. . . an old dirt road meanders under oak and beech, past rhododendron, through a shallow creek and out into light,
meadows on either side. At the end of the road . . . Continue Reading
Even though I’ve only lived in the South, I tried to make my own path in the world, from the East coast to the West coast, from my childhood to getting older, in between work to earning a living. The core values I gained from being raised on a farm guided me on a . . . Continue Reading
On closer look it becomes what we most despise: something unnameably near, confounding us with its ability to make vague silhouettes of familiar landmarks or bloat the once-solid shapes of signs lending geometric certitude to all our directions. — Edward Francisco From “The Terror of Kudzu” One of myContinue Reading