Watsontown, PA

“How’d you find Watsontown?” asked one of my 111 high school classmates after Stoic and I ended up there as we drove home from Niagara Falls last month. She, incidentally, is among the handful of us who didn’t stay there after graduation. Well, as a vaudeville comic might say, with great difficulty. I think because… Continue reading Watsontown, PA

Fresh, fabulous figs

We waited longer for figs than for a baby. The latter took just under 3 years; the former, more than 25. And this year, booyah!, we have figs. Figs to eat out of hand, figs to freeze for making preserves and figs to cook. Assuming figs grew in Eden (fig leaves, remember?), why would anyone leave,… Continue reading Fresh, fabulous figs

Strawberry pie; pork and cabbage salad

At the tire store yesterday to get a pickup tire patched, I bought this spring’s first local strawberries. (Hey, in our neck of the woods, it can pay to listen to the old men chatting amongst themselves!) They were perfectly ripe and sweet, he obviously picked them before the drenching rains hit, and I had… Continue reading Strawberry pie; pork and cabbage salad

New year, new me, blah, blah, Brussels sprouts

Time to get re-revved. I’ve rejoined the YMCA after 6 years away. I can walk on the treadmill, do weight circuits, take water aerobics, spin and zumba classes, swim laps. If only it weren’t so much easier to lie in the recliner, read novels (ooh, like Barbara Kingsolver’s Flight Behavior) and eat leftover Christmas candy! Christmas around here really… Continue reading New year, new me, blah, blah, Brussels sprouts

Spring is not for sissies, strawberry crisp

Somehow we associate baby pastels with springtime, yet when I look outside, I see primary colors: The sky, of course, is Carolina (ick, go NC State!) blue and the baby maple leaves, red before they’re green. The intense yellow of the wild mustard and forage turnips, blanketing Iredell pastures as well as the meadowlark breasts turned to… Continue reading Spring is not for sissies, strawberry crisp

Fiona, split pea soup

“…I think if you have the expectation that you’re going to be happy throughout your life — more to the point, if you have a need to be comfortable all the time — well, among other things, you have the makings of a classic drug addict or alcoholic.” From Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher (Simon… Continue reading Fiona, split pea soup

Tryout, blowout

Some people drink when they’re nervous or pump themselves up with drugs. Some people just face their fears (imagine!). I ate malted milk Whoppers until I felt sick. Then I got up this morning and went outside and tried the new mare. She’s a 13-year-old quarterhorse, 16 hands tall and built like a supermodel, which means she’s… Continue reading Tryout, blowout

Little House in the Piedmont, fried Oreos and Bambi

Kind of a Laura Ingalls Wilder weekend with some food adventures thrown in. Paul Bunyan kept working on the huge, old beech that fell near a friend’s deer stand. We cannot afford to heat by propane alone. He also pulled buckets of peppers before Friday night’s scattered frost. While I picked basil to make one… Continue reading Little House in the Piedmont, fried Oreos and Bambi