Asparagus. Berries. Chard. We’re practicing early summer ABCs around our house. We try to eat locally and seasonally as much as possible, so aside from the occasional impulsive purchase of…
Author: <span>Beth Hendrickson</span>
When I met Big Friend, his wardrobe relied a little too heavily on tapered, stone-washed jeans. Or the jean’s “Sunday Best” friend: the tapered, pleated khakis. (And I married him?…
His fingers. My nose. Her self. Aaaarrrrgh. I can’t do it. I can’t limit myself to just six words. See? Here I am rambling on, belaboring you with the curse…
Last night found me stalking bull frogs around the perimeter of a neighbor’s pond. My feet squelched in grass boggy from regurgitating the over-abundant rains of the past week. Little…
It’s hard to ignore the meteorologists’ long-faced reports on the weather state of the union: floods gobbling up Mississippi riverbanks while the parched throat of Texas gasps for a sip…
“Just try one bite.” I hear myself spit out this phrase at dinner and cringe. Little Friend has made the dinner frittata public enemy number one. I weep a bit…