Why peel peaches? If you’re making a smoothy or blending peaches for fruit leather, I don’t recommend it. But if you’re making a peach cobbler, peach crisp or peach ice cream, maybe you don’t want that skin floating around! You need to peel peaches. But wait! PUT DOWN THAT KNIFE! There’s an easier way. In…
The old couple’s peach tree up on Mowbray Mountain deep down in Tennessee was so overloaded that a giant limb split off the trunk and crashed to the garden floor. That still left more than two-thirds of the tree that they had planted intact and covered with delicious freestone fruit. A Good Fruit Trade Our…
Picking Redux: The Last of the Late Season Blueberries It was, they said, too late in the season to find even the last of the late season blueberries. For weeks, pickers and birds had scoured the field for the small, blue bursts of anti-oxidants and health and taste. OH! The taste! Our house chef was…
On a cool Georgia summer evening I was front porch sitting, watching the butterflies, birds and nodding wildflowers mix with a late July sunset. Suddenly, as though from a distant memory, came the soft, slow notes of a piano. It was a different type of www.FrontPorchSense.com + www.NaturesGuy.com! My wife played / improvised a new…
What are we complaining about? In this video, I’m stealing Marnie’s FrontPorchSense.com idea to talk about gratitude. We live in an amazing time and place. Why do I complain? I should be more grateful. (I’m going to complain about my complaining). Nature’s Guy video about gratitude (What are we complaining about!?!?)
I sit deep in my deciduous and cedar woods, shaded, sweltering in the hot afternoon Georgia heat. The still air, like an open oven, stifles me. I must escape. But just as I start to rise, a cool breeze starts from the creek bottom below, racing across the newly-mown fields. Wind rushes like a cresting…
Solo sycamore leaves catch the hot afternoon breeze and spin in joyous pinwheels on Independence Day, as if to say: “Welcome home, boy. We’re glad you’ve come. Don’t Roam. Stay.”
I emersed me in/ woods, hoping to stop dying./ I must bathe more oft.
Hi, my deep-rooted/ woods friends. I’m sad I’ve not been/ near. I’ll tread barefoot.
Folks look at my yard/ and see lots of grass to mow./ They miss wildflowers.