Rew, Pennsylvania had basically one street. We lived in the center of town, so to speak. There was the Evangelical United Brethren church two doors down and the Earl J. Hyatt Elementary School right across it. Our house and that of Nonnie and Popop, my maternal grandparents, were located on either side of the United States post office. Our family owned the building and rented it to the federal government. My grandmother was postmaster until she retired when my mother took over the position. I wonder if I stayed in Rew if I would have been next.

Nonnie was quite a letter writer. I am happy to say I’ve saved those sent to me all these years.

She started every correspondence with a description of the weather and moved right along to the events attended that week. There was always a menu of what was offered at those various events. My favorite line was: “They served bought cookies.”

I guess this is why I like to start this weekly column with the weather and mention food — either the growing or eating thereof.

Last Thursday’s big wind event was not expected. I guess I simply refused to heed the television and radio warnings.

Needless to say, my Thursday ferry reservation had to be rescheduled for an early Friday morning freight boat. That was a memorable passage. A wave washed completely over my truck. Had I been outside of it, I may have washed overboard. An unplanned stop at a carwash was necessary in order to see through the salt-encrusted windows.

My garden took a terrible beating. My just ready to pick corn was completely flattened. It made it easy for a raccoon to eat all but four decent cobs. No matter — they were delicious and I was happy to get any.

I picked the rest of my pole beans. Some were already dried so I put them into glass jars. Hopefully, the almost dry will continue to do so. I put them on newspaper in single layers. It seems crazy to purchase dried or canned beans in the winter and let my own languish on a trellis. I made a commitment to use them this year beyond as fresh green.

At the risk of sounding like a showoff I have to talk about my sweet potatoes. In the spring I complained about the “starts” that came in the mail. They were all dried up and had roots no more than a quarter of an inch long.

They did produce long vines resembling morning glories. Expecting nothing, I rummaged around in the dirt and found several sizable tubers. Once was 17 inches long. Honestly, even as a queen of superlatives I never imagined one that big. I’ll need several dinner guests when I serve it.

Every winter I enjoy Red Russian kale from my hoophouse. They go to seed in the summer and are totally ignored and rarely, if ever, watered. There are literally thousands of baby kale plants carpeting the entire area. Call me if you need any.

Oh, as a side note, the big wind last Thursday took away the entire plastic covering of the structure and broke the doors. I feel like Roseanne Roseannadanna — “If it’s not one thing it’s another!”

Violet and I were discussing Donald Trump. We cannot figure out what happened to him in his childhood. How can a person be so self-absorbed and lacking in any empathy. He simply does not care about children in cages, the ethnic cleansing of the Kurds or Russians invading and killing Ukrainians as long as he personally “wins.”

I’m weary and beginning to lose hope for our country and now the world.