Monday, May 2, 2011


      Bulgarian tomato seedlings in a recycled milk carton.

Basil seedling in a recycled food container.

Some bloggers  write to keep a record, hoping that future generations will look up their posts and say,
 "Ah, that is how people lived in Tater Hollow, a century ago. "
Unlike those bloggers I have no wish to document the doings of my  little community. That was once my intention, but not everything that happens in Tater Hollow  is filled with sweetness and light. There is much discord and all I got for my effort was a more and more jaundiced eye.  To be in Tater Hollow, but not of Tater Hollow is my present ambition.

Living apart from one's fellow villagers is not the most satisfying condition. It can be lonely and occasionally frightening. Surprisingly more and more Americans choose to live apart from their communities. preferring to make friends in cyberspace. Is this social evolution? How did its happen? Do we fail when we reject the hurly-burly of face-to-face interchanges or do we grow wiser, calmer and more balanced when we decline to enter the fray? Fray there is, in a world that is changing so rapidly it is difficult to know what, if anything is permanent. Many of us face violence, hunger,  war, terrorism, economic crises, political upheaval, natural disasters, and  a diminishing supply of essentials such as food,  water and fuel. Does it not make sense to grow closer to one's fellow villagers?

       Ultimately,  the answer must be yes. Meantime, one must cultivate one's garden and hope for the best. My garden, weedy and unruly as it is, gives me great pleasure. In a few weeks i will be planting out the seedling I started earlier this month. With luck, tomatoes, pepper, several types of basil will provide me and mine with a feast that will extend beyond the growing season.  Outside, in my little vegetable garden,  asparagus, garlic, onions, strawberries, juice cherries and salad greens thrive as do the perennials in the flower garden.  Maybe before the year is out my neighbors and I will gather around a big pot of Soupe au Pistou  and relearn the old ways of Tater Hollow when folks still remembered that no one is an island.

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