Huckleberry Country
The air grows crisp as the grasses scratch at bare legs. It’s time to pick seeds out of socks and find homes for all the garden tomatoes and zucchini carefully tended through the summer.
by Amy McGarry Folks of my age might recognize these lyrics to the theme music for the kid’s show Zoom on PBS back in the ‘70’s. Remember before cable TV…
The first strike of gold in the West Kootenay was by Winslow and Osner Hall’s party of 15 in the summer of 1866.
The definition of Renaissance man is a person with many talents or areas of knowledge. For one Spokane Valley Renaissance man, that definition barely scratches the surface.
It’s an odd thing, I don’t know what to worry about anymore. At first it was whether or not my family of six washed our hands eleventy thousand times a day.
Family is not predicated by blood. We all have that neighbor, friend, boss, mentor or lover that feels like home.
Recently, in the wonderful life of pandemic parenting and schooling from home (snicker snicker), I found myself on Google trying to relearn how to determine the numbers of protons, neutrons and electrons in an atom.
At first it appeared that Tanner was happy again, staying busy and spending more time with friends, but Hill and I often discussed our apprehensions. And then we saw it.
It is garden season and with that brings excitement and, in my case, trepidation. Will the earwigs move to the moistened mulch from their cozy home in the basement bathroom?
No one needs to tell you the world is changing. The novel coronavirus took a swift journey around the world in mere months and by the first week of March the United States was beginning to truly feel its effects.