Labor Day Weekend. Already.
The steps to our hillside garden are not repaired. The felled wood is not all cut up and stacked. The dock is still waiting to be treated with teak oil.
Chicken Barbeque
. . . nothing says community—or, Old Home Day—like a volunteer fire department and chicken barbeque.
Harvest Jitters
For us backyard gardeners, this is the time of year we fear most for our crop. It is not like we have a super abundance to go around.
Visualizing World Peace
Attendees at this year’s [MacDowell] Medal Day, were given white luggage tags and a pen and urged to write our wishes and hang them on fruit trees in the MacDowell Gardens.
Independent, Inching Forward
Soon you have the sense you are talking about the same things, which is when it hits you . . . you have only inched forward.
Good, Quality Thunder
The rain had stopped and we sat just to watch and listen as the storm’s slashing furry settled to not much more than a purr.
A Sensitive Time
Those are things you must get used to in New England, learning to be a tough tomato.
Spring Cleaning
I am vulnerable to every link I come across leading me down another dark tunnel to a free weekly subscription.
June
Huckles has developed a problem: he visits the neighbors.
Liver Free or Die
I object to the narrow use we make of the animals that pay the ultimate sacrifice on the way to our table.
