Jane

Poppy, our 12-year-old granddaughter, told us the other day that venison was the primary food served at the first Thanksgiving dinner.

I’m trying to remember all the good things that happened in the past months as we worked so hard to get our candidates elected.

Our mother used to make our Halloween costumes.

I’ve been wearing a button that says “Women ARE the future. Vote.

My friend Betty told me this cautionary tale recently.

I write for The Local Reporter because I think it matters that we know what is going on in our community.

As Valentine’s Day approaches, I’ve been thinking about all that I love.

I think of my Mom as I consult the spattered page of her sugar cookie recipe.

A new mural is being painted in Carrboro just in time for Thanksgiving.

It’s now six months since my husband Jim had a stroke. He’s definitely getting better.

Over the past couple of years, we’ve gotten hooked on watching Chicken TV.

My twin sister Judi loves kitchen tools. She loves her air fryer, Instapot, vacuum sealer, bread machine, blender and food processor.

My husband, Jim, had a stroke in early May—actually, a series of small strokes over the course of a week.

My mother wasn’t always a good cook.

“I’m rich!” Baldwin, our 9-year-old grandson, exclaimed as we poured out the contents of the tin can.

I thought I knew the South, but this trip has deepened my understanding. Maybe I should say it has woken me up.

The hardest part of a trip is the planning.

When I was eight years old, each member of my family wrote New Year’s resolutions for every other member of our family.

Honey was our first and most interesting chicken.

November 11 is Veterans Day.

I love going to the farmers’ market at University Place.

The next time you are heading to the Carrboro Farmer’s Market, check out the Little Free Art Gallery located at 301 W. Weaver St.

Fifty-three years ago, pre Roe v. Wade, I was an undergraduate at the University of Kentucky counseling other young women about how to get an illegal abortion.

I was anxious about revisiting my family’s farm in Maryland after ten years away.

When we moved into our mid-century house about 25 years ago, we couldn’t even see Eastwood Lake because the backyard was so overgrown.

The big tree leaned over quietly into the lake as if lying down to take a nap.