A simpler, more creative life on a tenth of an acre
I’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.
It takes a lot to make this grown man cry. When our party of five watched the (Mister) Fred Rogers documentary “Won’t You Be…
Eighty-seven pictures of medallions, set in stone, hammered in metal, or painted in fresco. It didn’t matter if they were on the streets of…
Opening a can of hearth-be-gone in this room. If there were any questions about my latent adolescence, they’ve been pounded away with the mallet…
“Throw away your television.” That’s what everyone’s telling me. And by everyone, I mean Jenn. And Chuck Klosterman.1 And the Red Hot Chili Peppers and…
Maybe a dozen years ago, we were sipping some beers at a wedding reception in Montgomery. It was a good vibe, with a live…
Up the road a few miles from work, there’s a big swath of state land, abutting the Chattahoochee River. Jenn and I took a…
A light bulb. That’s all the stupid thing needs. And yet, we’re going to have to throw it away because the fine folks at Target…
We’ve done it again. Holding the glass up to the light, the rosy-amber liquid swirled and shimmered. Taking a big sniff, the bouquet was bold…