Kennebecs and Tomatoes
Ah, that first year – when we still imaginedour sustenance – those first kennebecs,huge in the manure field, papered like birch,soft as creamed cheese. Dave’s mom planted there, but she…
Category: Harvest
Cane
You ain’t no butterfly.Forget them wings.Ain’t nothing but worksore,blister and things. Ain’t nothing but cane –we ain’t nothing but cane.Come out that cocoon, baby,come stand in the rain. Come out…
Plainsong #2 – a pastoral
Herefords lying down, asses to the wind – this bodes of rain. Cloud gray and anvil, clobber shot and some ways off, a cliff falls precipitous. There’s manure in the…
A Harvest Rushed
Russet clouds of harvest dust run low in the gully, settle in the sand pits, settle on a tongue and choke the throats of a damp fall. And there, below…
Sweet and Bitter Greens 