The watchfulness of love

My earliest memory of watchful love goes back to my adolescence sixty years ago. A dark December evening, I returned home from babysitting the Zablocki children five doors down on Wagner Street. I opened the front door to find my mother and granny sitting on the...

Part two of the yellow cart mystery

I turn my car into the driveway of a large, purple-gray house adjacent to the vacant lot where the happy yellow wheelbarrow sits. I admire the stone fireplace, twin bay windows, light tower, and wrap-around porch with hundreds of spindled posts-someone’s Victorian...

Mystery of the yellow wheelbarrow

More than a year ago, driving our usual route south on Rochester Road on a Sunday morning, I noticed something new. A bright yellow wheelbarrow sat alone on a mown lawn at the bottom of a high, sloping hill. A little gem, the abandoned two-wheeled cart provoked a...

Affection for life and place

I delivered my bee equipment to Mary Jo for her to relay to our bee-maker. We’d pick up our installed hives when notified. This season, after several years beekeeping with a son in his back forty, Mary Jo’s going solo on the Hosler homestead where she raised her four...

A trillium story

Unbeknownst to me, my friend Jack planted trillium last spring from Cottage Lake Gardens in Washington State, and our local Telly’s Greenhouse in Troy. With tender care, Jack planted the seedlings under a black walnut tree, sheltered between his garden shed and the...