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.
Stories (196/0)
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 Harmon3 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 Harmon3 years ago in Fiction
Alchemist
It wasn't coming back to me, so I took a walk in the garden again. See, some of the old texts are rather difficult to translate. Faded spots, mis-translations, deliberate obfuscations, coded language - you name it, I've seen it a dozen times and more. It can drive you mad, wondering if "Blood Stone" means haematite or heliotrope. There's a slight difference between those two! The first is an iron ore that seems to "bleed" when you drill it under water (and you'd better use water, don't inhale that dust!), and the other is a quartz-heavy jasper of the green variety that looks like it has drops of blood-
By Meredith Harmon3 years ago in Fiction
There Are No Sharks Here
Officer, I'm sure I have no idea whatsoever what you're talking about. Sure, we own the house on the pier. Oh - I guess, I mean, it's my house now. He's gone, isn't he? He's not coming back? But, you didn't find a body? So, maybe there's a chance he'll come back?
By Meredith Harmon3 years ago in Fiction
The New Owner
Turner surveyed the shop - his very own shop, now - with complete satisfaction. It was hard getting a foothold in this tiny little town. Everyone knew everyone, everyone was related to everyone, and some days it seemed like unless you married into one of the old families and settled down within the town's defined borders, you were still an outsider, no matter how many generations had lived there.
By Meredith Harmon3 years ago in Fiction
Bait and Switch
I knew it wasn't her the moment she swung her hips through my door. My wife, you see, has a twin sister. The Harpy, I call her. Where my wife is sweet and kind and generous, her twin is the exact opposite. Anything she can do to make anyone else's life miserable, she will. I've seen her throw food at servers in restaurants, steal a homeowner's belongings when invited in, and pitch screaming fits at parties where she wasn't, and should never be, the center of attention.
By Meredith Harmon3 years ago in Fiction
This Old Treasure
Ma always said, that in time of need, dig up the treasure in the basement. We all knew about it. Ma had five sibs, and Da had ten at one time, though only six of the whole bunch lived to have kids. But we all knew. Da's great-great-great-great grandpa had buried a treasure in the basement of the house, and if we were ever in dire need, dig it up and use it.
By Meredith Harmon3 years ago in Fiction
What's Cooking?
To say I am a bad cook is an understatement. I've been kicked out of a dozen kitchens so far. Dad was the cook in our family - he was an army cook, so he knew how to get food out fast, efficiently, and with minimal fuss. There was no time to teach his kid, Mom was coming home soon and needed food. Mom was the teacher, but also not a great cook, and no time to learn, when there was teaching to do and papers to grade. So I was shoved to the side, with my curious questions and habit of being in exactly the wrong place when he was holding a heavy pot.
By Meredith Harmon3 years ago in Feast