There she is again, in all her shiny red and chrome glory, taking up a very big chunk of our garage.
My dad’s fire truck. I don’t suppose too many people can say that, but yes, my dad has his own fire engine. And she’s a handful.
Drives like a tank, I’m told, with something called double-clutching involved. Sucks up money about as fast as she once pumped water. And makes my dad about as happy as can be.
There’s a small wooden sign that hangs by my desk in the newsroom:
Everybody is entitled to my opinion.
It was more than a little fitting during my 13 years as editorial page editor. Now, with my new job of overseeing The Evening Sun’s digital media, I thought about turning that sign over to Marc Charisse, as he adds the opinion page to his own considerable responsibilities.
But Marc knows me well, so he’d probably be the first to predict that everybody will still be entitled to my opinion.
Besides, that sign might be a relic of my past, but it will remind me that what we do now is what we’ve always done: Inform and educate our community.
The biggest difference is we can do it much better than ever before.
There’s a storm coming. You could hear the buzz all day long, in the newsroom and at Lowe’s and all around town. By now, everyone knows what’s coming.
And what’s coming keeps growing, at least in the eyes of forecasters. 3 to 6 inches. No, 4 to 8. The last time I checked, I think we were in the 10-inch scare, or maybe a whole foot.
The total doesn’t matter as much as this: If you tend things — especially outdoor things — there are certain things that need to be done every time a dumping is in the offing, so to speak.
Before the storm, a mild and sunny late afternoon.
Today, I seeded lettuces and arugula in my little window greenhouse.
Built from old windows removed from our farmhouse, this mini-greenhouse is used from late fall to mid-spring. in particular to extend the greens growing season.
We saw one of these simple structures in Lancaster a few years ago, on one of our Saturday drives. And by 6 p.m. that evening, I had one of these for my very own. Not purchased, but built by the very talented handyman right here at Pinespring. OK, we happened to have a nice selection of old windows around, since we were gradually replacing all those in the old farmhouse. Still, I think that’s pretty darned good when you have a guy who will, with no urging, be inspired by something like this and just go home and make one — that same day.
You don’t need to have a mini-greenhouse, though, to have a crop of early spring greens. If you have a protected area — a little area of bed next to the house, maybe — consider growing a crop of spring greens. Find an area that faces south, a planting area next to a building or wall. Even if this is a spot you use later for perennial flower color, it can be devoted to early greens from March through mid-May.
In St. Petersburg, FL, recently, at long last I saw my first actual glass pieces by Dale Chihuly, the master glass artist. Until then, I’d only seen photos. And as you’d probably expect, there was just no comparison.
This boat, with its cargo of glass spheres, rests on a mirror the size of a small room. And it really must be seen from different angles.
It hasn’t been a particularly rough winter. A little snow, a little rain. A few very cold days. But nothing very extreme. And yet, I find myself greeting every sign of spring as if I’d just lived through a winter on the northern plains.
I just planted this bush two years ago.
Today, I cut forsythia branches to force into bloom. It sounds so aggressive, ‘forcing’ little yellow blooms. Maybe “coaxing” would be a better word. Either way, if it brings a bit of spring a bit earlier, I’ll do it.
Wandarings 