About Me

THE BLOGGER
After 34 years at a large corporation, I retired, put down my briefcase, picked up a shovel, and began planting, growing and changing. I garden in Connecticut. 
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WHY DO I GARDEN?  Here's Why

WHY DO I BLOG?

I am a suburban gardener, often seen moving rocks by rolling them on my hands and knees. I have been known to blush at applause.  I once drank champagne at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, I can roll my r’s credibly when saying arriba, and deer trust me.

Occasionally, I re-read all 8 of the Laura Ingalls Wilder books. I have seen the sun hover but never set on the horizon on a June night near the Arctic Circle. I have piloted a Cessna aircraft solo, and I camped illegally on the summit of Mt. Washington, with only a toothbrush and a box of raisins.

Wearing only a plastic dry cleaner’s bag, I once paddled under the roaring mist of Niagara Falls.  I am the webmaster of several obscure internet sites. When I'm bored, I design Arts & Crafts bungalow cottages. I enjoy ice hockey played by small children pushing folding chairs across the ice for balance. I would like to meet Jack Sparrow.

I am an arborist, a shrub sculptor, and a ruthless perennial killer. I heard about Neil Armstrong landing on the moon from a muffled Voice of America broadcast in a Soviet dormitory on the Neva River. I don't sing. I dislike celebrity, yet I am fascinated by Steve Jobs. I have been known to frighten Siamese cats, or at least disgust them. One summer I panned for gold in the Klondike on the Yukon River.

My mastery of botanical Latin has confounded my peers. I own an altimeter. I can tell offsides in a hockey game. I know every candy bar brand that has peanuts in it. I have skiied Aspen Mountain, the Flume at Killington, and Little Joe at Sundown.

I know how to use the word antediluvian in a sentence. While floating down the Snake River I once watched an eagle steal a fish from the claws of an osprey in mid air over my head. I successfully stayed at the Hotel California and was, in the end, able to leave. I read, I travel, I daydream, I plan, and my weeds are all pulled.

On weekends, for fun, I do the NY Times crossword before 10 a.m. without reference books, but never in ink. Years ago I was given a yellow rose by a handsome young Finn in Helsinki.  I have read Don Quixote. In the original Spanish.

I have raised two young men to adulthood, been rescued from drowning, and scattered ashes from a clifftop in Wyoming.

But I have not yet written a blog.  Until now.