A Growing Season

Telling stories about the absurd and extraordinary in everyday life.


Here We Grow Again

Here We Grow Again


Posted By on May 13, 2014

I continue to think life will slow down, that I won’t always be on the run. I continue to be wrong. So very, very wrong. Instead of slowing down, I’ve gone and ramped things up again. I have a bad habit of doing that. Everything in my life is about to enter a new season. It’s all exciting. It’s all scary. It’s interesting and fulfilling. It’s sad and difficult. In other words, it’s life. “We...

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A Garden View


Posted By on Aug 18, 2013

I cannot imagine many people on this planet have had the good fortune to have all four of their grandparents live in such close proximity to them as my brother, sister, and I did. I can’t imagine that any of them had finer people for grandparents, either. The two couples were as different as night and day in many respects, but we loved them all fiercely and their legacies in our family are powerful. My Grandma Phyllis is my...

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Simply Edamame

Simply Edamame


Posted By on Jul 7, 2013

I like my food simple, in part because I was raised in rural Iowa where our foods were very uncomplicated (except for a handful of truly strange jello “salads”) and partly because I don’t cook that much. I just don’t have the time. A few weeks ago I was a part of a great group of Arkansas bloggers who participated in the annual Bean2Blog event at P. Allen Smith’s Moss Mountain Farm, sponsored by the Arkansas Soybean...

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My family loves water, and we frequented all of the local lakes, ponds, rivers, and swimming pools in our vicinity when I was kid. I was a scaredy cat, though, and I didn’t like diving from the high board and I often looked on as my brother and my friends did the fun stuff. My former in-laws cured me of all that. Because of them I learned to jump from the cliff at Lake of the Ozarks and to do lots of other stuff my mom would...

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Losing Ground

Losing Ground


Posted By on Apr 21, 2013

The moment I can’t escape, that our family farm story must start with, took place on a quiet summer evening in my rural Iowa hometown in the mid 1980s when I was 18. As was common in those days, I heard a knock at the kitchen door at the back of the house. At our house friends knew to come to the kitchen door. I opened the door to the county sheriff. We all knew him, of course. He had gone to high school with my parents, and his...

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