When the geese sounded their farewells last autumn, I felt a heaviness in me that could only be described as incongruence. I had been feeling restless in my indecision and confused by my lack of clarity. I thought and thought and then I gave up and prayed instead. That always works better for me, but I’m often stubborn in my acceptance of that surrender. It takes awhile for me to recognise that determination only gets me so far when I’m feeling rather flummoxed. Often, when big decisions must be made, I find God closest and most clear in my solitude, immersed in nature. I have taken some time off from writing here to allow those frequencies to strengthen without the static of distractions.

Many of my readers know how I’ve been feeling about being here, on this digital platform in a time when I feel truly concerned with the lightening speed with which AI is unfolding and how much of our lives we’re spending behind screens. Increasingly, I’ve been questioning my own participation. It seems normal for so many of us to be calling out the harms of these digital spaces on the digital space itself. It’s easy enough to explain why this is - it is our main source of reaching one another and all that jazz, but for me, deep in my heart, I feel a profound sense of my own diminishing integrity.

But what to do? I have a big and bountiful readership here. I have 88,000ish subscribers on Instagram that find me there and sometimes make their way here. Substack is how I make the bulk of my income. I have no real plans or a map of where I’m headed. But as I’ve written many times in many ways, I need not know the outcome or destination before I move. I just need to listen to the callings of my heart and act on that with faith. Those prayers I’ve been praying? They’ve been answered with concise clarity. It’s time for this chapter of my life to end.

I am genuinely grateful and forever moved by so many of you here. So many of you have taken the time and care to share your stories with us, too. By and large you have been tremendously supportive and kind. But there is a dark side to writing the true stories of a heart. Sometimes, people confuse writing with the totality of a person. They forget that what one writes is just a part of a bigger whole. And that bigger whole is the genuine person behind the shaped words - a person that is flawed, temperamental, unknowing, ignorant at times, and always, always so much more than what she/he chooses to write about.

I have no key, no answers for anyone. Those are for you to find for yourselves. It feels like a tremendous failing to me that some may have missed that message in my writing. I cannot control how people receive what I share. I understand that. But it’s my deepest desire that if what I’ve ever shared has illuminated anything, it’s that life is fleeting and precious and wildly beautiful and to come to that for yourself is the very meaning and work of your life. There is no person to lead you there. No guru or shaman or weekend workshop. It’s yours. You decide what to do with that in every moment you are here.

Over the last few years I have had a growing number of incidents of people reaching out to my family members and friends in order to be connected to me. Some of these attempts have superseded respectful norms and personal privacy. A few have been blatant harassment. My home is my sanctuary, not an attraction to seek out. My children are their own people, not conduits to me. My friends, frankly, have better things to do than field questions about me. If I come across as hard to get ahold of, that’s by design. I share what I have in my writing, but my solitude is essential, and my privacy defended. Ignoring this is wildly inappropriate and will not be tolerated.

These incidents of people infiltrating the peace and solace of my private life have only served as escorts to a most definitive message. My deep concerns with AI, of being on these digital platforms that blur the lines between human art and soulless machine offerings is not a place for me. There are things I am not willing to have in my life no matter what.

There are, as always, gifts in the turmoil. We must, as they say, be careful what we pray for. Sometimes our stubbornness requires a more insistent, consistent answer. Making decisions, especially ones that involve the dissolution of something we may have worked so hard for, is seldom without pain. That can’t be used as a marker of rightness lest we continue on doing something simply because it’s more comfortable to stay with the known and the comfortable. The time for Slowdown Farmstead has now reached its end. I’ve known it for months but tried to figure out ways around it. Now, in having made that decision, I feel only peace and great affection for the time I’ve had with you all.

But to move into this next era of my life is to return to a time when I enjoyed something without feeling the need to whip out my camera to record it. It’s choosing to listen to music that requires a breath of air to be blown across the vinyl record lest the needle accumulate dust. It’s resurrecting my old film camera and finally pulling my old sewing machine from the closet. I need the physical, analogue, real and tangible and I need to deprogram my mind. I need to just immerse myself in a moment without diluting it by capturing it.

The world, they say, is digital now, but I still have a say in my world. I don’t want to be the grandmother with a screen in her pocket. I want crumbs and dried leaves and maybe a sweet or two in mine. I want to be an example to my grandchildren and that requires me to practice my own personal values. I care not for the choices of others. We each have our own set of circumstances and realities. I just know there are layers of practices I’ve accumulated that were never accepted by conscious choice. I am making more conscious choices now. Better late than never, right?

What happens next with my writing I do not know. I will continue to write just as I always have. Maybe I will collect those writings and release them a couple of times a year in a little book. Maybe I will come up with a little newsletter that comes to you through the mail. Maybe I’ll just tuck them into a journal and leave them for my grandchildren in case they get terribly bored some rainy February afternoon. Whatever I write, it will be on paper and be held in hands, not contained in the blue light of a computer screen. I’m not going to be found there anymore. My Instagram account has been shuttered.

My Substack essays will be collected and printed into little book(s) of their own. If you would like to be notified when I have those available some day in the future, or if/when I decide to release some booklets with any new essays, you can join my email mailing list. If you’re a subscriber here, you’re already on it. If not, just sign up for a free account and you’ll be notified. Eventually, I might get a static web page that lists my physical offerings. I don’t know. We’ll see how all that goes. In the meantime, your free subscription here will ensure any updates will find their way to you. If you have no interest in any future analogue offerings I may come up with, you can simply unsubscribe and you’ll never hear a peep out of me again.

Troy and I are leaving for a time. We’ll be travelling and leaving our home in the competent hands of an old army pal and his family. They assure us that Bea will get her daily scratches and my home will be well loved. The wild places around me are too familiar now. I need to go further to access the unfamiliar parts of myself and this beautiful world of ours. We’re heading far up into the northern country for the solitude I so desperately need. And then? Further. We’re even planning on going back to the motherland where I plan to find the cemeteries of my ancestors and share a meal or two with the living strangers that share my blood. Maybe I’ll write about it.

To the vast majority of my readers that have been here supporting my writing and sharing with us all your kindness and goodness, thank you. I will miss you. I will think of you often and pray for love and meaning in your lives. I mean it. I will hold you all in my heart to the end.

The geese are gone now. I know, I know, always with the geese, Tara! But I simply can’t help it. I will watch for them until my dying day. They’ll be back and they will go again, long past my time. There is great reassurance in those noisy, winged formations. In the meantime, I dedicate myself to the role I’ve been given - a “human-keeper”, my greatest aspiration in this time of simulacra. I can think of no better use for me than reading a book with my grandchildren. Goofing around with my husband. Praying and being worthy of the sanctified guidance of an ever-loving God. Being silly with friends. Eating nourishing meals by candlelight on a snow covered earth. Tending. Loving. No more cellphone. No more screens.

I am tucking in Slowdown Farmstead with the greatest of gratitude and deepest of love. It has been a loyal friend and beautiful conduit to such rich and wonderful moments and exchanges in my life and, I know because you’ve told me, in many of yours. But it has lived its life and served its purpose. And now it is time to part. Tara just needs to be Tara again.

A true renaissance is brewing and it lives in the physical world. I can feel its heartbeat and I aim to match its cadence.

Happy Trails, dear hearts. My hope for you is that you hold tight to our solemn duty and great privilege of being human-keepers, all.

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I saw a duck standing on a rock beside the lake yesterday. All of the other ducks have gone, none remaining to keep her company. She was without flock or partner, looking (if I dare wade into the tempestuous waters of deciphering a duck’s look) utterly bewildered. Or perhaps I can say with more certainty, very, very alone.

I watched her for a time. I wa…

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It’s been a surreal few weeks (maybe months, by now) as my book has been released into the big, wide world. I was going through some old writing the other day, trying to organize file folders full of old essays I had done when I did a writing program with Simon Fraser University years ago. I still remember the first thing I presented to my professor and classmates, reading it aloud and being absolutely petrified. Who was I to be there? I felt like a silly woman, an imposter with grandiose, self-inflated ideas of her talents. But the feedback I received was encouraging and moving. They got what I was saying and found secrets that revealed themselves in my words, but were still hidden from me. They could see things I was blind to.

Writing was always clarifying in a way my mind couldn’t be. I’ve always been that way. It was in putting pencil to paper that I found my way through the muddled, fog-blanketed bogs of my experiences. Sometimes my emotions were so thick and turbulent that my ability to sort out what was real and what I needed to see or learn, was impossible in the milieu of other people’s views or condemnations. When I was in my early twenties I read a quote by Graham Wallas from his 1926 book, “The Art of Thought” that forever changed my understanding of my own mind and my ability to comprehend.

It’s simple enough, but it was profound to me then. I thought there might just be a kink in my think, something not altogether functioning, but when I saw that quote it was like a door to some vast dance hall opened before me. And inside there were people of all ilk, doing their own little dance, however they were moved to move. I wasn’t broken, I just needed time and space to sift through my world and to reassemble the pieces into an understanding that came in through the ether and down into the tip of my pencil. My pace just doesn’t match up with the pace of a fast moving world.

As I read through some of that old writing I was sorting through, I found a young woman finding herself. I remember that most of the people in that writing class were older than me. They asked questions and found in my stories some little girl looking for a way out. Or maybe she was just looking for a way through. And with their kindness, I began to believe that there might have been a reason I felt so called to write even when I had no confidence in my ability.

Over the years I have discovered how passionate I feel about a wide variety of topics. At one time I was certain I would write a book about on-farm animal harvest because of my conviction of it being the humane and right way to harvest animals. I even flew to Alberta to spend time with some of my favourite farmers, interviewing them about the ethos and principles they were guided by. But that felt too limiting and there were bigger threads and more things I wanted to say.

Then I thought about how nutrition is so intricately woven into the raising and harvesting of animals. And in there, the soil. And how is it possible to write of soil without writing about all of life? And seeing I’m writing about life, especially around animal harvest, I would have to write about death. And, my word! What is this book even about?!

I’ve never been good with summarising or finding my category. I prefer to get in close and look at the weave and patterning and the way things fit together. To some, they may see incongruence, but to me, it’s all there, perfectly woven into one large tapestry and the thread that pulls it altogether is love. That’s it. It’s that simple.

My first drafts of my book (the one that is, but I had no comprehension of how that might even come about back then) are stories of me and Richard, my mentor and best friend. I open Radiance of the Ordinary with a story or two about him. I had to. He changed my life. I love him with all my heart and I miss him every day. I see now that there had to be time, years of time, for more of my life to unfold before I could figure out what and how to write my book. I didn’t know then that profound tragedy had to break me into shards before I dare ever write about grief or faith. I would never have done it right years ago. And that’s why, I realize now, I never wrote it then at all. Instead I collected moments and observations and waited until the call from God became so persistent, that to ignore it would be an utter failing in my understanding of my purpose for even being given this shot at life.

After our daughter, Mila, died, Heather Heying published a story about the circumstances around her death. Since then, she’s become a friend of mine. I adore her. I adore her mind and her heart and her understanding of these precious lives we get to live and her principled values and morality. Last week she was kind enough to publish an excerpt from my book entitled, “On Blood and Butterflies”. You can go to her site to read it if you haven’t already.

This week, Chelsea Green Publishing, has allowed me to share with you another excerpt from my book. This is a part of a bigger chapter entitled “Hands of the King”. It’s a little play on words for the most important position of the king’s hand - a most trusted and powerful position. Anyway, in this case, those hands are for my king, my beloved husband and that’s what that chapter is about - love, marriage, and steadfast commitment.

The following is an excerpt from Tara Couture’s new book Radiance of the Ordinary (Chelsea Green Publishing September 2025) and is printed with permission from the publisher.

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p.s. Next week I’ll be doing a long overdue Q&A. If you’re a paid member, please keep an eye on your inbox for the question submission post.

p.p.s. The Free Press also published an excerpt from my book that you can read here.

It’s hard to believe that it was over two years ago that I put out my first call to share children’s books you all love. I do believe it’s time for an update. Let’s do both children’s books and adult books. These don’t have to be what’s new on the shelves. In fact, I’d prefer if we might blow some dusty spines off and share classics, maybe the books you’d read again and again or the ones worthy of their permanent space on your bookshelves.

I’m finding it harder and harder to find modern day media that speaks to me. It’s been a long while in the brewing, but I’m certain that my disappointed peeks into movies and books isn’t just a reflection of my preferences. Why must everything be politicized into the glaringly obvious? Why does dysfunction and immorality have to be shoved down our gullets until they’re legitimized? What about the beautiful? The sound? The persevering goodness that asks us to be more and better and good?

Children certainly need these values to be demonstrated in their lives. That’s why I was so pleased with those many, many books you shared here two years ago. I printed out your suggestions and kept an eye on online used book sellers and my local brick and mortar stores and added to my library over the last couple of years. I now have almost every book mentioned and I’ve read them all. They were truly magical and I can’t wait to snuggle with my granddaughter (and those that follow) to delight in them with her.

Presently, I’m reading East of Eden by John Steinbeck with my husband and the 1946 book, Restaurant Bemelmans by Ludwig Bemelmans. If that name sounds familiar, it’s probably because he’s the author and illustrator behind the wildly successful “Madeleine” children’s books. This adult novel documents his lived experiences working in a grand New York City hotel in the early part of the 1900s. Fascinating stories about the opulence and excesses of the elite in those years run along with stories of the waiters, the kitchen staff, and the maintenance personnel of the hotel. One of the things that has amazed me is to read about how the waiters were all able to save up their money and buy homes and boats and take vacations to Europe. I can’t help but compare that to the lives of waiters and maintenance workers today.

I so enjoy reading books from a time when political correctness was unknown and the reader is assumed to have a modicum of common sense and intellect. I hope that the glut of books on the market today, many shaped around promoted ideologies, are a phase that won’t last. I have a friend who is an accomplished artist and a beautiful storyteller. She has the most lovely children’s book written, but a few literary agents told her that if the book isn’t a story that reflects “alternative families”, a gender focus, or include “marginal communities”, there is no appetite for it from publishers. I know enough parents to be assured that’s a mistake. There is a strong and growing appetite for books that remind us of bigger things than identity in this world. Beauty and innocence is the inherit right of a child. Both should be protected and enriched as much as possible. I also think tales of what it means to struggle and endure, to work for something and believe in something beyond ourselves are some of the greatest stories we can give to a child.

Now, I’d love to hear from you. What are some of the formative books you’ve read to your children that you think everyone should have on their shelves? These can even just be books they absolutely delighted in! Silly stuff allowed! And you? What are you reading now? What will you read again? What is the book you tell the people in your life that you really like that they really outta’ read? You’re an awfully wonderful group of people and I can’t wait to see what you come up with. Please share your recommendations in the comments below.

p.s. For those of you that have been asking, I finally started my “shop” page with links to the things I use and love (and only those). It’s on the menu bar on the homepage. I’ll add to it over time.

I was walking through our forest the other day when I stumbled into a congregation of red-winged blackbirds. They were a hootin’ and a hollerin’, proclaiming their hallelujahs and singing their exaltations! It was a veritable jamboree replete with music and flights of fancy. They cared not about me or my two pups hopping and dancing along. They had better things to do than concern themselves with the flightless and furry.

I suspect those birds were telling tales from their migrations, sharing plans for the upcoming spring season. Perhaps some of them were discussing where they were going to be building their nests or what has become of last year’s fledglings while the males puffed up their brilliant red shoulder pads to one another, admiring or retreating as appropriate.

The stories they must have! And I, too, have a few stories myself. First, there’s this little thing I did while I was gone. Yes, the book is here and I can finally share the title and it’s soon-to-be whereabouts.

So, there you have it. My book is here and it’s being published by Chelsea Green. I feel so lucky to have been picked up by them. I’ve long admired Chelsea Green for their courageous and interesting books. I knew I wanted to work with them and, well, I suppose I was lucky enough that they felt the same way.

A few days ago I popped into the chat to give my loyal readers there a sneak peek and I’ve been overwhelmed with the excitement, generous compliments, and, of course, the pre-orders! What do you think? Do you like the title? The cover? That title has a significance to me both as a guiding principle and as a quiet whisper of revelation. I share that story, too, in my book.

I can hardly believe this day has arrived. Only I knew it would. I want to write about that, too, sometime soon. For now, I will say that I started this book a few years ago, got serious about it the year before last and used this fall and winter to work with the publisher and my fearless editor to shape my essays into a coherent whole. I have learned a lot along the way. Maybe some of the most useful things I’ve learned have been around structure and deadlines. We’ve probably all heard the saying, “Discipline is the bridge between goals and accomplishment.” It’s truth, that quippy little sentence. The hard part is when that accomplishment seems a long way off and the tasks feel as desirable as rubbing glass into one’s eyeballs.

I think a lot of creative people share this problem. We love using our imaginations, in coming up with things that spill forth from our minds and our hands. The joy is in the making, not in the marketing. Or the refining. Or the logistics of it all. I’ve always been the kind of person that takes delight in something while I’m in it and when I’m done, I’m done. The thing has served it’s purpose for me. Writing a book disallows such notions if you hope to actually have a book worth reading. You have to stick with it and revisit feelings and perspectives that may be painful or that you’ve forgotten about.

That was pretty tough at times.

My book is very intimate. While I was writing it I woke up at 3:00 every morning. I would light the fire and an enormous beeswax candle I bought that was meant to last me the duration of the book’s creation. Before I started to write, I always said a prayer. I prayed for guidance, to be honest, and to have the courage to tuck away my ego so I could write from a place of open vulnerability rather than trying to protect the raw edges. I think I got that part right. I hope I did. But that too comes with an energetic cost. To go back through those things, sometimes on normal, boring, busy days where I had other things on my mind, could be jarring at times. It could also be a beautiful reminder.

The other day I woke up in the middle of the night with a sense of dread. I started thinking about some of the stories I shared about some very profound, precious things that happened to us shortly after our daughter, Mila, died. When I wrote about those things in the book, it felt honest and it felt like I was sharing in a gift that was meant for more than just me. But in the middle of that sleepless night, I was horrified. What if people criticise me or call me crazy or diminish, in any possible way, those things that are so cherished by me? Could I handle that? Maybe not. Maybe it was a mistake to include them. Maybe I needed to put in a 911 call to my editor and insist we remove those delicate, precious stories. They are mine and mine alone and nobody else can touch them!

The next morning I awoke still uneasy and questioning whether I should make that call. I put out a prayer on my morning forest walk. I like to pray then, when the sun is shining on my skin. The warm hands of God cupping my face in his hands. So I poured out my heart to God, to Mila, to those I love on the other side. I asked what I should do. I had faith as I wrote my book that what came was what was meant to be shared, but maybe I got that part wrong?

Later that day I downloaded an episode from a podcast that I really enjoy. I have listened to most of the episodes, but as I scrolled down the years and episodes, I saw one that I hadn’t downloaded before. Listening to that podcast, from years earlier, I was touched, but not surprised, when the author being interviewed spoke of how we need to share our stories of relationships and interactions with the dead. Not everyone can access these beautiful gifts so those that can should share them as a balm and as a gift meant, as they are, to be known and felt by us all.

Ahhh, that was what I was looking for. Just that. And of course, it came as it should.

So, I’m here now and I’m back and I’m just thrilled to be with you all again. I have missed you. I’ve missed our interactions and your thoughtful comments and the sharing of your stories, too. I look forward to returning to my regular, weekly offerings and to some cool, new ideas I have about how we might evolve things moving forward. For now, I do believe I have a book to promote! And for that I hope you might help me.

Apparently, pre-orders for books are a big thing - they really help the book get some traction before it’s even released. If you know you will be ordering my book, might you consider doing so now? It will officially be released early September (just in time for autumnal cozying up with a good, steamy cup of tea or coffee). But the pre-orders are live now. I will include links at the bottom of this page for different ways you can order online. And please spread the word if you feel so inclined. This will be a real grassroots type of campaign and I do hope it includes sharing a few meals and laughs along the way. If you know of any good, local booksellers that you think my book would fit in well with, please ask them if they might get it in. Do you have a bookclub you think might enjoy it? Maybe a mama group or a homeschool clan or even someone you know who has struggled with death and grief? Or, if money is an issue, maybe just asking your library to bring it in.

I’m hoping that I can meet some of you as I travel about to different locales. Maybe we can do a book reading in a park complete with a picnic? Or maybe tea at a little bookstore? Maybe instead of walls we can plop ourselves into a forest and share stories? These are the ways I’m hoping to see us come together around this book. It’s my book, but not really. I just tried to encapsulate gifts I’ve been shown. I think you have your own to share, too, and it would be simply tremendous to share these things in the flesh, together.

Well, hey, hold up, maybe seeing I just put that part out there, I should finally say what the book is about! Is it about death and grief? Yes, but that’s not solely what it’s about. It’s about the dualism of all of life and how allowing the fullness of all rewards us with deep meaning and peace in our own lives. Death and life. Pain and pleasure. Hunger and deep satiation. Work and play. Above all else, I think it’s a story of steadfast faith and enduring love. My deepest desire is that there is something in my words that nourishes you just as I have been.

And here I must mention that one of my biggest “wants” (needs) was having some illustrations in my book. I just love little illustrations every now and then in a book. They used to do that a lot more in older books. Do you notice how rare it is to see that in a book now unless it’s some sort of how-to? Well, I wanted those illustrations and I wanted them drawn/painted by real human hands. It was my hope that they would add some gilding to my words, some beauty in amongst the lines and dashes. I have been beyond blessed to have been able to work with Maria Pace to do just that. I got my illustrations and they’re wonderful. Maria has an eye for the intimate details that, to me, define the majesty and sanctity of life. I’m sure you will love her paintings as much as I do.

I am so excited to hear what you all think about it I can hardly stand that it won’t be until early September when it’s released!

But order it now anyway okay?!

Some book pre-ordering options (direct links):

I know many of us try to avoid Amazon, but for the pre-orders, it’s a beast that needs to be fed. Here’s how to order through Amazon US and Amazon Canada and Amazon UK.

Barnes and Noble

Bookshop.org Bookshop gives percentages of each sale to the local bookstore of your choice.

Waterstones (UK)

Foyles (UK)

Alright, in the next week or two in the chat I’m going to be starting another one of my highly-prized (by me anyway) five day challenges. Remember the other one we did where we all got out there under the sunlight and all that jazz? Is anyone still following those principles? I know I am and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Well, we should do another only this time let’s just make it ‘five days of a bit better’ instead of a challenge. It’s bits that move us forward anyway and that, I think, we can all commit to.

Oh, one last thing for those who didn’t see it in the chat. Please allow me to introduce to you Augustus of the soft and fluffy clan. You may call him Gus if you so choose. He’s an amenable one and will gracefully accept either. We’re still figuring each other out, but I must say, he reminds me a lot of myself - stubborn but ready for a good romp. I think we have many good days ahead of us indeed.

A few weeks ago in our chat we were discussing books. In particular, I was making my pitch for each of us doing our part in collecting the real life, paper and ink books. Digital is but a whiff in the air, easily carried away on the winds. The tangible stuff, the real books of ole with stories from a time when morality and courage mattered, when traditional skills were shared, and when tales were told without the blunt force of modern day ideologies are a treasure that must be preserved.

Today we are learning that even old books are being rewritten to preserve our modern day sensibilities. I don’t want rewritten and refined. What are we if we’re only worthy polished and buffed into the acceptable standards of the censors? No, thanks. I’m glad I have the original versions of these books. What else will become censored? I think of the Judy Blume books that were a treasure and a friend to me during some of my tumultuous early years. I can’t imagine even the title “Blubber” would clear the censors once they get their hands on it. If they can get Dr. Seuss, anything is up for grabs. Exactly why I am preserving these treasures today for my grandchildren, many of our grandchildren, tomorrow.

Used bookstores are everyone’s best friend when you’re growing your own personal library.

To that end I was sharing, on our substack chat, my present adoration of old books by naturalists. I suppose that’s driven in part by my fatigue of everything in our culture needing to always be “edgy” and “provocative”. How many edges will they find to topple us over? The more they push for depravity and the parroting of nonsense, the more I crave wholesome common sense - with all its gritty flaws and humanness.

I read mostly nonfiction books now, but historical fiction and books about nature from a time when all of nature was understood to be respected (not just the disney-fied version) are ones I’m most fascinated and delighted by. In our chat I shared that I think every young person would love the story of “Rascal” by Sterling North. That got many of the mamas in the crowd discussing books that their kids loved. Many of those books surprised the parents. They thought the concepts would be beyond their kids or somehow bore them, but it turned out that wasn’t so.

So this discussion thread is opened by me, but turned over to you. If you have some books or resources you found for your kids, young and old, that you would like to share, please do. We’re specifically looking for recommendations that involve concepts like values, responsibilities, morality, overcoming challenges, imagination, growth, virtues, books on our connection and belonging within nature, and concepts that teach empowerment and authentic confidence through the earning of it.

My recommendations involve books by Sterling North, “The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be” by Farley Mowat, the Little House series, books by Tasha Tudor, everything by James Herriot, and the Narnia series by C.S. Lewis. And you?