It wasn't much of a garden behind my home in Illinois: a few pea, bean, cherry tomato and cucumber plants. My garden was an oddity in a world filled of attached decks and swimming pools; an ecc
As a five year-old, I dug eagerly into the dirt with a trowel, constructing shallow rows. At the time, I was a city kid living next door to a vacant lot.
I used to cry at the end of summer when the garden fell to its knees, the ruin of its gone to flower mantle like a cardiac arrest of rainbows.
There are beautiful gardens all over the world each with their own aesthetic attractions.
If I were holed up in a dungeon for twelve years, no doubt I would think of lots of things in order to keep my sanity, but I am sure that one of the means of survival would be to remember or rather co
Moving is hard. My wife and I moved to Quakertown after not being married a year yet.
On some sweet Saturday in April that convinced us it was June, David called me and said he had to get out of the house. By he he meant we.
It was love at first sight when we saw her at the local animal shelter.
Around our house, the word 'garden' was never used as a verb. It used to be that whenever Art Boy and I ventured outdoors with gloves, spade, and clippers, what we did was yard work.
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