Look what showed up in my inbox . . .

Dear Ms. Solod,

My name is Sage Cooley and I am 6th grade. You met my mom, Carol Cooley who is also an author, at the VCCA in September. She gave me a book you wrote called Coyote Summer. I just finished reading it and I thought it was really inspiring. It exampled the characters personalities strongly; it almost felt like I knew them myself. I thought Jessie’s discovery was so unique. The fact that she went out of her way to save Lancelot (that's so cute by the way) and the pups to replace a bad memory is heartbreaking. I got so involved in this book I refused to go to sleep.

I used your book for my English report. I matched all the main characters with animals that fit their nature. 

Lara = Deer

Susan = Koala

Jessie = Coyote (of course)

Mrs. Silva = German Sheppard

Susan’s Dad = Bear

Daniel = Rabbit

Amanda = Dolphin

I look forward to your upcoming books and I think you’re really talented. (Thanks for the autograph in the book 😊) 

Thank you so much for the amazing story,

Sage Cooley

My cousin wrote me the other day . . .

"When's that coyote girl book coming out?"

 “Coyote girl.” Sounds like it should take place somewhere in the southwest and involve a young Native American woman and some kind of ceremony.  Sort of a Lois Lenski Strawberry Girl vibe.

(For the record, I am NOT comparing myself to Lois Lenski.) 

It’s got a nice ring, though.  Maybe I should let my cousin name all my books from now on. 

Coyote Girl.

  Ghost/thief Girl.

Hurricane Girl.

Hmmm . . .

Well, it's too late for this series.  This is the Summerhood Island series. 

Coyote Summer, Ghost/Thief Summer, Hurricane Summer. Each book takes place over the course of a single summer.

And this first book, it’s not really about the coyotes. Just like the second is not really about the ghost/thief, and the third’s not really about a hurricane. 

Although all these things are integral to the stories.

photo n. brodeur

You see, these books are really about the girl, Jessie Silva. 

Coyotes, ghost/thieves, and hurricanes are what involve Jessie, but they aren't really what the books are about.  

The summers of a girl who lives on an island, an almost magical place where kids can still wander freely, still have adventures, still go off on their own and be safe; a place where a young girl is free to make choices and deal with their consequences without fear of predatory adults, or drive by shootings, or muggings; the feelings of a girl who grows up in those summers- that’s what the books are about.

photo matt lovell

photo a. hinson

Jessie Silva: a girl who can live the childhood you had, or wish you'd had, depending on your age and situation. A childhood most kids reading these books will never have a chance to experience. 

Because the world has changed. And maybe it never was as safe as some of us thought. Maybe the freedom we had as children was an illusion. 

malia. photo m. shaver

But not on this island. Here, in these books, in this place, even in this day and age, a girl can wander. And have adventures. And live the childhood we wish we had, the one every child should have- but can't. 

Except in books.

I got . . .

into a slightly “argumentative“ discussion about coyotes at dinner the other night. Since one of the gentlemen I was having this discussion with had supplied the lovely crab appetizer I was consuming at that very moment and the other gentleman in the discussion was my host, I decided it would perhaps be polite or at least politic  to drop the subject. 

Those of you who know me well might be shocked at this, but then, I am getting older, and perhaps a tad wiser. Instead, I decided to write a blog. Perhaps they won’t read it. In any case, dinner is over.

My new book comes out this fall, as most of you know by now. It’s called Coyote Summer, and the coyotes, if not the good guys, are at least sympathetic and misunderstood. Here are some facts about coyotes most people don’t know: 

Coyotes are also called America’s song dogs. They are extremely adaptable, and as we move into their territory with our cities and suburbs, they continue to survive and thrive on our trash and vermin. Coyotes are found in almost every major city in America.

coyote on Portland's metro system

 It is common for a coyote in winter to take more interest in your canine companion.  From the coyote's perspective, the territory is like a singles bar - "I wonder if that German shepherd would make a nice boyfriend? ... Nah, not my type". 

A coyote is also a curious animal, so just because it stares at you is no cause for alarm.  Chances are excellent, that after curiosity is satiated, the coyote will continue about its business of performing free pest control in your community.

city coyote

Love is their bond. Coyotes often mate for life and "never divorce" - according to the largest urban coyote study in America.

project coyote picture

Coyotes rarely attack humans. Between 1960 and 2006 there were only 159 reported cases of bites across North America. By comparison in 2012 there were 5,000 reported bites by domestic dogs in Cook County, which contains Chicago, alone. 

Nonetheless, in 2009 a young woman was killed by coyotes while hiking in Nova Scotia; scientists do not understand why. One suggestion is that the animals found in eastern America are a coyote-wolf hybrid that hunt more frequently in packs and can take down larger prey.

In America’s cities the key to the coyote’s success is its virtual invisibility, and sightings of the animal during the recent mating season were unusual enough to have been the subject of news reports. This is no accident. Those who watch the beasts say that the coyote is more nocturnal when it lives in cities than when it is in the wild, which has undoubtedly helped its quiet conquest of parts of metropolitan America. Most people do not actually know they have coyotes living in their neighborhood, and conflicts only arise when an individual becomes a problem—perhaps having developed a taste for kitchen scraps. 

Once known as the “ghosts of the plains” coyotes are increasingly known as the “ghosts of the cities”. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=NQzA_ENM9Xo&t=28

For tons of coyote information go to www.projectcoyote.org

When on the rock . . .

I took my first walk of the season on Barges beach yesterday.

I've been here a couple of days, but walked with Nina.  

My sister prefers parts of the island one can walk quickly and energetically.  When I walk with Nina we walk on the roads and on the deer paths.  

We raise our heart rates.  Sometimes we sweat.  

We walk in a way that is good for our hearts, our blood pressure, a way that strengthens our bones and builds muscles and stamina.  

This is a good thing, and I love walking with my sister.

When I walk alone here on the island, if I don’t have a specific destination, I find myself almost invariably on Barges beach.  I can’t walk fast on Barges, even the “road” along the beach is cobbled unevenly with large and small round stones, ever-shifting sand, and tufts of whatever plant can find a roothold between the rocks.  

I can’t really look ahead for more than a moment or two. The only way for me to walk on Barges beach is looking down at the ground just ahead of my feet.

i saw coyote tracks

There are sandy stretches on this beach, but they change with every tide and every storm.  I can never know what is ahead of me at any given time, so to walk without stumbling and falling is to walk slowly, looking down.

the coyote was following a deer

I don’t mind this.  In fact I prefer it, which is why I am drawn, have always been drawn, to this particular part of the island.  Looking down forces me to focus on the small, the singular, the unique at that moment that is directly in my line of sight.  

Looking down is sand rounded beach glass, deep red or acid green strands of seaweed, perfect scallop shells.  Looking down is tide pools, sunbleached driftwood carved into unreal shapes, dodging the incoming tide.

looking down I found-

Walking up Barges beach in soft sand is good for the muscles, jumping from jetty rock to jetty rock on the way back down to the road is good for the bones.

Looking down, focusing on the small, the individual, finding what is unique directly under your feet lowers your blood pressure.  

It is good for the heart.

When It's Springtime in the Shenandoah Valley ...

It’s spring here, or at least the calendar says it’s spring. 

 The weather alternates between sunshine and snow flurries, the daffodils are frostbitten and stunted up here on the mountain, even the lettuce I planted three weeks ago is confused.  

 We are two weeks behind town here in our blooming seasons in the best of springs, and this has not been the best of springs. 

 Some things maintain their usual cycles, though.  The road into town is daily littered with at least one or two small bodies awaiting disposal by vulture and crow.  This is the birthing season, when skunks and raccoons have filled their dens with new kits and the year old males are shoved out into the world to fend for themselves.  

 And since we have inserted ourselves into most of their habitats it is unfortunately natural that we find them crowded into ours.  We pave two and four-lane roads through their fields and forests and the young males find themselves facing an unfamiliar and terrifying realm. 

Think of them as teenage boys stumbling into a grown-up world they have no knowledge of, and perhaps have a little more patience on the roads in February, March and April.  I laugh when I call spring "Stupid Young Male Skunk Season," but it is always "Stupid Human Drivers Season."
Coyotes, too, give birth around this time, and from the dens that ring the property around the house, come a cacophony of squeaks and whines and growls that keep the dogs on edge.  Unlike the smaller animals, we don’t see the coyotes as road kill.  In fact, we rarely see the coyotes at all, although we can hear them throughout the year.   

And there was that one winter when, instead of just seeing tracks everywhere, I saw the almost ghostly silhouettes of a half a dozen coyotes through the blanket of a thick snowstorm, racing in a head-to-tail line at line at the edge of the trees just past the garden.  

We are in their world.