Broken things
byI was a cheap bastard, even when I made a living wage. This won’t surprise any of the coworkers from my careers in marketing…
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Trial by Fire
byMy sister-in-law likes to say she’s a collard not a marigold, meaning she prefers cold weather over hot. I, on the other hand, am…
Pestinsides
byFor years, Brad and I have been members of Georgia Organics because we believe that food should be: fresh from the tree/stalk/vine to which…
Re: Tired
byIt has taken me more than a year to publicly write these words, and it’s still not easy. But here goes, at last: I lost my job. Thirteen months ago. This was not ideal.
Skeleton at the Feast 2018
byIt’s that time of year when I feebly try to encapsulate 12 months into 80 minutes of music. “Skeleton at the Feast” is our…
Just a-Swingin’
byThere are miserable things about living in the South. I’m not talking about racism and poverty, which are everywhere. (I’ve got a couple of…
Sow and Behold
by“It’s like you’ve been magically transported back to 1995.” So my sister says, after my new job at Jenny Jack Farm began back in March. Three days a week, I’m in the field or greenhouse, with intermittent phone coverage and no internet access. And the last thing I want to do in the evening is clear spam out of the inbox, which means I typically log on only two days a week.
Pea Shell, My Belle
byI’ve repaired Adirondack chairs that were rotting and turned shipping pallets into adorable porch swings. But for my money (or lack thereof), peapod wine is the ultimate trash-to-treasure. We literally are turning shells that were bound to be thrown in with hog slop into quite drinkable table wine.
Hard: Wood Floors
byIt takes a lot to make this grown man cry. When our party of five watched the (Mister) Fred Rogers documentary “Won’t You Be…
Featured Posts
Grape expectations
byIt started off so innocently. Which is, I know, what Prince Paris and Helen of Troy thought when they met for some spanakopita, and…
