My oldest daughter texts me early this morning — she’s driven through slush to get to work. And so it begins, the snowy season. The days already burn low, dim by late afternoon. It’s Not the Swimming Season.
To counteract, I contemplate potatoes. Sausage and potato pie? I ask my youngest. Cook together?
Having lived in New England for most of my life, this side of the stick season is familiar to me, intimately so. During Saturday’s sunny afternoon, I coil up the garden hose, pull weeds from the garden, play soccer with my girl, then lie on the grass while she samples bitter apples.
My father sends good news — it’s Arkhipov Day — a celebration of a man who served humanity and not the nation-state. Read details here.
4 thoughts on “Potato Pie Antidote”
I tolerate the snow until after the holidays. Then, I want to be done with it. Doesn’t work out that way usually…
I’m with you on this…. however, I’ve noticed post-holiday in Vermont generally marks the BEGINNING of winter, and not its demise.
I enjoyed (and was terrified by) your dad’s essay a lot. Thanks for sharing!
Thanks for reading. I found my dad’s essay unnerving, too. And world politics certainly haven’t improved since the 1960s.