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I admit that my memory is becoming a bit faulty but I cannot recall ever getting reliable rain in the month of August.

I simply love rain in the summer.

On our summer-centric, tourism fueled Island, we have lost a little something of the traditional, agrarian rhythms of New England.

There is nothing quite like the lift of a person's spirits when the heat and humidity drops.

An energetic stillness fell over the Agricultural Hall Sunday morning.

Upon approaching the pigpen at North Tabor Farm, a visitor will encounter two sensations: the faint ammoniac smell of swinish manure, and the...

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