Welcome to the Spring Equinox 2026 edition of the Prose City Post!
I’m jotting this at the bistro table in the Farmhouse with unexpected sun streaming in the windows, while reflecting on the magical afternoon here yesterday. We had a more intimate gathering for our first ever book release party with new friends, old friends, music, reading, and conversation.
We celebrated the publication (March 13) of Chrys Buckley’s gorgeous new book, Invisible Violets: A Mixtape in Lyric Essays. Chrys read from the book and engaged in conversation with Cricket around topics including painterly writing, the lyric essay, book as mixtape, and events, experiences, and people that inspired, informed and show up in the book. We heard, too, from book author, poet, and actor Sharon Porter who read four of her beautiful poems, chosen because of how they speak to the challenging political times we’re in. Between hearing from Chrys and Sharon, singer-songwriter Tracy McFarland shared her beautiful voice and acoustic guitar.
I kept hearing words like magical and enchanting during intermission and in conversation after as we discussed what we had just experienced from these three local talents and community members, and I was reminded again: this is what the world needs more of, now more than ever.
On Being Here and Staying Human
Just two days past the Spring Equinox, there is a discernible shift in the quality of light and in the air. The greenery around the Farmhouse here in Portland is lush and growing enthusiastically. Like us, neighbors are emerging to work on their yards, gardens, and other outdoor projects. Rather than having our heads bowed in the wind and rain, people out and about are nodding and saying hello.
Meanwhile, The national and international headlines are brutal and relentless, with reverberations at every level around the world—including here in Oregon. More than ever I’m trying to find the right balance between staying informed and aware of what my tax dollars are doing, witnessing individuals behind the numbers, while also being mindful of my limited means and sphere of influence. This is math we all must do. One thing I know I can do is show up in community. Regressive, oppressive forces gain power when people feel isolated and detached from others. So-called social media and television tend to make this worse, as we have the enhanced highlight reels of people’s lives fed to us as expected norms and aspirational reality. AI has the potential to make this worse as people turn to machines instead of friends, family, and caregivers.
We can’t make the headlines or the horrors behind them go away, not easily or quickly; but we can continue to show up in authentic community. We can share our voices, our art, and our attention with one another rather than with faceless strangers and burgeoning bots on billionaire-mediated platforms that mine us as unwitting resources, products, and consumers all at once.
Today and every day, I’m feeling gratitude for our little, local Prose City community.
Why Prose City Gatherings Are (Almost) Always Free
When we were dreaming and planning what Prose City is becoming now, we kept returning to the same frustration: the slow disappearance of spaces where people could gather without a price tag. Not just affordable spaces, or sliding scale spaces, but truly free ones. Meanwhile, the cost of everything else was climbing: workshops charging $100+/hour, “community” events with a $20 entry fee, and platforms pushing organizers to monetize every interaction. Even the idea of gathering felt like it was being financialized.
Trust me when I say I get it—artists and organizers deserve compensation more than the bankers and tech bros do. Rent is steep. Labor matters. But when the default becomes charging for connection, especially in a city where $10 lattes and $2,000 studios are already gatekeeping who gets to be here and participate, something vital is lost.
Portland in 2026 doesn’t need more events. It needs more places where you can walk in empty-handed, spend time in community, and leave enriched. Gatherings where the currency isn’t dollars but attention, curiosity, and mutual care. Where a poet, a gardener, and a caregiver can end up in the same conversation without anyone checking a wallet.
We’re not anti-money. We’re pro-access. Pro-serendipity. Pro-the idea that the best things happen when the barrier to entry is showing up, not paying up. Prose City events are free, but they’re not cheap. They cost us time, thought, energy, money for snacks and beverages, and the occasional late nighter when we’re too excited about a new idea to sleep. Is it worth it? A million times yes.
Goings On in Prose City
We slowed down a bit when Iris restarted grad school last Fall and we focused on house projects for a few months, but over the past couple months we’ve started another cohort of the Confluence Café, our small conversation salon, and are starting our Life Writers memoir-style writing series up again, too. We’re planning our next Undercurrent salon, as well.
In the summer, if not before, we’re going to resume some of our drop-in gatherings, as well. Crafting sessions, silent reading, and co-writing gatherings where we bring whatever we’re working on and write together in companionable silence, fueled by coffee and tea, snacks, and the best company in Portland.
If you haven’t already shared your interests with us, please do that via this simple form if you’d like to be invited to any of these and other future events.
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Let’s keep writing, keep conversing, and keep looking for the nuance in life. We looking forward to seeing you soon!
