Sumer is icumen in

On Saturday morning He Who Wears Plaid Shirts took my favorite Chicago knife to the garden and came back with Chinese cabbage, regular cabbage, broccoli and the snowiest cauliflower heads I’ve ever seen. We’d already bought 2 gallons of strawberries and a pound of snow peas at Howard’s berry patch so after I tried another… Continue reading Sumer is icumen in

Rosemary is for remembrance

Our Carolina Piedmont springs and falls are almost obscenely beautiful. That’s the swap we make for having to endure the almost unendurable steamy summers. As I write, we’re moving toward Amazonian rainforest temperatures and humidity. The wisteria is trying, once again, to yank the deck from the house. The roadsides are morphing from Monet-scapes of… Continue reading Rosemary is for remembrance

No fair!

In only 4 days, I got hornswoggled twice by restaurant salads. You’d think I’d have learned the first time when a signature chopped salad amounted to hundreds more calories and fat grams than I figured. But, nooooooo. Last night He Who Must Be Obeyed and I had a early light supper, meeting halfway between where… Continue reading No fair!

My poems are in jars

My poems are in jars I keep saying I’m going to do another kind of writing The kind that involves stanzas and tropes But then the strawberries come in at Howards’. In the silken sunrise One picker’s pink sweats, another’s shirt And the ripening berries Stand out like traffic lights. The sweet smell in the… Continue reading My poems are in jars