I hope this message finds you taking good care of yourself and yours this summer. I can't help but acknowledge how long it has been since I shared my missives on the world in my usual format, and I'm grateful to everyone who's told me — whether in the bookshop, in passing at the farmers market, or over the phone — just how much this newsletter means to them. Quite honestly, I don't know if I have much to say on the state of the world at the end of Summer 2026. We all know it's a neverending dumpster fire out there, and no amount of words from me is likely to make sense of it or snuff it out. And the season has been keeping me a little too busy to compose a hopeful essay on the topic right now.
It's been a long time since this season has meant being in vacation mode — especially true when you work for yourself. Maybe if you are a school teacher or a parent, summoning summer vibes is still required of you, and I hope you are enjoying squeezing every last drop of the madness out of this manic season. Modern life means more of everything all the time, so summer probably just means keeping up with the pressure of being productive or business as usual while also entertaining an influx of houseguests and invitations to be even more socially engaged than you already were.
And then there is all of the general life stuff that demands our attention and care. Loved ones who are going through difficult transitions. Ever more content, printed or otherwise, to consume and digest. Learning how to better inhabit this human body at midlife. Meanwhile, the sunny season means that there are gardens to tend to and grasses to mow, everything all the more abundant and unforgiving with chores. All of it together makes for a perfect storm for feeling overwhelmed, and that's kinda where I have been lately. But the hardest part of the summer, without question, was saying goodbye to part of our family this past week.
Garrett and I have been blessed with four wonderfully unique animal companions in our 20 years together, and I can safely say that caring for them has always been our number one priority. Being dog/cat dads to these four-leggeds has been the most rewarding endeavor of our life even amidst our successful stewardship of bakeries and bookshops. Our first was a puppy named Arrow we rescued on our first New Year's Eve together. The cats, Padme and Paloma, brother and sister, came into our lives at six weeks old, long before any of the milestones and losses that lay ahead — weathering each of them alongside us with the comfort only a cat on a lap can provide. Our youngest is a ginger-haired little lady dog named Winona who I am starting to think senses just how much we are obsessed with her. But Paloma was and always will be our first daughter.
And while it sorta feels cliché to claim our cat was the best there ever was, anyone who experienced Paloma would attest to how true that was for her. Paloma had a way of making every person in her presence feel like they were her favorite — and for a brief moment or two, you probably were. She truly was the people's cat, and you always knew she'd had a good time at any house party because our guests would leave covered in her cat hair whereas her brother Padme did his best to remain hidden away. Her love and affection had no bounds; she was, without question, the most generously loving creature I've ever
encountered. And now that she is gone, our house suddenly feels so much bigger and quieter. Not because she was loud or took up much space, perpetual kitten-sized that she was, but because her presence and personality were so large.
Saying goodbye to her was one of the most difficult things we have had to do together as a couple and, for just a few days, the rest of the world and its requisite concerns faded away. To-do lists were set aside, this newsletter sat in draft form, a long-anticipated poetry event and a visits from out of town were (most graciously and gratefully) postponed, bookshop shifts were covered (thank you Kelsey and Misty), and our entire attention turned towards what really mattered most: freeing our beloved girl from this earthly realm in the best way we knew how. While there is immense grief surfacing for us, there is also relief knowing that we met this inevitability with as much grace as we could muster. And now, one of our own is buried on this land we get to call home.
Throughout it all, I have been trying my best to stay committed to my own wellness, taking Winona on leisurely beach walks, excusing myself from what feels beyond my capacity, and writing at my desk in my journal…not for public consumption but for my own understanding of self. So if you have wondered why this space has been so quiet these past few months, that is why. The bigger matters we collectively face still weigh on me, of course, but just keeping my sights on what is right in front of me has been more than enough. The riddle I'm still working out is what actually demands a response from me — with all its moment-to-moment noise and want — and what I am free not to answer. For what it's worth, I'm slowly coming to recognize that I am only one person, with the same 24 hours in a day as everyone else. While the world might be hungry for my attention, I get to choose where I put it. Timshel, as Steinbeck would say, is the word I have been reminded of this summer: thou mayest, not thou must.
On that note, attention and time being of finite supply, I have been reading five to six different books at the same time, which might be the least convincing way to prove I'm taking my own advice about limits. There are my Steinbeck book club picks, East of Eden complemented by Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters. (This summer study has been such an enjoyable experience thus far, and I look forward to sharing some reflections on our cohort's deep dive into Steinbeck at a later date.) There are a couple of exciting new ARCs for the upcoming fall releases in the mix — one of them is our October book club pick (see details below). But there are two books right now that are really helping me work my way through all of this finiteness, that feel worth mentioning especially in light of everything else I have written above.
Oliver Burkeman's Meditations for Mortals poignantly reinforces in every chapter (he recommends reading one chapter a day over the course of four weeks) that I am to embrace my own limitations as a finite human, and there's a path forward in which I might spend the sacred time I am allotted on what really counts. As the book's own description puts it: "Reflecting on quotations drawn from philosophy, religion, literature, psychology, and self-help, Burkeman explores a combination of practical tools and daily shifts in perspective." This book has been good medicine, quietly strengthening my discernment skills, and I can't recommend it highly enough.
And then there is I Eat the Stars: How to Live Fully and Beautifully in a Collapsing World by Sarah Wilson. (Before I go on, I should mention this book is temporarily sold out right now but I really think you are going to want to special order your own copy of this one.) Not only does it have the best hand feel — it's a beautiful book that feels good to behold — but Sarah's writing is profoundly gorgeous and still accessible, like talking to a dear friend who is being vulnerable as she delivers some hard truths. Her ability to name and contextualize the grief and overwhelming feelings we're all swimming in
right now due to the crises and threats piling up makes me feel seen and like I am in good company. Sarah refers to this moment of complex systems collapse as the metacrisis because our actions are at the root of the crisis. We are the crisis.
If I tell you that there is a chapter in which she suggests that we readers give up hope because we have already sped past those dire climate thresholds we were told about over a decade ago, I really hope that won't deter you from reading this very important book. Giving up hope, as she frames it, is really more an invitation to meet these times head on, without blinders, and with the understanding that the more firmly we stand in the reality of what is happening, the better equipped we will be to handle whatever challenges inevitably arise. I really love these books, especially as a pair, and feel like they landed at the top of my stacks at this very moment in time for a reason.
What's most special is that I have been reading these aloud to Garrett whenever our busy schedule affords us a quiet evening together. There is something sacred about reading aloud to your life partner on the porch, the setting sun through the fir trees salmon red from late summer wildfire smoke. By reading these texts aloud, we are bearing witness to each other's recognition of the situation we all are in, and to the path we are being called to walk on through whatever comes next.
So those are my raw late summer thoughts. Just getting through this season and dreaming of the fall — when things start to mellow out a little, everyone gets back to their routines, and there's sweater weather, autumn nesting, and a slightly slower pace to look forward to. The world might not actually slow down for anyone, but whatever moments we are able to claim for ourselves, so that we can reflect on and attend to what really matters is precious. While I may struggle to find the time to write to you all as often as I'd like, I'm grateful for this space to connect with you when I can.
We have some events and offerings lined up for the weeks and months ahead — you'll find the details below, and we hope you'll join us if any of them speak to you personally. We're also hard at work on what comes after that, and we'll keep you posted as more of it takes shape. For now, we just want to wish you all well, applaud you for making the most of your summer, and plant a seed for our reconnection with you all in book clubs, author events, and over the counter.
Much love and gratitude to you,
John and Garrett
UPCOMING EVENTS...
Click here to learn more about the book Deep Waters.
Click here to learn more about the book On Resistance: A Manifesto
Click here to learn more about the book Among the Birds
Click here to learn more about the book Landscapes of Forgotten Forts
BOOK CLUB OFFERINGS...
PRE-ORDER CAMPAGIN w/ FAITH PRAY...
With warmer weather still in the forecast, the winter holidays probably seem too far away to consider. However, the season is just around the corner and it's never too early to start working on your gift list!
For those dreaming of inspiring little minds, what better gift than a beautiful book by a local creator? Faith Pray's gorgeous Nutcracker children's book is coming on September 8th. As a special treat, pre-order now and receive a limited edition sticker play set - exclusively for our local friends who can pick up their copy at Imprint Bookshop after September 8th!
To pre-order your copy, scan the QR code in the graphic above or visit this link.
FAITH PRAY (yes, that’s her name, by marriage) is an author and best-selling illustrator from Port Townsend, Washington. After a stroke left her struggling to find her writing self again, Faith set out to tell stories through art as a form of therapy, and rediscovered picture books. Faith has since written and/or illustrated eight books for children, with more in the works. When not writing, illustrating, or wrangling four kids and a mischievous band of animals, Faith loves to sketch at the beach, explore the woods, and of course, read all the books.
A BLESSING TO LEAVE YOU WITH...
To Learn From Animal Being
by John O'Donohue
Nearer to the earth's heart,
Deeper within its silence:
Animals know this world
In a way we never will.
We who are ever
Distanced and distracted
By the parade of bright
Windows thought opens:
Their seamless presence
Is not fractured thus.
Stranded between time
Gone and time emerging,
We manage seldom
To be where we are:
Whereas they are always
Looking out from
The here and now.
May we learn to return
And rest in the beauty
Of animal being,
Learn to lean low,
Leave our locked minds,
And with freed senses
Feel the earth
Breathing with us.
May we enter
Into lightness of spirit,
And slip frequently into
The feel of the wild.
Let the clear silence
Of our animal being
Cleanse our hearts
Of corrosive words.
May we learn to walk
Upon the earth
With all their confidence
And clear-eyed stillness
So that our minds
Might be baptized
In the name of the wind
And the light and the rain.
