by CMCook | Jul 29, 2025 | fat cow studio
Mornings here aren’t rushed, they unfold. The sun peeks over horizon, warming the tops of the cedar trees and sending long golden shadows across the pasture. I step onto the porch with coffee in hand, still barefoot, still waking up myself. It’s quiet, but not silent....
by CMCook | Jul 8, 2025 | fat cow studio
There’s a particular kind of grief that doesn’t come with a funeral. No flowers. No casseroles. Just quiet absence. It’s the loss of someone who’s still out there, living, breathing, carrying on, but not in your life anymore. Maybe it was a slow fade. Maybe it was a...
by CMCook | Jun 19, 2025 | fat cow studio
There’s something about a summertime sunset that speaks the same language as clay. Maybe it’s the way the sky slowly shifts from gold to ember, or the soft wash of rose that lingers just before night settles in. These skies feel familiar—like the inside of my kiln...
by CMCook | May 29, 2025 | fat cow studio
One year ago today, I stepped into retirement—though it didn’t begin the way I imagined. I was caring for my husband after his knee replacement, and just as he began healing, a serious blood infection set him back. Those early months were tough, but by September, he...
by CMCook | May 23, 2025 | fat cow studio
There’s a quiet kind of healing that happens when you stand beside a horse. It’s not loud or dramatic. It doesn’t come with fanfare or applause. It comes in stillness—in the soft exhale of a warm breath, the calm gaze of a deep brown eye, the rhythm of hooves meeting...
