Vineyard Gardener
By LYNNE IRONS
Nothing can revive a guy
Quite like a piece of rhubarb pie
Serve it up
Nice and hot
maybe things
aren’t as bad as you thought
— Garrison Keiler
Those in the know hear this little song every week on the Prairie Home Companion (Saturday at 6 p.m. or Sunday at 1 p.m.) on National Public Radio.
By LYNNE IRONS
I was considering taking a garden hoe to my attic last week. The weatherman predicted four days of rain and I figured it was my last opportunity to get rid of years of collectibles before gardening chores take up all my time. The other alternative is to hope my children torch the place in the event of my demise.
By LYNNE IRONS
I love Easter. Not only is church filled to capacity, but it is the real turning point between winter and spring. It doesn’t seem to matter that it is particularly early this year. Main street is getting its annual makeover. Especially lovely is the store front of the Two Susans. There is a shocking number of têteàtête daffodils. As I recall, that bed looks spectacular all summer.
By LYNNE IRONS
It is an uphill climb from every direction to my hometown of Rew. It is one of the highest points in the state of Pennsylvania.
It was a typical rural village in the northern Appalachian mountain range. We had an elementary school, gas station, mom-and-pop grocery store, beer joint, and a fire hall that hosted square dancing every Saturday night. Now that the mall and Wal-Mart killed the place, all that is left is a little church which cannot support its own minister.
Prudy Burt sent me this little poem. She said it came on a mug that Heidi Schmidt brought her from England.
Let the wealthy and great
Roll in splendour and state
I envy them not. I declare it
I eat my own lamb
My own chicken and ham
I shear my own fleece and I wear it
I have lawns I have bowers
I have fruits I have flowers
The lark is my morning alarmer
So jolly boys now
By Lynne Irons
There is nothing like carefree youth. While driving near the Tisbury School, I saw a young boy with a broken foot on crutches riding happily on a skateboard. I laughed out loud — only because I wasn’t his mother.