Home Grown

A Loner Who Plays Well With Others, Fennel Hails Pedestrian or Royal Depending on Style

A garden which grows true to its own laws is not a wilderness, yet not entirely artificial either.

— From A Pattern Language by Christopher Alexander.

When the Wild Things Are Roosting in Your Bedroom

Dirty Joe was a crow and a friend of my father’s when he was a child. When my father was nine years old he took an egg from a crow’s nest, hatched it, then raised Dirty Joe to be his pet. My dad would feed him cereal to give him strength when young, and kept him inside a cardboard box until Dirty Joe could fly and fend for himself. When that day came Dirty Joe would sleep outside in a tree while my father left his window open on the second floor of his family’s farmhouse in Chilmark. My father had no alarm clock then.

On Island Tables: Eating Is Only the End of Long Journey

The lamb had been tethered in our yard for days in advance of Candice’s visit, peacefully keeping our grass down. A southerly breeze carried the fragrance of lanolin across the yard that drove my brother’s dog mad. Candice was a new friend about to graduate from college in Brooklyn, and the lamb would play an important role in her graduate thesis.