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Hawthorn Hill
As raindrops slither down the windowpanes of my study, and dark clouds hustle their way eastward, I think about the value of old and enduring friendships. Several days ago, I drove down to my old boarding school for our annual alumni day. It was a good day for many reasons and a sad day for others.
Hawthorn Hill
I guess politics, like it or not, are personal. A strange thought to have while awash in rivers of sweat the last two days while chipping and shredding brush with a friend. Repetitive physical tasks have that as their “renovating virtue.” They give one time, lots of time, to think other thoughts.
Up on Hawthorn Hill
Seems the normal patterns have revealed themselves up here on the hill. As usual this time of year, there is more than enough work to keep us busy from dawn to dusk. Lists abound, but what gets done on any given day has more to do with inclination than anything else.
Hawthorn Hill
An old and valued friend stopped by yesterday to say hello and to pick up a few daylilies. We did not have too much of a chance to chat, to catch up, but the few moments we did have were precious and memorable.
Hawthorn Hill
Sitting here staring out my study window watching dark clouds scudding eastward, it seems an eternity that we returned home from a two-week river journey through Belgium and Holland just a few days ago.
Hawthorn Hill
It is not necessary to travel to faraway places to get away. A walk will do just fine. I am not opposed to trips. I will be arriving back from one the day this column appears.
Hawthorn Hill
There is a lot of talk about change these days. We hear it from presidential candidates and we read about it in the papers and hear about it on radio.
Hawthorn Hill
Two days ago, my granddaughter Isadora and I spent a lovely hour planting her garden — her first. It is just down the hill from her birth tree, planted on the occasion of her birth almost four Septembers ago. We were out “perusing” the gardens together this morning and, of course, had to check her garden first to see if anything had popped up out of the ground.
Hawthorn Hill
The other day while waiting for new tires to be installed on my car, I had a quite interesting conversation with an acquaintance about a wide range of topics, from bluebirds to politics to the ways in which “locals” view those of us who take up residence in places where, for generations, the landscape was inhabited only by those whose families had been there for quite some time.

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