We live in farm country. But, alas, we lack amber waves of grain. In other words, no wheat. Tomatoes, apples (lots and lots of apples in varieties you’ve probably never heard of), cucumbers, squash, pumpkins, blueberries, cranberries … and corn. In season.
Local corn is the best. Especially if you get it just after they bring it in from the fields. When it’s fresh from the fields, you don’t even have to cook it. It’s tender and sweet right out of the husk.
Growing corn being cut in the fall
Purple mountains majesty? Check.
Fruited plains? Check.
No check on the amber waves, but corn is a pretty good substitute. I’m very fond of corn. To that end, I keep a group of corn maidens near at hand to protect the crops (and me).
The Daily Post | Grain
A further note on pingbacks: although the pingbacks were working for a few minutes this morning, now, the link editor is barely working. Though I insert a link and save it, the next time I check, it may (or not) be blank. I guess WordPress is trying to keep my life interesting. Never a dull moment!
When all is said and done, there’s no better place to shoot architecture than Boston … and no place in Boston more interesting than Beacon Hill.
Beacon Hill is the “original” Boston. From here, Paul Revere began his famed ride. Most of the rest of Boston was part of one or another gigantic land fill project, including all of Back Bay and Dorchester.
Only Beacon Hill was dry land in the early 18th century (1700s) when Boston was a young city full of firebrand revolutionaries.
The buildings on the hill are in amazing condition and look new, but don’t be fooled. Ongoing preservation work has kept them in marvelous condition … and of course … a lot of money lives on this hill. All these building are between two and three hundred years old. Some, even older.
A man, determined to find the meaning of life, sets out to climb one of the highest peaks in the Himalayas. He has heard that atop that peak, living in a cave, lives the wisest man in the world, the one who knows the truth of all things and the meaning of life.
After a long and nearly fatal climb, the exhausted man reaches the top of the mountain. He finds the cave and presents himself to the elderly gentleman residing within.
“Oh Great Wise One,” says the climber, “I have come to hear your words of wisdom. Enlighten me. Tell me the meaning of life.”
“Life,” says the Wise One without hesitation, “Is a bowl of cherries.”
The man is outraged by this facetious answer. “Bowl of cherries!!” he shouts, “What kind of answer is that?”
“You mean,” says the Wise One, ” … it’s not a bowl of cherries?”
They say when the going gets tough, the tough get going. I am not that tough. When life starts to overwhelm me with questions for which I have no answers, I tuck the problem on a mental shelf. I buy a pink plastic flamingo and name him Fred. I take some pictures. Or I write something.
None of this solves the problem, but every so often, if I procrastinate long enough, the problem goes away. Sometimes.
When you don’t have any other brilliant ideas, denial and delay are always worth a shot.