ISSUE No. 74 | October 2026
WELCOME
If you’re new to CULTIVARE we welcome you! CULTIVARE is a monthly field guide for life and faith, brought to you by TEND. Each month we explore a specific “field” – a topic or theme through which we seek to cultivate contemplation, engagement, and deeper understanding. Our guiding questions are:
What are you cultivating in your life?
What fruit do you want your life to bear?
Each issue of CULTIVARE is structured into three parts:
Cultivate: Examines a specific “Field” or facet of life and offers questions to unearth and challenge our held perspective; along with concise kernels of truth which we call “Seeds.”
Irrigate: Explores the ways we nurture our understanding, which varies from individual to individual. We offer six means of irrigation: Art, Poetry, Profile, Film, Essay, and Books.
Germinate: Encourages practical ways to engage in becoming more fruitful and free in our lives.
Our name, CULTIVARE, in Spanish means “I will cultivate.” We hope each issue of our field guide will encourage you to do just that – cultivate new thoughts, actions, faith, hope, and fruitful living. We invite you to dig in and DIG DEEP!
FIELD
For we are partners working together for God, and you are God's field.
(I Corinthians 3:9)
Our theme this month is FALLOW. Yes, you read that correctly! Fallow may not be a word you
hear or encounter very often, but it describes an important concept—not only in agriculture, but
also in the care and nurturing of our souls.
Collins Dictionary defines “fallow” as “land that has been dug or plowed but left unplanted,
allowing its quality and strength to be restored.” Synonyms include dormant, idle, inactive,
uncultivated, unused, and vacant. In the agricultural world, leaving land fallow is not a sign of
neglect or wasted potential. Rather, it is an intentional practice that allows the soil to recover and regain its vitality.
Have you ever experienced a season of fallowness in your own life? Have you found yourself
navigating a period of inactivity, waiting, or recovery? Perhaps you have wondered what God
might be doing in a season when progress seems slow or the way forward is unclear. We hope
this issue will encourage you to see such seasons through a fresh perspective.
Throughout Scripture, we encounter individuals who experienced seasons of apparent inactivity
before stepping into significant roles in God’s purposes. Before leading the Israelites out of
Egypt, Moses spent 40 years in the wilderness as a shepherd. David endured years of fleeing
from King Saul, living in hiding and waiting for God’s promises to unfold. Jesus spent 40 days
in the wilderness fasting and praying before beginning His public ministry. In each of these lives,
periods of waiting, preparation, and solitude preceded seasons of profound purpose and
influence.
When understood rightly, fallowness is not wasted time. It is a season of purposeful waiting,
intentional recovery, and spiritual strengthening. Even when we cannot see what God is doing,
He may be preparing us for what lies ahead.
In this issue, we feature an original essay by theologian Andrew DeCort entitled “Relearning to
Tell Time.” We explore the life of artist Lee Krasner, who experienced a season of fallowness
following her husband’s death. We profile Louis Braille, who transformed the limitations
imposed by his blindness into an opportunity to create a language that would open the world of
reading to blind people. And we feature a new book by Tish Harrison Warren that explores what
can take root and grow amid seasons of fallowness.
The gift and grace of a fallow season lie in the possibilities it offers:
1. Healing and Recovery. These seasons create space for God to restore our weary souls, tend to our wounded hearts, and renew our strength.
2. A Deepening Relationship with God. Turning toward God in seasons of waiting and
uncertainty can draw us into a deeper, more intimate relationship with Him. In the quiet, we may
become more attentive to His presence and more receptive to His work in our lives.
3. Preparation for Seasons Ahead. The work God begins in us during fallow seasons can
prepare us for the abundant life and kingdom purposes He has planned. What may feel like a
season of stillness can become a time of growth, renewal, and preparation for what is yet to come.
May this month’s Cultivare encourage you to embrace the fallow seasons of your own life—not
as periods to be endured or overcome as quickly as possible, but as opportunities to rest, be
renewed, deepen your relationship with God, and trust in the unseen work He is doing within
you. (DG)
***
For six years you are to sow your fields and harvest the crops, but during the seventh year let the land lie unplowed and unused. Then the poor among your people may get food from it, and the wild animals may eat what is left. Do the same with your vineyard and your olive grove.
(Exodus 23:10-11 NIV)
The fallow ground of the poor yields much food, but it is swept away through injustice.
(Prov. 13:23 RSV)
Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit. (John 15:2 NKJV)
Be patient, then, brothers and sisters, until the Lord’s coming. See how the farmer waits for the land to yield its valuable crop, patiently waiting for the autumn and spring rains.
(James 5:7 NIV)
***
TEND CAN HELP! If you would like to take tangible steps working toward a new chapter in your life TEND can help. Explore our offerings by clicking here:
SEEDS
A handful of quotes to contemplate and cultivate into your life
Fallow is not dead. Fallow is the vital rest before the harvest. (Anonymous)
Sometimes the most urgent thing you can do is completely nothing. (Ashleigh Brilliant)
The rugged fallow ground under her feet seemed to her to be a symbol of faith—faith that winter would come and pass—the spring sun and rain would burst the seeds of wheat. (Zane Grey)
Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes...including you.
(Anne Lamott)
There must be a period of time when the fields lie fallow, when they are not plowed and planted, when they are just left alone to rest. And so it is with the human mind and spirit. (Anne Morrow Lindbergh)
To lie fallow is a gift. We don’t really know how to do it. Rather we are done by it or undone by it. The moments we are allowed to be in that condition are times of gratitude. It is from these that our freedom comes. It is where authentic being exists. Any fruitfulness arises from that surrendered openness. It is there that God makes each of us a fertile ground, a bearing soil. (Gunilla Norris)
The land must rest so that it may bear fruit again; the soul must pause so that it may feel again. (Unknown)
Take rest; a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop. (Ovid)
ART
Artist of the Month
Lee Krasner
by Bonnie Fearer
One might say that Lenore “Lee” Krasner was born into the world at the wrong time for a woman artist to flourish. At best, it was an uphill battle, but part of her flourishing was due to a period in her life when, like a field in winter, she inhabited darkness, fallow and still.
As the youngest of seven children, Lee Krasner was born in 1908 to Jewish Ukrainian immigrants. Among her siblings, she alone was born in the United States. She always knew she wanted to be an artist, and at age thirteen was thrilled to be accepted to the Washington Irving High School, the only public high school in New York to allow young women to study art. Ironically, a failing grade in one art class almost kept her from pursuing art school at the college level. However, she got into a series of schools, culminating in her enrollment at the prestigious National Academy of Design from 1926 through 1928, where her conservative teachers often chastised her original, independent streak—a quality they deemed unsuitable for a woman.
Her work is most often described as abstract expressionism. She incorporated cubism, gestural paint strokes, and even collage in her work. Consistently self-critical throughout her career, she often destroyed pieces she didn’t particularly like, so her surviving body of work is modest when compared to her actual output, as well as the output of her contemporaries, including Willem de Kooning, Peggy Guggenheim and Clement Greenberg. In this melting pot of abstract artists, Krasner was well-respected.
Why have so many of us not heard of her? In part, it may be because of one man—Jackson Pollock.
Krasner and Pollock met in 1941 at a shared gallery showing of their work. She introduced him to the artists of the American Abstract Artists, a group she founded in 1936 to help promote an appreciation of abstract art. In many ways, she exposed him to an art world he hadn’t yet known. They moved in together, ultimately marrying and sharing a creative life. However, Krasner found herself increasingly—albeit generously—helping to support her husband’s career, in many ways taking away from her own. She continued to work throughout their marriage, but her studio was a cramped spare bedroom, while his was an expansive detached barn on their property.
Krasner adored her husband, but after years of suffering the humiliation of his many infidelities and his rampant alcoholism, the strain led her to take an extended trip with friends to Paris. While she was gone, Pollock was killed in a violent car accident, an event that brought crushing grief that was both complicated and overwhelming. Krasner was left with the weighty burden of suffocating loss, as well as the staggering task of handling Pollock’s artistic and economic estate. Krasner, the artist, went underground. She hibernated in the darkness of her grief for years.
She emerged artistically, in part, due to crippling insomnia. She decided that it was better to paint through the night than it was to lie tormented, waiting for dawn. And so, she moved her studio out to the barn where her husband had once worked. Because the dim nighttime lighting affected color vision, she began to adopt muted earth tones in place of her customary bright colors. She had newfound space and now played with larger canvases with a freedom she had not experienced before. Her style changed. Her “fallow” period as an artist helped usher in a period of volcanic energy, during which she produced what is now known as “The Umber Paintings,” thus called because of the muted color palette she used—a color palette that, interestingly, could be used to describe a fallow, winter field. (One of these paintings, Polar Stampede, is featured above.)
Lee Krasner died in 1984, at age 75, having established herself as an important artist. She is buried In New York, alongside her husband Jackson Pollock.
To learn more about Lee Krasner, visit here
To see more of her work, visit here
POETRY
Camp Fallow
By Gordon Ebert
just between me and you,
there’s not a lot to do there.
and I shy from sharing the cost.
you’ll need to ask for time away –
and plan, I’m afraid, to miss out
on who knows what for a while.
happily, they always have room –
just know it’s normal to have
trouble with the reservations.
the directions, you have guessed
by now, are a tricky bit – but be sure,
you’ll know it when you get there.
you’ll see real people scattered
about, walking, talking,
remembering boredom.
some sitting on the ground
with nothing but spoons,
digging into the earth.
some sinking down
into the dark sweet soil,
waiting, like seeds,
to crack open from within.
PROFILE
Louis Braille
By Olivia Mather
In early nineteenth-century France, to be a blind child meant no formal education and few employment opportunities. People with profound visual impairment were not expected to live independently or to produce the “fruit” of meaningful labor. For Louis Braille (1809-1852), life started out with full sensory abilities, but this changed dramatically when he was three years old. An accident injured one of his eyes, causing an infection that led to blindness in both eyes by the time he was five. Braille would spend the rest of his life fighting against the assumption that people with disabilities would live their lives in fallow.
The young Braille showed himself to be so precocious that a local school teacher, in an unusual move for the time, accepted him as a student in the one-room school in Braille’s town. Braille’s abilities, curiosity, and confidence impressed a town priest, who, after observing a school for the blind in Paris, convinced a local countess to pay for Braille’s education at the specialized academy, where Braille enrolled at the age of ten. The Royal Academy for Blind Youth taught students to read using an embossed system of raised letters on paper. This system was difficult to produce, cumbersome to read, and limited to a narrow collection of books. When Braille was twelve, he learned a new system used by military intelligence and based on dots. This system was limited to military vocabulary, as well as being awkward, so Braille developed his own system. The school did not accept it at first, though Braille had taught many of his fellow students. When the system started to catch on at schools in other countries, the Royal Academy adopted it. Braille published the first version of his system in 1829 at the age of 20 and his second, the binary version that subsequent versions are based on, in 1837. He went on to become a teacher at the Royal Academy.
For Braille, this system’s significance was in expanded communication in general: “Access to communication in the widest sense is access to knowledge, and that is vitally important for us if we [the blind] are not to go on being despised or patronized by condescending sighted people. We do not need pity, nor do we need to be reminded we are vulnerable. We must be treated as equals—and communication is the way this can be brought about.” It’s about more than reading; it’s about human dignity.
Louis Braille took what was predicted to be a fallow life and produced something extraordinary. He wrestled with his own limitations and refused to be satisfied with what the sighted world told him about his abilities. Out of his innovation came a kind of soil amendment for the fallow experiences of millions of visually impaired people. The system that bears his name, braille, has made it possible for students to read (quickly!), write, and identify objects in the world around them. That it was an impaired person who created it also speaks to the value of design from the user’s perspective, a new concept in the early nineteenth century, a concept that has gone on to bear fruit in other fields.
FILM
Each month we recommend films focused on our theme
Feature
Invictus
(2009)
From director Clint Eastwood, Invictus tells the inspiring true story of how Nelson Mandela (Morgan Freeman) emerged from the fallow years of prison life to join forces with the captain of South Africa's rugby team, Francois Pienaar (Matt Damon), to help unite their country. As South Africa’s newly elected President, Mandela knows his nation remains racially and economically divided in the wake of apartheid. Believing he can bring his people together through the universal language of sport, Mandela rallies South Africa's underdog rugby team as they make an unlikely run to the 1995 World Cup Championship match. Morgan Freeman was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actor and Matt Damon was nominated for Best Supporting Actor for their respective roles.
Watch trailer here: View Now
Short Film #1
The Fallow Season
(6 minutes)
In rural Pennsylvania, a young farmer grapples with isolation, legacy, and the hidden mental health crisis sowed deep within America’s farmland. A sobering look at modern American life as a farmer.
Short Film #1
You Need to Be Bored. Here’s Why
By Arthur C. Brooks
(6 minutes)
Boredom isn’t a bug—it’s a feature. Harvard professor Arthur C. Brooks explains why boredom unlocks creativity, activates a powerful brain network, and might even protect you from depression. Learn how the mind wanders—and why that’s a very good thing.
Ted Talk
The Power of Time Off
(17 minutes)
Renowned for album covers, posters and his book of life lessons, designer Stefan Sagmeister invariably has a slightly different way of looking at things. Every seven years Sagmeister closes his New York studio for a yearlong sabbatical to rejuvenate and refresh their creative outlook. He explains the often-overlooked value of time off and shows the innovative projects inspired by his time in Bali.
ESSAY
Relearning to Tell Time
By Andrew DeCort
As a child, I began learning how to tell time.
I remember hearing the clock tick. Seeing the calendar turn. Feeling the weather change. On her yellow steno pads, my mother outlined our weeks in cursive. Wednesdays were always “We Win Day.”
In Illinois, we also told time with the farmers’ fields. In spring, green sprigs burst from the rain-soaked soil. In the humid summer, they shot up into towering stalks. In fall, the overstuffed fields glowed golden under the autumn sun.
But, all too soon, harvest time came again. That’s when the farmers cut their crops down, leaving stalks maimed and miserable looking. Plows ripped through the soil and turned it on itself. Then, for a felt eternity, the fields were fallow—left overthrown, empty, and ugly. It was almost impossible to believe that they would, could, be anything good ever again amidst winter’s bone-chilling darkness.
In my mid-thirties, I began relearning how to tell time, this time with my ensouled body and wise elders.
I woke up in the morning breathless and feeling like some invisible, unfriendly being was standing on my chest. I didn’t want to get out of bed, but I couldn’t sleep. A highway of anxious energy crackled through my left knee and elbow. I felt like I was dying, like I wanted to die.
A silent alarm started booming inside of me: “It’s time to turn off!” But I was desperately afraid. I was afraid that if I allowed myself to turn off—to stop working, to stop pushing, to stop producing—that I would never turn on again. And if that happened, I was afraid that my friends would abandon me, that my donors would walk away, and that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself or provide for my family.
Still, my body’s anxious alarm became more insistent and unlivable.
Then my friend Andy Crouch introduced me to my spiritual director. My spiritual director patiently listened to my story. Then he made a simple observation that felt like a lightning flash of illumination: “Andrew, you’ve got a lot of loss and grief in your life.”
That summer, he invited me to do the thing that most terrified me: to do nothing, to listen to my life, and to process my griefs. I made a list of twenty-six: my brother’s abuse—my best friend’s death—getting mugged on that dark street—being kicked out of my church. With each one, I erupted with tears.
As I sunk deeper into my grief, the anxiety melted, and an inner voice became as clear as day: “Be silent and still.”
The clock, calendar, and season of my life all told me the opposite, that it was time to keep working—to be a good Christian, a good American, a good white straight middle-class phd-holding protestant man governed by the rule “work equals worth.” A frightened young part of myself screamed that if I rested, I’d be ruined.
But my spiritual director helped me tell time. And the soil of my life needed to be plowed over and left empty, ugly, and seemingly useless for a season.
Seven years later, it still feels somewhat shocking: I didn’t die. Instead, like the fields, it was my time to fall fallow. And the season that followed became the most fruitful, and fierce, of my life. Had I “pushed through,” machine-like, I would probably be dead by now. But I’m more alive than ever.
As I write this, the calendar tells me it’s Wednesday. But my body is still learning how to tell time more truthfully, and it’s no longer “We Win Day.” I face how hard it was for me to stop in the past. I reckon with the death in my family, in my marriage, in my faith community, in my friends, society, and world. I can feel the fallowness falling again and ask myself, “Can I handle this, to allow myself to become an empty field, to learn to die before I die – and so, to truly live?”
It feels a little less terrifying this time. I am more curious about what’s on the other side of this upheaval, this humiliating overthrow of my life into a muddy mess of godforsaken emptiness. I want to go all the way this time—to trust the miracle of the God who creates life out of nothing and makes everything beautiful in its time.
What time is it in your life?
***
Andrew DeCort is a writer, teacher, and peace advocate whose work has invited over 30 million people to practice nonviolent love. His most recent book is Reviving the Golden Rule: How the Ancient Ethic of Neighbor Love Can Heal the World (IVP Academic, 2026). His newest book When the Soul Felt Its Worth: Meditations on the Birth of God is expected before Christmas.
BOOKS
Each month we recommend a book (or two) focused on our theme
NON-FICTION
What Grows in Weary Lands
by Tish Harrison Warren
For centuries, Warren notes, times of “aridity” were seen as necessary prerequisites for growth and maturity. Yet in our culture fixated on speed and optimization, we risk losing this deeper sense of the human journey and the resilience that comes with it.
Writing for a moment when two-thirds of Americans are dissatisfied with their work, and a sense of languishing is widespread, Warren draws from both her own season of exhaustion and the rich well of Christian tradition—particularly that of the earliest Christian monks—to discover the habits and mindsets that anchor us in times of doubt, difficulty, and spiritual dryness. She offers hope to those who feel like life is overwhelming, taxing, and disorienting.
What Grows in Weary Lands speaks to anyone longing for a life of depth in a distracted age. Warren helps us see that nothing is wasted—that even in fallow seasons something good is growing, rooted in grace and reaching toward glory.
FICTION
A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems
By Wendell Berry
This collection of Wendell Berry’s Sabbath Poems embraces much that is elemental to human life—beauty, death, peace, and hope
In his preface to A Timbered Choir, Berry writes about the audience for public poetry readings. While he sees poetry in the public eye as a good thing, Berry asks us to recognize the private life of the poem. These Sabbath Poems were written “in silence, in solitude, and mainly out of doors,” and tell us about “moments when heart and mind are open and aware.”
Berry, who died this past August, is beloved for his quiet, steady explorations of nature, his emphasis on finding good work to do in the world, and his faith in the solace of family, memory, and community. His poetry is assured and unceasingly spiritual; its power lies in the strength of the truths revealed.
CHILDREN’S
The Red Tree
by Shaun Tan
The perfect book to soothe worries during stressful times.
A small child awakes to find blackened leaves falling from her bedroom ceiling, threatening to overwhelm her. ‘Sometimes you wake up with nothing to look forward to…’ As she wanders around a world that is complex, puzzling and alienating, she is overtaken by a myriad of feelings.
Just as it seems all hope is lost, the girl returns to her bedroom to find that a tiny red seedling has grown to fill the room with warm light.
As a kind of fable, The Red Tree seeks to remind us that, though some bad feelings are inevitable, they are always tempered by hope. From internationally and critically acclaimed Kate Greenaway Medal, Astrid Lindgren prize and Academy Award winner, Shaun Tan.
DIG DEEPER
Practical suggestions to help you go deeper into our theme
1. QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION
Devote some time and thought to these reflective questions on our theme:
a. What am I being invited to let go of in this season, rather than try to force or fix?
b. If this period of inactivity isn’t “wasting time,” what might it be protecting me from?
c. How can I practice being present in the empty space without rushing to fill it with noise or new projects?
d. In what ways can I redefine my worth when I am not actively producing, achieving, or helping others?
e. What internal resource or hidden roots are growing beneath the surface while nothing is visible above ground?
f. How can I gently prepare the soil of my life so that I am ready when the next season of planting arrives?
2. THE POWER OF A FALLOW FIELD
In the article by Rabbi Laura Bellows she writes about what the ancient practice of Sabbath can teach us today. She poses the questions: “What may have been the purpose of this radical sabbatical practice for the ancient Israelites and what role might it play for the modern (mostly non-agrarian) Jewish community and for all humanity today? What effect might such a practice have on land, wildlife, and biodiversity?” Discover more by reading the entire article here:
3. ALLOW TO FALLOW, ALLOW TO FALL LOW
This sculpture and mixed media installation by artist Fiona Kelly explores many aspects of fallow. Its press release states, “Rather than understanding inactivity as an absence of work, Kelly asks what might emerge when time is allowed to accumulate, materials are left unresolved, and processes are permitted to unfold at their own pace,” and “stillness is not positioned as the opposite of activity. Fallow ground remains biologically active; materials continue to settle, weather and transform. Ideas may develop through periods in which little appears to happen. Kelly extends this logic into artistic practice, approaching waiting, contemplation and apparent inactivity as active conditions within making. The exhibition brings together several years of research, material encounter and transformation without resolving these processes into a fixed conclusion.” The show runs until Sunday, November 16, 2026 at the Luan Gallery, Athlone, Ireland. See the gallery’s website here: View Now
4. SONG: FALLOW GROUND
Spend some reflective time listening to the song Fallow Ground by Highland Music.
A portion of the lyrics are included below.
Weary is the song of my heart
Prone to wander, prone to fear
Weary is the song of my heart
Restless, I’m longing
Weary is the song of my heart
This same prayer, I’ve been praying
This dry land is waiting for You
O God This dry land is waiting for You
On this fallow ground I will lift my hands
In this barren place I will sing again
You are forming me in idle land,
When my weary heart can’t understand
Help me trust you more and more
Help me trust you more and more . . .
In the waiting God is healing . . .
5. PRAYER
O God of peace, who has taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved, in quietness and confidence shall be our strength.
Be with me in this quiet, unplanted time. When my soul feels dry, bare, or left uncultivated, help me not to rush the tilling. Grant me the grace to lie fallow, to release the pressure of production, and to trust that rest is not a waste, but a preparation. Heal the hardened places, quiet the demand to strive, and let your deep waters refresh this quiet earth within me, until the time comes to plant once more.
In quietness and confidence, AMEN.
ROOTED
But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,
whose confidence is in him.
They will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
and never fails to bear fruit.
(Jeremiah 17:7-8 NIV)
POLLINATE
CULTIVARE is a ministry of TEND and is offered free to our subscribers. We are grateful to our donors who help underwrite our costs. If you would like to support the ongoing work of CULTIVARE, please consider us in your giving. All financial contributions to TEND
(a 501c3 ministry) for CULTIVARE are tax-deductible.
Subscribe to CULTIVARE for free!
FIELD NOTES
Images used in order of appearance:
1. FIELD: Photo from Kate Frew, “The Forgotten Value of Rest” https://kate-frew.medium.com/the-forgotten-value-of-rest-d1ef86b3cb83
2. SEEDS: Photo by Carolyn Cheng (2025). https://www.instagram.com/p/DMc49dAR8Hi/
3. ART: Photo of Lee Krasner by Robert E. Mates and Paul Katz https://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/03/arts/design/lee-krasner-paul-kasmin-gallery.html
Lee Krasner, Polar Stampede (1960-1961) San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.
4. POETRY: Andrew Newell Wyeth, House on Winter Hill (1938). Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia.
5. PROFILE: Lucienne Filippi, Louis Braille, 1966 (miniature sur ivoire) (1966). Louis Braille Birthplace and Museum, Coupvray, France.
6. FILM: Albert Gustaf Aristides Edelfelt
Two Boys on a Log (The Little Boat) (1884). Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia.
7. ESSAY: Photo by Leon Hellegers (2025) Netherlands https://www.pexels.com/photo/scenic-summer-fields-in-achterberg-netherlands-30445499/
8. BOOKS: Photo by Atlantic Ambience (2022). https://www.pexels.com/photo/hand-stopping-domino-effect-12955678/
9. DIG DEEPER: Marc Chagall, The Sabbath (1910). Museum Ludwig, Cologne, Germany.
10. ROOTED: Rembrandt, St. Peter in Prison (The Apostle Peter Kneeling) (1631).
The Israel Museum, Jerusalem.
TEAM CULTIVARE: Duane Grobman (Editor), Greg Ehlert, Bonnie Fearer, Lisa Hertzog, Shinook Kang, Elizabeth Khorey, Michelle Lum, Olivia Mather, Andrew Massey, Rita McIntosh, Jason Pearson (Design: Pearpod.com)
WE'RE LISTENING:
We welcome hearing your thoughts on this issue
and suggestions for future issues.
Email us at: info@tendwell.org
