As a child, stumbling across a clover patch was an opportunity to mine the green grass for botanical gold. As an adult, do you still count the leaflets in search of good fortune?
The natural world doesn't need our interference. Mother Nature isn't biding her time, awaiting our next move.
There are many alternatives out there to using fencing around your garden. One of them: sprinkling human hair around the perimeter. Weird? Yes.
The Yellow-bellied Sapsucker plunders hardwoods at its leisure, a red-headed avian vagrant with a taste for tree blood.
With the annihilation of our universe looming, fixing a leaky roof feels trivial.
Sometimes a tough undertaking in the kitchen can lead to defeat, but as with most challenges, a hard-fought victory is a sweet one.
If you type "house noise" into Google, you get all kinds of explanations: old pipes rattling behind the wall, the wooden frame of the house "settling," the expansion and contraction of wood and so on and so forth.
Nothing can test the integrity of your home like one of these small-scale Georgia monsoons we get every now and again.
As a homeowner, there's an allegiance to your house. It's a feeling. An unspoken blood pledge like a father makes to his child that he'll take care of things. Even if that means sacrificing a sacred day of your weekend.
Many years ago, as we'd sit fishing on the red mud banks of Lake Lanier, my friend Jesse gave everybody a twist-tied cellophane baggie with strips of melt-your-face-off spicy homemade jerky. Feeling nostalgic this week, I discovered how to make my own homemade beef jerky to share with friends.
With the changing of the seasons, that first brisk bite of autumn air, our minds move in new directions. September and October bring new possibilities for produce to thrive in the thirsty soil.
While out in the garden a few days back, pruning dead stems off the tomato plants, I heard an odd, faint crunching noise.
There's nothing quite like a fresh cucumber sandwich on a sweltering summer day.
Sweat stings your eyes. Sun scorches the back of your neck. A six-horsepower engine sputters and sings, belching smoke as you plod your way through sedge, clover and crabgrass.
On occasion, I've been known to make a risky foray into the kitchen. It gives the wife a break from her routine and affords me a chance to try my hand at something different—in this case, Frogmore Stew.
What started decades ago as a flowering addition to backyard landscaping has grown into a writhing, hardy, many-tentacled creature of the night. And Monday evening's torrential downpour was making the wisteria stronger.
Something's been eating the green tomatoes. Not just eating them, mind you, but playing with them, gnawing on them and discarding them like they were garbage.
My name is Frank, and I'm a staff writer at Gwinnett Daily Post. My wife and I recently bought our first home, a 1,400 square-foot, four-sided brick house with a half-acre backyard. This blog is about our new place.