“I was good at blogging and then sucked at blogging before you were even born!” This is an actual insult that I am preparing to spit at some youngstuff should I ever need to. Seriously, people, when did this get so hard? I started two other posts tonight but then hit walls with both where I just realized, “Nope! I don’t have the gumption necessary to hit publish on either topic!” And it’s not like…
… but in reality it’s always a welcome addition to the scorched, dead-earth-looking yard in late summer/early fall.
Thank you for reading this SEO-optimized post. Incidentally, I can’t remember if this is another of @saraclark’s transplants or one my mother gave me. But it was a nice surprise when I looked outside this morning after getting yet another huge medical bill. I mean, that thing shot up from out of nowhere in no time.
While hiking up Lookout Mountain last year, Nick Fowler and I for some reason started talking about black-eyed Susans and how they got their name. We pretty much settled on the only possibility that made sense to us at the time: That the black-eyed Susan was a flower insensitively and macabrely named for a domestic violence altercation of yore. That is not true, the internet tells me, and I am quite relieved. Anyway, I have…
Somewhere out there, people get paid to take photographs of butterflies and flowers. I could do it all day every day for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.
Everyone say hello to the coneflowers that made it all the way from Nashville to Memphis via @saraclark. They are bustin’ out!
Yeah, me too. It seems that my desire to go outside and dig in the dirt has sort of been swept away along with my ability to write and take pictures. The good news is that I think I did a sufficient amount of prep work in the fall to save me some major spring ass pains. My mulched beds are not completely overrun with weeds (aside from the front bed’s four dozen or so…
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