One recent morning – as four or five snowflakes cast a film over the sidewalk – I relaxed with sips of hot coffee after reading the newspaper, and pondered plans to wish my son, Blake, a happy birthday.
You know, our second-born isn’t a little fella who romps through the house in muddy shoes on days like this any more.
The years have flown by, or so it seems. Soon, I’ll be 76.
Thank goodness, I happened across this newspaper article about folks growing vegetables in small plots.