Bright orange pumpkins lined the gravel drive. Rainbows of apples were stacked challenging any customer not to carry them home with a chubby pumpkin underarm. Parker’s Orchard fruit stand, located in the Brushy Mountains of North Carolina, is the quintessential Americana country shop.
The line is set. The distance between is precise. The inevitable push is lurking. Click, click, click, click, the porcelain rectangle hits the next, and the next, and the next. All the preparation has paid off. The line moved in tandem with my expectations. Click, click, click, one fell after the other as if passing…
There have been many perks to marrying into Chris’ family. High up there is his mom’s cooking. As I’ve mentioned before, I took the “This isn’t how my mom’s tasted…” comments early in our marriage in stride. Primarily because I was trying to achieve exactly that – her recipes – because they taste so good.…
The sun is low. Babies are jammied. Wheels of the parenting wagon are squeaking, slowing wobbling, willing them to carry until bedtime. Fire smoke has perfumed hair during memory filled dinners ’round a fire pit The night is twinkling indecision – the dusk yawns. Summer is giving way to autumn. Mothers hush this quiet…
Good idea: Locking your bike up at the library so as to not entice anyone struggling with “theft challenges”. Bad idea: Locking your bike up at the library so as not to entice anyone struggling with “theft challenges” and learning that person might be you.