animals” like otter, caribou, peregrines, and Swainson’s Thrush.  She watches their lives, their passage onto new territory, and their passing into the beyond.  It’s a moment, a flicker, a stillness juxtaposed to the more rapid pace of her life back “home” in Colorado.

Fire, too is a constant, not only in the Alaskan Interior but throughout the Mountain West like Robertson’s home upon the Front Range.  She notes:

after the fire

naked birches are

black and white tapers

all blown out (56).

Even after a “Severe Burn” she comments on the stark beauty:

The burn dazzles

despite a blackened past (57).

Seemingly, it is a reality that we all have to come to accept because out of destruction, the ashes can reinvent a newness, a regrowth, another possibility.

Robertson’s experience as an Artist-In-Residence is a testament to her “Vocation” (105).  She embraces where this has taken her:

so many options open

when you go where you’re called

when you do what you love

when you toss every last bitter pill aside…

the earth is humming

with so many ways to play

what will you try next? (105).

This is the challenge that she sets before us.  In her closing poem, “Accounting for Awe” she sets us straight, like one hiking boot in front of the other and asks:

What is the sum of these days of devotion?

An accounting of the endless ways to direct awe.

Anywhere you look there’s a one-inch bit of wonder…

To not let it all burn yet (107).

Here is our reason, in our act of love for nature, we will find compassion for ourselves.

Boulder County Poet Erin Robertson carries this love for nature and compassion forward. She is the founder of BoCo Wild Writers where she teaches outdoor nature writing classes.  Her work can be found at http://www.erinrobertson.org

WHAT THE RIVER MAY BRING: IMPRESSIONS OF INTERIOR ALASKA

BY ERIN ROBERTSON

AVAILABLE THROUGH RAW EARTH INK

Shelli Rottschafer (she / her / ella) completed her doctorate from the University of New Mexico, Albuquerque (2005) in Latin American Contemporary Literature. From 2006 until 2023 Rottschafer taught at a small liberal arts college in Grand Rapids, Michigan as a Professor of Spanish. She also holds an MFA in Creative Writing with a concentration in Poetry and coursework in Nature Writing from Western Colorado University (2025).

Shelli’s home state is Michigan, yet her wanderlust turns her gaze toward her new querencia within the Mountain West where she lives, loves, and writes in Louisville, Colorado and El Prado, Nuevo México with her partner, photographer Daniel Combs and their Pyrenees-Border Collie Rescue. 

Discover more of Shelli’s work at: www.shellirottschaferauthor.com

Spring

windswept
I look within
melt snow on my skin
ready for new life

can love truly heal all wounds and hurts


tara caribou | ©️2026 photo by me

Shame

the shame drips like tar
slow and methodical
never fully releasing its grip

I am coated and covered
if I open my lips
it reveals itself within
my eyes are covered
my face downcast

in the dark I attempt to hide
turning off lights
refusing eye contact
hunching my shoulders
turning away

helpless, the shame covers me
hurting, the shame is familiar
lonely, the shame is a liar
unable to break away (so far)

the shame is me


How to break free of something so ingrained. This evening, I read how to be released from this overwhelming and debilitating shame. Practice compassion on oneself. Just reading that sentence makes me cry. I have no compassion for myself. Compassion and mercy for others? Yes. For myself? Absolutely not. How to have compassion for someone you despise?

I’m supposed to find the root of my inherent shame. I haven’t figured that out yet. I mean, I know I have worth to a few others. But I don’t see my worth to myself. Why should that even matter?? But it does somehow. My friend Candice told me once, I need to be my own friend and champion. I haven’t figured out that part either. 

I’m scared.

I guess perhaps for right now, for today, I will say, “This is hard but I am still worthy of love.”


tara caribou | ©️2026

Exaltation No. 10 (Mercy)

stripped of my carefully crafted cloak
my mask lifted and tossed aside
I’m not prepared
in this moment
I am
e x p o s e d

this nakedness
my bare soul
what will you think
how will you respond
I am left (now) with
nothing to hide behind or
defend myself with

the exposure
chills me
from within

and now
with no escape
my shaking hands cover my head
I close my eyes and lift my face
be gentle, I pray
please, with mercy, be gentle


tara caribou | ©️2025

Thin Ice

you reach deep
wanting to feel good
wanting to feel
something
you bury yourself
in desire
in speculation and metaphysics
in coming times
in what once was
in a grief never formed
and because of this
you lasso others
without intending to
without realizing it
and they, too, become the reach
the reach for
for
for something more
and I, I hold on
confused and
unable to form words
willing thoughts from
my great void
and
what has become
of the idea
of us


tara caribou | ©️2025

David J Bauman

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