Meredith Harmon
Bio
Mix equal parts anthropologist, biologist, geologist, and artisan, stir and heat in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, sprinkle with a heaping pile of odd life experiences. Half-baked.
Achievements (24)
Stories (443)
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The Wells of Gems
I'd been finding sparkly rocks for as long as I can remember. My mother hated me for it. No matter where I went, down to the brook or up the path to visit Granny or into town, I'd come back with a bit of stone that flashed light in my eyes as I walked. I kept them in the bottom of the bed box - who would care but me what I slept on? I cleaned out the rushes regularly and kept it tidy, so why should she care? But she threw out my rocks twice. I found them all the first time, since she just tossed them at the edge of the meadow. The second time she had to fish me out of the brook, many times, screaming. Father had to holler at her something fierce because she kept dragging me back to the house, and I'd leave to fetch more of my pretties, and he finally threatened to tie her to something and let me be. If I was hurting no one, and it didn't dirty the house, what was her problem?
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Fiction
The Long Journey
I have empty nest syndrome. I miss my little flutters. Last year, during the pandemic lockdown, I spent more and more time in my garden. I graduated college with a biology degree, though my career has more focused on geology and metallurgy than the organics in the system. Walking among the plants three generations of my family planted gave me a good respite from the constant reminders of mortality.
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Petlife
Linen Versus Cotton
I know you want an edge-of-the-seat page turner for this challenge, but I cannot. I've only told that story a few times, and I've always lost that friendship because inevitably they come to believe that it's so fantastic that I must be making it up. Sorry, I'm not putting myself out there on the interwebs with that track record. So, instead, a hopepunk story - brew up a cup of a warm toasty beverage for this one:
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Lifehack
Where's Your Sweater?
Don't ever let me get bored. My creative (insane?) brain absolutely hates being bored, and will invent things just to stay active. Normally, I can channel these impulses into research for a jewelry or craft project, but when I'm trapped....
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Confessions
Not So Random Fandom
Ooh, this one's a toughie. Pick the best fandom, defend your choice against all comers? Suddenly I'm reminded of the great George Takei, whose comment on the Star Trek versus Star Wars schism is the perfect summation of the subject (I'm paraphrasing): "We must join forces and unite against our common enemy - Twilight!"
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Fiction
Beacon
The lighthouse beacon swept over the bay, its regular rhythm a comfort to the town that huddled near its strong foundations, on the cliff. When the winds came bowling in from the northeast, the little bay at the base was the least safe place to be. Even boats were dragged so far back they were anchored in little caves carved very, very carefully into the base of the cliff. On the far side, away from the village. Just in case.
By Meredith Harmon5 years ago in Fiction
Harvest
She always started harvesting on full moon night, in the middle of her birth sign. Always. The magic was best that way. But, of course, she never wanted people to know her birth day, so she'd go out in the garden at all times of the year. And at all times of the month, too. You never knew who was watching. Or at what hour. She learned to dabble - dig a little here, dig a little there, pull this, plant that, wander to that corner, kneel in this row for a bit. It was worth the extra time, because she was certain-sure that no one knew where she kept her rare and powerful plants.
By Meredith Harmon5 years ago in Fiction
