Reflection is an important part of preserving memory—of learning and evolving, of taking inventory. Counting blessings, so to speak, making a list and checking it twice. I’ve been inspired by the season to reflect on 2014—its joys and disappointments, regrets and surprises, of new lives coming in and old ones transitioning to whatever’s next, divinity or dust, or an unimaginable somewhere else.

Mr. William Bones, my best friend, soulmate, confidant, gentleman scholar, and constant companion for almost fourteen years passed away in March. I’ve never loved another being quite like I loved Mr. Bones. He was with me for the “big moments” of my life to this point—my marriage, graduate school, birth of my first child, first book, Jesse’s veterinary school acceptance, then graduation. My first time backpacking in a Wilderness Area. He provided solace during two of the darkest periods of my life—the shootings at Virginia Tech and the angry dissolution of a long-held friendship.

I found his wire brush yesterday, tucked in the back of a shelf. His black and white hairs still cling to the bristles. I smelled the brush, cried quietly, and re-hid it on the shelf. The clay imprint of his paw sits here on my writing desk, encircled by his blue collar. This morning Laurel noticed the iPad’s wallpaper and said, “Oh, it’s a baby and Bones.” I asked if she knew who the baby was, and she said, “Baby sister.” She didn’t seem to believe me when I said it was her, Laurel. Poor baby sister, I thought, will never get to pet those soft ears, nap with him in the sun, or go for a hike with him. I still see Mr. Bones sometimes, out of the corner of my eye. Helluva dog: he will be missed forever.

Cora Sage, born on September 7, is the happiest baby I’ve ever seen. She smiles easily, squirms and coos, and generally cooperates. What a contented baby! people say when they hold her. She’s easygoing. Staring into her big blue eyes makes me feel peaceful, even meditative. In many ways, she’s vastly different from her big sister. Laurel is many wonderful things—determined, clever, creative, hilarious—but easygoing she is not. She’s even been called stubborn and bossy a time or two—in other words, she has leadership potential! Laurel knows what she wants and demands it, and she’s been this way since birth. (In fact, the first person to call her “stubborn” was one of the pediatric nurses at the hospital.) I remember standing over Laurel’s crib when she was only a few weeks old and watching her scrunching her tiny face as she struggled to roll over. “Is she supposed to be trying to do that already?” we wondered. One of Laurel’s current favorite books is Ferdinand the Bull; Cora reminds me of Ferdinand, and Laurel reminds me of Ferdinand after he sits on the bumblebee—still a sweetheart, just in a frenzy occasionally.

Cora was born in the “caul”—completely inside the amniotic sac—also known as “veiled.” Babies born this way are supposed to be clairvoyant, or natural healers, or destined for greatness, or lucky, or all of the above. We almost named her Ivy, sticking with a “plant” theme for our children. I sat on the hospital bed and Googled possible mean nicknames for kids named Ivy, and one woman posted that as a child other kids called her “Poison Ivy” and wouldn’t touch her. This made me profoundly sad, and I imagined my sweet baby girl coming home crying because none of the other kids would touch her. Of course, I think if my name had been Ivy, and kids called me Poison Ivy, I would’ve said You’re damn right I’m Poison Ivy. I may have even chased them around, threatening them with my venomous touch.

Anyway: we named her Cora after two of our favorite birds, the raven and the black vulture. Birder shorthand for common raven is CORA, and the black vulture is Coragyps atratus. I call her my little Cora-gypsy.

You should meet this kid sometime. She will smile at you; I can almost guarantee it.

Book manuscript: finished. Phew. I’ve been working on this book in some capacity since about 2002, and I’m happy to say that the manuscript has been drafted in its entirety. It’s in able hands at the moment. Stay tuned.

Lew, my new pal—a few months ago we received a federal permit to keep Lew the turkey vulture to use for educational purposes. He can’t return to the wild because he got walloped by a vehicle—busted leg, dislocated shoulder, ruined eye. The leg has healed but the shoulder injury will never allow him to fly. I’m training him by using positive reinforcement—no grabbing and forcing him to work—instead, many hours spent sitting quietly in his enclosure with him. Now, he will readily approach and eat from my hand, and he grows more confident every day. I’m in love with this tragic guy.

Sally Ann the broken beagle came into our lives just before Cora’s birth. She had been run over by a vehicle, her pelvis shattered. Had we arrived at the animal hospital a few minutes later, the vet on duty would have euthanized her, and that would have been an appropriate decision. But we walked in the door and she looked at us. Two steel plates and fourteen screws later, and she’s running around the yard with Liza Jane and Laurel. She also poops on the floor and destroys furniture, books, shoes, and baby toys, but that’s another story.

The Half-Empty: While 2014 has been overwhelmingly good, a few disappointments continue to nag. I’m increasingly restless without a full-time academic position. I don’t want to claim that I went “on the job market” in 2014, but I did apply for a few positions, and I had my first job interview since 2004 (wow). While the outcome remains to be determined, at the very least the exercise of compiling teaching materials, letters of reference, a writing sample, C.V., etc., was beneficial. It reminded me that I’ve taught a lot of wonderful students in a variety of classes, and that several people have nice things to say about me.

I finish the year regretting the same things I always regret: I wish I’d kept in closer touch with friends. I wish I’d traveled more, written more, and spent more time outdoors.

OK, yes, I finished a book manuscript, but I wish I’d finished it sooner. And I did take a few great trips—Arizona, most memorably—but I’d planned to travel to Costa Rica and New Orleans, too, neither of which worked out. Again, yes, I know, the travel was nixed because I was pregnant, and that of course is wonderful, and who wants to be in New Orleans in late August anyway? Also, I went camping a measly ONCE. This is unacceptable. Next summer, watch out—the crazy people with a toddler, an infant, and two baying hound dogs will be showing up at a tent site near you.

2014, you were a year. Mostly good, for me, anyway, on a personal level. Nationally—globally—maybe a different story. More peace, more goodwill, more sustainable thinking, more kindness, love, empathy, and sense of humor: I’ll be working on that in 2015.

[Photos on this page taken by Shannon Arbogast. And Katie.]