Something marvelous strange happened with our pumpkins this year. That is to say we are hopeful the strange turns out to be marvelous. Here’s what has happened so far. Four years ago, I bought two pumpkin starts at the farmers market in Mendocino and planted those starts in a raised bed rife with redwood roots, three miles inland from the coast. Those plants were supposed to grow small sweet pumpkins, half the size of bowling balls. I got one little pumpkin. Delicious. I saved the seeds.
Posts published in “Essays”
I recently heard a radio interviewee make a statement so ridiculous, so patently absurd, so willfully obtuse, that I felt I must, from atop my lofty perch here at the Stony Lonesome Department of Supercilious…
Dr. Preston owned a two story building that still stands today at the corner of Little Lake and Lansing Street in Mendocino, across from the then Preston Mansion. The building was originally built for Independent…
So it’s 7am, I still haven’t slept yet, but as I sit here reflecting on what might have been the craziest night of my weed career in Humboldt, I can’t help but smile. I made it. What that means will become more clear as this story evolves. You may find yourself in disbelief, but I promise the events that unfolded are 100% true.
Although it comes late in life, when because of surgery and old age I am no longer a contender, I have discovered an infallible technique for attracting women: falling off my bicycle. Yesterday morning, around…
I was entertained, the other day, to read in the Journal about the city at last lowering the boom on the Palace's dysfunctional owner Eladia Laines, and finally moving to hire a 'receiver' to take…
It was not the tireless wind now being harnessed by Germany’s Energy Transition (Energiewende)—that same force discussed last week in this space—but the fires of internal combustion that sped us south, from Norden and its…
“I should have buried Dad here,” Billy Lee Riley thought, standing in the unfinished grave up on Panther Rock, digging deeper with a pointed shovel – the wrong fuckin’ tool for the job. Outside the…