Life at The Perry Farm
It is sunny but 60, so I bring a blanket, Keith, and a thermos of tea. When I'm at a loss for the next line, I eat a piece of chocolate from the box stowed in the vee of my sweater. On the second try, I move the hammock far enough away from the walnut... Continue Reading →
“In the between” is a phrase Robert Thurman uses to describe the “place” between death and life, a fitting description of where we are in the Midwest just now. The drought is lessening, thanks to rains that came far sooner than we were led to believe they might. The grass is inordinately green and lush... Continue Reading →
We are eating deviled eggs and Ritz crackers in the shade of Uncle Mit, a thirty-foot tall Arbor Vitae that started out as a sprig of greenery in a funeral wreath fifty years ago. In front of us is the flower garden: Butterfly bushes, zinnias, and six kinds of sunflowers in full bloom. To our... Continue Reading →
M. H. Perry 