Notes from the farm
As soon as frost threatens, my brother drops everything and calls all hands to come help dig the sweet potatoes.
My favorite heirloom fruit tree nursery sent an e-mail about a sale. With scarcely a thought, I ordered a bucket of trees.
This spring, I didn't find any morels in the woods around my house. But I did find a lot of other things.
It's been too long since Christmas, and most folks wish the winter were over. But this lingering not-yet-spring is a precious time.
If a plant deprives your crop of moisture or sunlight, it's a weed. In most other situations, so-called weeds are actually doing a lot of good.
Loving and eating animals
When you grow up with a grandmother who insists that you thank the hens every time you gather their eggs, gratitude becomes second nature.
Summer’s bounty in winter
As a child, I loved to make and eat popcorn with my dad. But this rosy memory is eclipsed by the reality of the popcorn my brother grows now.
Social order in the hive
On a crisp winter morning, I took a walk in the sparkling snow covering our small farm. Soon four beehives beckoned.
The post office called recently about a box of honeybees. The assault of insecticides means my sister can no longer overwinter her hives.
There should be some kind of fanfare as the first seeds of a new season go in. But this sacred mundane act generally happens in silence.
Driving through a mini-snowstorm, I thought I might see a snowbow. But it never materialized--and once again, none of the snow stuck.
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