Picking up one tomato, I slid the blade of the Pampered Chef knife easily across its rosy skin. The tomato yielded four thick slices. The tomato plants in the greenhouse are producing an ice cream-bucket full every other day.
I knew it was time to stop writing a weekly column when writing one about stopping became easier to write. Over the last year or so, writing this column has been a significant part of my life. It's pushed me to think about Columbus. It's encouraged me to meet new people and allowed me to share my thoughts with strangers. It's also kept me up late many a Tuesday night.
There were a few awkward moments during Monday's Columbus Municipal School District Board of Trustees meeting. Most of them involved Jason Spears, who is in his first year as a board member.
Shoving the can of "whitefish pate" into the trap, I closed the door. Sam came outside, "You're not going to use a whole can are you?" "Yes, I am," I answered, "I want to be sure to get him." I was trapping again; this time a feral cat. I can't even count the number of feral cats that have shown up at the Prairie house. I'm thinking it's because of our regular feeding habit. At the Bardwell's, the cats and everybody else get a regular feeding, including snacks.
If the nursery or nursing business ever stalls out for Debbie Lawrence and Kim Rushing, they can take their show on the road. Both are natural comedians, who share a passion for an irresistible and timeless subject: chickens.
It certainly seems that the entirety of the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth was thrilled to celebrate their Queen's Diamond Jubilee this week. Elizabeth II has "ruled" her realm for sixty years. Great Britain honored the occasion with enough pomp to last another 60 years.
"Can you take the ducks in?" "Well, what are neighbors for if they can't take the ducks in?"
New York City, May 31 -- The park is quiet at this hour. It's one of those brilliant Manhattan mornings -- clear, cool and breezy. The world feels as though it was recreated overnight and in this city of endless possibilities, the possibilities this day seem endless.
In pilot training 42 years ago I made a mistake that haunts me still. As a solo student I rolled out on a visual final in my T-38 and quickly knew something was terribly wrong.
Author Ann Voskamp posted on her blog that she worries about her children. She and her Dutch heritage husband raised them on their farm. They thought they'd grow up to be farmers, but with the economy, she says, they'll have to get fields of their own. She asks her husband, "Did we do wrong raising them like this? Should we move?"
I've never been to the Vietnam Memorial in Washington DC. I've gotten near it several times on the Mall but have never had the strength to venture in. There are emotions I've locked securely inside me that I fear will erupt if I actually enter. I may eventually go, but alone, so no one I know will see me fall apart, Starship Trooper on his knees sobbing into his hands. So many names, so many dead, and for what?
There's no mistaking the indigo bunting, his sleek small body and that screaming teal color.
Growing up on a cotton farm in Lamar County, Ala., Juanice Hayes made a promise to herself -- she would not make her living hoeing in the dirt. She had plenty of that as a child, thank you. And while that has been the case, technically speaking -- Hayes taught fifth grade at New Hope for 34 years -- she has broken that promise. In a big way.
The "Bonnie Blue Flag" which was once called the "Lone Star Flag" has been a symbol of Southern independence for more than two hundred years. The flag was first raised, to resounding cheers, on Sept. 23, in Baton Rouge, La. It had been designed by Melissa Johnson, who was the wife of dragoon Major Isaac Johnson. It was quickly accepted by the rebels as their symbol of independence.
Kenyon King's life defies expectations. The day his mother, Tangenika King, dropped out of high school to get a diploma in motherhood, she had likely never heard of American University.
You don't get to choose your children. You can choose to have them or adopt them, but you don't get to choose who they are.
During the summer of 1978 I got a chance to salute my mother with a fly-by, of sorts, near her childhood home of Somerset, KY.
A.J. Steverson wants to set the record straight. It's the Hitch Lot, not the Hitching Lot, as it is often called. A.J. should know. He grew up in a white clapboard house near the southwest corner of the Hitching ... I mean Hitch Lot. He can remember when farmers hitched their horse-drawn wagons there and walked up the hill into town.
She lifted up the spiny tail and put it in her mouth. She grinned and said it tasted just like she remembered, crispy like a potato chip.
Twice a week Harry Walker and John Jones meet here for two hours of chess. Here is the Highway 61 Coffeehouse, a hole-in-the-wall on a sloping street two blocks above the Mississippi River. Both men are retired, Walker from Entergy and Jones as IT specialist for several Fortune 500 companies.
1. Local voices: Alison Buehler LOCAL COLUMNS
2. Voice of the people: Cameron Triplett LETTERS TO THE EDITOR (VOICE@CDISPATCH.COM)
3. Voice of the people: William Bell LETTERS TO THE EDITOR (VOICE@CDISPATCH.COM)
4. Our View: Muscle Shoals: There's still a message in the music DISPATCH EDITORIALS
5. Our View: Spring: a season of optimism DISPATCH EDITORIALS