- From Fly Creek
'Now trust me on this ...'
The Crier doesn’t have a food column, but I’ve shared a few recipes with you over the years. Perhaps you’ll remember “Cooking Your Own Goose,” and the varied formulae for a Fly Creek martini. Well, 10 summers ago I shared a barbecued grilled chicken that’s become a staple for Anne and me when we get into really hot weather around here — like now. And so, here it is again.
From Fly Creek: Dr. Massey, martyr by mistake
Last column I told you about a sobering discovery as I carried forward an attempted clean sweep of debris from my desk. It was the 1814 Will of my Great-greatgreat- grandfather Owings in which he distributed among his heirs, and along with other kinds of chattel, a whole list of slaves, men, women, and children.
From Fly Creek: Chattel: tangible property other than land
I’m hoeing out my desk, top and file-drawer contents, a task easier than Hercules had with the Augean stables, but maybe not much.
From Fly Creek: Proud to be in the big parade
Tim Wiles urged me on. “You’ll get a column out of it,” he said. “Just get on a search engine and give it your own name.”
From Fly Creek: ‘Be a Mensch!’
I’ll bet you’ll remember the TV ad, and the man singing the song, too. Scrawny, homely, he was standing under running water, half draped by the shower curtain, warbling away in a shaky voice that evoked the late Slim Pickins.
From Fly Creek: For help with the smug
I’ve been having much fun lately, friends, writing a short book called “Saints for Special Needs,” completely fictional characters whomight get us thinking about humanity—and ourselves, in particular. Here’s a sample. Let me know your reaction. (Oh, and I have a fine cartoonist to illustrate the book!) [Almost every culture has a place for “the wise fool,” the vacant sort of person who, in fact, has a witty and trenchant view of humanity, and may even see into its future.]
From Fly Creek: Revving up for spring
Time to bring you up to date on Fly Creek’s happy clambering into Spring. First, the eatery scene. “Is Jerry’s open yet?” The answer is, “Oh, yes!” The porches are freshly stained; the lawns a uniform green, and the hop vines are already climbing the posts on the covered side deck. Blue and I went up there to lunch earlier this week, and I celebrated spring with my traditional bacon, onion and Swiss cheese hamburger. We two sat on the deck, enjoying the broad view and some spectacular clouds marching across, up toward Schuyler Lake.
From Fly Creek: Ya really wanna know?
SETTING: Fly Creek General Store. CAST: Assorted seated geezers, drinking coffee. [Door opens, enter heavy-set geezer; walking slowly with wide stance, maybe prostatitis.]
From Fly Creek: For reasons unknowable
[Jim’s reached back to 2002 to share one of his favorite columns.] My father was born as the last century began into a river village in tidewater Maryland. He told me once of a man there in his boyhood who, like so many, made a thin living tonging for oysters in the cold months and, in the hot and humid ones, crabbing and raising vegetables.
From Fly Creek: A graceful crowd
Make of this what you will, friends. I feel I’m really meant to share it with you. Despite good medication for my Parkinsonism, every four or five weeks I can sensethe symptoms building up on me, giving me more than ordinary trouble. Lately it’s been falls, and last week brought a typical one. I’d gone out to get the paper, moving along with penguin steps on the snowcoved ice patches, and usingmy spike-tipped cane the waya climber uses an ice axe. But circumstances overcame me. Parkinson’s wipes out the possibility of multi-tasking.
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