Where I grew up, in the Dakotas, the sky is big. Immense, even. It goes on for days in every possible direction. So when I moved to New England, the trees-which are everywhere, and pretty much blot out the sky-really freaked me out. I felt incredibly closed in and had to seek out places where I could see the sky.
Notes From All Over
I am very efficient at mailing packages. I know exactly what fits into one of those pre-paid Priority Mail boxes. I keep packing tape in the car. I know to send perishables on a Monday -not later in the week- so they won't sit over the weekend. Usually, my package is 'liquid, fragile, perishable, NOT hazardous'. You guessed it-I have a college student, and I send her care packages.
As a small business owner, I spend the majority of my time right here at 14 Grove Street, either figuratively (writing emails and social media posts, communicating with suppliers) or literally (moving around cases and talking to our fab customers). But when I'm not at Pour Richard's, you can often find me in Providence.
That's right: I live in Medway, work in Franklin, but like to spend my fairly brief leisure hours in a different state. Why? Simple- old favorites.
Experience Alexander Valley Vineyards
Thursday, September 20 6:30-8 PM
Last April, over five gloriously overstuffed days, John and I managed to meet our daughter for sightseeing in San Francisco and then head north for some winery visits in Sonoma and Mendocino.
One of the most charming visits was at Alexander Valley Vineyards, with warm hospitality, a beautiful setting, and delicious wines at extremely affordable prices. And there was also a dog....
Once upon a time, we were a nation of farmers, pushing ever westward in wagons and trains in search of fertile farmland. Before that, we tried, with cussed determination, to coax crops from New England hillsides studded with boulders and woven through with trees. But no more. Today, only around 1% of the US population is actively engaged in farming. That 1% might not seem very important-until you realize that the other 99% of us eat what that 1% grows.
Summer-technically-doesn't end until September 22. Technically. Because if you attend, teach, or are otherwise involved at a school or college, summer ends right about now. Ditch the bathing suit; pick up the backpack. Set the alarm. Hit the books.
I was forcibly reminded of all this by a Facebook post featuring snippets of some actual high school essays. I poached four of the best (worst) for the picture above, but there are 14 more online. Worth a chuckle or two.
What's in a barrel? (Besides the Duke of Clarence.) I should probably explain...
Something about the act of flipping the calendar to August incites a particular brand of panic: 'NOOO! It's August, and I haven't even gotten to go to the beach/have a cookout/see a movie at the drive -in theatre/fill in your favorite summer activity'. It's tempting to blame this impulse on the back-to-school ads, but even families with no member within shouting distance of school age seem to feel this FOMO end-of-summer panic.
The height of summer brings perfect cloudless days, gardens and markets overflowing with nature's bounty, extended twilit evenings, and a relaxation unique to the season. But if you're sending a child back to college soon-even if that college is across town-there is also a bittersweet sense that this time is finite. If the college is across the country, even more so. With my daughter's imminent return to Los Angeles firmly in mind, we stole a beach day last Friday and headed to Block Island.
Countless people have asked if my last name was 'Richard'. Variations: 'Who's Richard?' 'Where's Richard?' and 'Is your husband Richard?' Ladies and gentlemen, there is no Richard. We named the store for Ben Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanack, then doubled down on the clever with 'Pour' instead of 'Poor'.