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“Come to the woods, for here is rest.” – John Muir Upstate New York is unbelievably beautiful. In autumn, that beauty is enhanced by trees adorned with leaves of hues we never even knew existed. Walking along a path in November, crisp cold air turning your nose red, dry leaves crunching under foot, a Ring-necked Pheasant in a field springing up suddenly and snow beginning to fall gently to create a soft blanket… Read More
It is 0645. Sunrise. Not a hint of a breeze. The grass path is wet from last night’s rain. Or morning dew. Both. In the distance, Limpkins call from opposite ends of the wetlands. Overhead, a pair of Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks whisper about their breakfast plans. Sandhill Cranes trumpet loudly from an adjacent pasture where they spent the night. Morning has begun in the marsh as it does every day. The difference today… Read More
“Sausage, grits and cantaloupe okay with you?” Once upon a time, there was a beautiful brown-eyed young woman who blinked those sublime eyes in disbelief when I revealed I did not care for grits. After all, my mother was raised in Mississippi, the virtual center of the “grits belt” of the southern United States. My father was from the panhandle of Florida, which is actually part of Alabama and Georgia, where a… Read More
